To any other ASU student, the Art & Architecture Complex is just a few gray buildings. But to me, it's the only real connection I've ever had to my grandfather. It's a clue in the family history I've never been told.
The cluster of three buildings has stood near the northwest corner of the Tempe campus for almost 40 years, but the first day of classes this fall was the first time I'd set foot in one of the buildings. My women's studies class meets in the art building, which is flanked by the south architecture building and Neeb Hall.
The outside walls are a harsh gray and covered in rough pebbles. Inside everything is a little industrial. Speckled tile floors meet dull gold metal lockers splattered with paint. Art students stream in and out carrying portfolios.
In a large lecture hall with high ceilings and more drab colors, everything looks old. Not ancient, but well worn. As I wait for class to begin, my mind wanders. I begin to think about the man who drew the lines that created that ceiling. I wonder about all the attention and care that went into designing this building so ASU would have a place to educate students like me.
I wonder all these things because the man behind the design was my grandfather, Richard M. Arnold. He, along with the other architects at his firm of Guirey, Srnka & Arnold, designed the building for ASU around 1968.
Ghost hunting
Roaming the halls of the neighboring architecture building, now known as College of Design South, my skin prickles a bit, as though a ghost were tapping me on the shoulder.
This is the only connection I have ever felt to my grandfather, who died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound in 1982, about three years before I was born. So, using his architecture as a guide, I set out to find the grandfather I never knew.
At first I thought all he left behind were buildings he designed and scattered photos. But I was wrong. There are people with memories of him as a great person and architect. There are wispy bits of evidence to be found in the ASU library and in possession of people who knew him.
The Luhrs Reading Room in Hayden Library became my quiet place to examine evidence. Sometimes I was even asked to don a pair of white gloves to handle rare old photos.
It was here that I found a promotional book for my grandfather's firm that dates back to the mid-1960s (no clear date was given). Suddenly the ghosts I'd been tracking down became real. I could see Guirey, Srnka and my grandfather in their offices in Phoenix.
This was not the first time I'd seen a photo of my grandfather, but I haven't seen many. And this was the first time I saw him as an architect.
He wears a long-sleeve white shirt with a black tie. He has close-cropped curly dark hair and wears black-framed glasses. He looks surprisingly like my older brother.
And there is also a plaque - the only evidence of his mark on ASU. This large, black dedication plaque hangs on a wall that cups the east side of the Art & Architecture Complex, tucked behind the trunk of a tree. There, listed in gold letters, is the name of the firm: Guirey, Srnka & Arnold, Architects.
The architects
"In naming the firm, I didn't want it to be Guirey, Arnold and Srnka because it would be GAS," says Milan Srnka, the firm's last surviving partner who was also friends with my grandfather. Srnka and Arnold had joined the esteemed architect Fred M. Guirey in the late 1950s and they changed the name to recognize the new partners in 1961.
Guirey was the veteran - he had been working in the Valley since 1946 (in fact, he was the architect for McClintock Hall). Srnka and Arnold were the two young "cubs," Srnka says. "We worked well together, but we all had our areas of interest. We liked each other; we did well."
Richard Arnold, who went by Dick, was prominently involved with the design of the Art & Architecture Complex, Srnka says.
"It was supposed to be one building for art and architecture, but the two deans couldn't agree on anything," says H. Maynard Blumer, who worked with Guirey, Srnka & Arnold for 20 years and is now retired.
And the art building was designed so that two more floors could be added, he says. "But I don't know if anybody over there knows that. It might help them out if they're having real estate problems."
The project also encountered budget problems, Blumer says, which is why the outside of the building was done in a rocky cement style called brutalism.
Shortly after that the firm added another partner by the name of George Sprinkle and they shortened the name to GSAS Architects. The firm continued to use this name until it was sold in 1986 to DMJM, a national architecture firm.
"We grew into a formidable firm in the city," Srnka says of the GSAS days.
The man behind the design
Being around structures that my grandfather designed, especially commercial buildings was a source of pride, says Steve Arnold, my father and Dick Arnold's only son. "You had a feeling, as a result, they were involved in the community as a whole."
Other firm projects included Packard Stadium at ASU and Phoenix Municipal Stadium where the Oakland Athletics hold their spring training each year.
One perk of my grandfather's profession came for my father in 1964 when he got to go to a San Francisco Giants practice at Phoenix Municipal Stadium before it opened to the public.
The younger Arnold was 11 at the time and remembers meeting Hall-of-Famer Willie McCovey and all-star third baseman-turned Giants manager Al Dark that day.
Dick Arnold was an eclectic and talented man, according to both his son and Harriet Redwine, a longtime GSAS employee.
"Your granddad was quite an opera buff," she says. "He had a really good voice."
My father inherited his excellent voice, but sadly it wasn't passed on to either of my brothers or me.
