. . . in any work community or any office, there are always various human groups—and it is always important to decide how these groups shall be placed, in space. Which should be near each other, which ones further apart? This pattern gives the answer to this question, and in doing so, helps greatly to construct the inner layout of a work community (41) or of self-governing WORKSHOPS AND OFFICES (80) Or of SMALL SERVICES WITHOUT RED TAPE (8l).
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If two parts of an office are too far apart, people will not move between them as often as they need to; and if they are more than one floor apart, there will be almost no communication between the two.
Current architectural methods often include a proximity matrix, which shows the amount of movement between different people and functions in an office or a hospital. These methods always make the tacit assumption that the functions which have the most movement between them should be closest together. However, as usually stated, this concept is completely invalid.
The concept has been created by a kind of Taylorian quest for efficiency, in which it is assumed that the less people walk about, the less of their salary is spent on “wasteful” walking. The logical conclusion of this kind of analysis is that, if it were only possible, people should not have to walk at all, and should spend the day vegetating in their armchairs.
The fact is that people work best only when they are healthy in mind and body. A person who is forced to sit all day long behind a desk, without ever stretching his legs, will become restless and unable to work, and inefficient in this way. Some walking is very good for you. It is not only good for the body, but also gives people an opportunity for a change of scene, a way
82 OFFICE CONNECTIONS
of thinking about something else, a chance to reflect on some detail of the morning’s work or one of the everyday human problems in the office.
On the other hand, if a person has to make the same trip, many times, there is a point at which the length of the trip becomes time-consuming and annoying, and then inefficient, because it makes the person irritable, and finally critical when a person starts avoiding trips because they are too long and too frequent.
An office will junction efficiently so long as the feofle who work there do not jeel that the trifs they have to take are a nuisance. Trifs need to be short enough so they are not felt a nuisance—but they do not need to be any shorter.
The nuisance of a trip depends on the relationship between length and frequency. You can walk 10 feet to a file many times a day without being annoyed by it; you can walk 400 feet occasionally without being annoyed. In the graph below we plot the nuisance threshold for various combinations of length and frequency.
The graph is based on 127 observations in the Berkeley City Hall. People were asked to define all the trips they had to make regularly during the work week, to state their frequency, and then to state whether they considered the trip to be a nuisance.
The line on the graph shows the median of the distances said to be a nuisance for each different frequency. We define distances to the right of this line as nuisance distances. The nuisance distance for any trip frequency is the distance at which we predict that at least 50 per cent of all people will begin to consider this distance a nuisance.
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o 100 200 300 400 500 trip length, ft. |
Nuisance distances. 409
So far, our discussion of proximity has been based on horizontal distances. How do stairs enter in? What part does vertical distance play in the experience of proximity? Or, to put it more precisely, what is the horizontal equivalent of one flight of stairs? Suppose two departments need to be within too feet of one another, according to the proximity graph—and suppose that they are for some reason on different stories, one floor apart. How much of the ioo feet does the stair eat up: with the stair between them, how far apart can they be horizontally?
We do not know the exact answer to this question. However, we do have some indirect evidence from an unpublished study by Marina Estabrook and Robert Sommer. As we shall see, this study shows that stairs play a much greater role, and eat up much more “distance” than you might imagine.
Estabrook and Sommer studied the formation of acquaintances in a three-story university building, where several different departments were housed. They asked people to name all the people they knew in departments other than their own. Their results were as follows:
Percent of people known: When departments are:
12.2 on same floor
8.9 one floor apart
2.2 two floors apart
People knew 12.2 per cent of the people from other departments on the same floor as their own, 8.9 per cent of the people from other departments one floor apart from their own floor, and only 2.2 per cent of the people from other departments two floors apart from their own. In short, by the time departments are separated by two floors or more, there is virtually no informal contact between the departments.