He was also a good painter and had an eye for design. "You don't find people like that in an office now," Redwine says. "He was much more of a renaissance guy than is possible to find now."
Srnka describes my grandfather as outgoing, friendly and "very, very smart."
An unhappy ending
Given this picture of such a bright, talented, well-respected man, I have a hard time understanding how he came to the point that he took his own life.
There are questions I am afraid to ask. What kind of gun did he use? Where in the desert did he do it? How could I get there?
These are also the type of question my father doesn't seem to want to answer - not on the record anyway. And I don't blame him.
To me, Dick Arnold is someone I never knew. He is part of me in essence, but not an important fixture in my life the way he was for his own son. As his granddaughter, I have enough distance to ask questions about his life - and death - however tragic.
I do know that he had problems with alcohol, and that my grandmother's death was hard on him. My father would only say that he was unfulfilled because there was so much depth to him.
And Edeltraud, my grandfather's second wife, only made things worse, says Alice Long, my mother. Although my mother and father have been divorced for nearly 20 years, they were married when my grandfather died.
"All I can tell you, Emilia, is that it was horrible," she says.
As my mother remembers, Edeltraud sold their house and its contents to a liquidator and my father and aunt didn't have anything left of their parents. She effectively destroyed most of what he left behind, leaving but memories to the family.
"The best thing that woman ever did was kill herself," she says.
Picking up the pieces
The story I learned of Dick Arnold was one of a sort-of golden era. During some 20 years as a prominent architect in the Valley, he was admired and loved.
"I remember him as a good and loving father, first and foremost," Steve Arnold says.
"Just as far as being all-round good to work for, he sure was that," Redwine says. Dick Arnold's death was hard on the GSAS employees, she adds.
Joan Srnka, Milan's wife, says all the partners were honest and "accompanied by integrity.
"You can be very proud of that era of your grandfather's life," she tells me.
There are certainly many monuments to that era. Schools, ballparks, office buildings. And of course, the concrete-covered art building where I go to class two days a week.
Uncovering my grandfather's history made me a part of bigger things. It made me part of a memory and a respect for him and GSAS Architects. I feel like I am part of a family I never knew. Although I can't really know him now, I can still try to build something with my own parents and brothers.
Lastly, on a university campus packed with more than 50,000 students and a huge bureaucracy, it's nice to see a piece of my own history here. There are older buildings on campus and prettier ones. But a little part of these three belong to me. I am the granddaughter of the man behind the design.
Sleuth Work
Like most students, I'm much too busy to bother with a lot of family matters. My mother has gotten used to the fact that it often takes me a week or two to call her back. Digging up information on my grandfather, while interesting, was not a top priority. In fact, if this hadn't been an assignment, I probably never would have done it. But I'm glad I did. Once I started, I didn't want to stop.
Reconstructing the life of someone who has died takes some detective work. Here's how to uncover the past:
Step 1 - Research
Probably the easiest first step in digging up information about the person you are looking for is to do an online archive search. These files are often more complete than what you'll find simply Googling names.
I went to asu.edu/lib archive and searched my grandfather's first and last name. The ASU archives had one document, a roughly 40-year-old promotional book from his architecture firm. This was such a gem, I couldn't believe how lucky I was ASU had it. It had pictures of my grandfather, his office and drawings from the firm's projects.
For geneology and family information the ASU Archives also recommends familysearch.org and aao.lib.asu.edu/index for a search of Arizona archives.
Step 2 - The not-so-easy conversations
I was not prepared for how difficult it would be to handle the emotions that came up while researching my grandfather. Talking to my dad about his father was hard, and ultimately there were some things he wouldn't tell me for my story. If you're trying to get people to talk about family history, experiment to see how they are most comfortable talking about it. Sometimes you have to ask specific questions, other times just let them talk. See what comes out. If that doesn't work, try alternative sources. It was much easier for my mother to talk about my grandfather's death than it was for my father.
Step 3 - A journalist's tricks
As a journalist, I had a slightly easier time finding some of this information because I know most businesses and organizations have media relations people who were willing to help me. Don't be shy about asking questions and act on the assumption that you should have access to any and all information you can find - don't take no for an answer.
If you're looking for background on people, public records are a good place to start. Anyone may request access to certain documents, such as death, birth and marriage certificates and police records. You may have to be persistent and/or patient because these things take a while. Also look for any professional, religious or historical groups that may have records on your ancestors.
I requested documents from the American Institute of Architects, of which my grandfather was a fellow. The file I got had his application for admission from 1961. I didn't find anything major here, but learned some interesting morsels such as our signatures were similar and William H. Rehnquist (the former U.S. Supreme Court Chief Justice) was one of his references.
Reach the reporter at: emilia.arnold@asu.edu.