Unfortunately, our own study of proximity was done before we knew about these findings by Estabrook and Sommer; so we have not yet been able to define the relation between the two kinds of distance. It is clear, though, that one stair must be equivalent to a rather considerable horizontal distance; and that two flights of stairs have almost three times the effect of a single stair. On the basis of this evidence, we conjecture that one stair is equal to about TOO horizontal feet in its effect on interaction
82 OFFICE CONNECTIONS
and feelings of distance; and that two flights of stairs are equal to about 300 horizontal feet.
Therefore:
To establish distances between departments, calculate the number of trips per day made between each two departments; get the “nuisance distance” from the graph above; then make sure that the physical distance between the two departments is less than the nuisance distance. Reckon one flight of stairs as about 100 feet, and two flights of stairs as about 300 feet.
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two floors maximum
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less than nuisance distance
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Keep the buildings which house the departments in line with the four-story limit (21), and get their shape from building complex (95). Give every working group on upper storys its own stair to connect it directly to the public world—pedestrian street (100), open stairs (158) ; if there are internal corridors between groups, make them large enough to function as streets—building thoroughfare (ioi); and identify each workgroup clearly, and give it a well-marked entrance, so that people easily find their way from one to another—family of entrances (102). . . .
411
83 MASTER AND APPRENTICES*
41 2
. . . the network of learning (18) in the community relies on the fact that learning is decentralized, and part and parcel of every activity—not just a classroom thing. In order to realize this pattern, it is essential that the individual workgroups, throughout industry, offices, workshops, and work communities, are all set up to make the learning process possible. This pattern, which shows the arrangement needed, therefore helps greatly to form self-governing workshops and offices (8o) as well as the network of learning (18).
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It is the simplest way of acquiring knowledge, and it is powerfully effective. By comparison, learning from lectures and books is dry as dust. But this situation has all but disappeared from modern society. The schools and universities have taken over and abstracted many ways of learning which in earlier times were always closely related to the real work of professionals, tradesmen, artisans, independent scholars. In the twelfth century, for instance, young people learned by working beside masters—helping them, making contact directly with every corner of society. When a young person found himself able to contribute to a field of knowledge, or a trade—he would prepare a master “piece”; and with the consent of the masters, become a fellow in the guild.
An experiment by Alexander and Goldberg has shown that a class in which one person teaches a small group of others is most likely to be successful in those cases where the “students” are actually helping the “teacher” to do something or solve some problem, which he is working on anyway—not when a subject of abstract or general interest is being taught. (Report to the Muscatine Committee, on experimental course F.D. 10X, Department of Architecture, University of California, 1966.)
If this is generally true—in short, if students can learn best when they are acting as apprentices, and helping to do something
TOWNS
interesting—it follows that our schools and universities and offices and industries must provide physical settings which make this master-apprentice relation possible and natural: physical settings where communal work is centered on the master’s efforts and where half a dozen apprentices—not more—have workspace closely connected to the communal work of the studio.
We know of an example of this pattern, in the Molecular Biology building of the University of Oregon. The floors of the building are made up of laboratories, each one under the direction of a professor of biology, each with two or three small rooms opening directly off the lab for graduate students working under the professor’s direction.
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Master-affrentice relationshif for a biology laboratory. |
We believe that variations of this pattern are possible in many different work organizations, as well as the schools. The practice of law, architecture, medicine, the building trades, social services, engineering—each discipline has the potential to set up its ways of learning, and therefore the environments in which its practitioners work, along these lines.
There fore:
Arrange the work in every workgroup, industry, and office, in such a way that work and learning go forward hand in hand. Treat every piece of work as an opportunity for learning. To this end, organize work around a tradition of masters and apprentices: and support this form of
83 MASTER AND APPRENTICES
![]() | several apprentices |
common area |
Arrange the workspaces as half-private offices (152) or workspace enclosures ( i 83). Keep workgroups small, and give every group a common area, a common meeting space, and a place where they can eat together—common areas at the heart (129), COMMUNAL EATING (147) > SMALL WORK GROUPS (148), SMALL MEETING ROOMS ( I 5 i) . . . .
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