Pullman post

I had come to Yale [photo] right out of the history department at Princeton[photo], with a wobbly portfolio but a keen interest [black], in the workings
of visual communication.

When Alvin’s call came, I was three years out of graduate school and teaching full time in the program.

But I also did letterpress printing for Tatyana Grossman out on Long Island, was helping to develop the new design program at SUNY purchase,
and had my own freelance practice in New Haven [image].

sharing a studio with my wife, Esther [black].

The idea of yet another job seemed crazy,
but this was an opportunity to work in the big time,

in New York, and, as Alvin described George on the phone, with someone who sounded pretty interesting.

George’s call to Alvin was in hindsight predictable,
given George’s connection to Yale
and the fact that Alvin’s graduate program was the first of its kind in the US

and very well respected.

Up to this point, most of my professional work had been for the university and I was curious what it would be like working in the real world.

So I talked to George on the phone
and he convinced me I could do what was needed in three days a week,

leaving time for my teaching, and a little bit for everything else.

And so began, in mid November 1969,
a fascinating three-and-a-half-year stint in George’s office,

an experience that in many important ways
influenced how I came to think about a career in design.

It became clear to me that George was a designer first and an architect,

or an industrial designer, or an exhibit curator,
or a writer second.

He was an omnivore, a generalist, and at heart, an educator. As a result, George ran an eclectic office from the beginning. There were few others like it:

–Eames, and maybe Sutnar; later, in the 60’s,

possibly an office like Chermayeff and Geismar or Pentagram.

Graphic design was an accepted as part of the mix as early as the mid 40’s [photo] as this ad by Irving Harper for George’s new client attests.

A string of influential designers followed, [black],
including Don Irwin, George Tscherny, Timoko Miho and Lance Wyman.

When I arrived there were maybe three graphic designers
often working on projects that came as a byproduct of other projects,

as with Herman Miller.

It seemed like a friendly and rather casual place, with no visible bureaucracy.

It was housed at that time [image] in a brownstone on 22nd street just of Park. The entry [photo] featured a Sling Sofa

and an impressive display of Nelson products. Just through the door in the back was the graphics area.

Upstairs was everything else. [black]

During my time in the office I was offered a wide range of projects to think about.

[photos] There was a standard corporate identity makeover for the Hanes Corporation and its two divisions: Knitware and Hosiery:

[photos]corporate paper, graphic standards [photos]and truck markings.

[photo] Then there was the informational signing in two languages
for the confusing warren of buildings that made up Lincoln Hospital in the Bronx:

a project that was an offshoot of what had become an office sub-specialty in health care space planning and specification.

This was my first such experience with what would become a specialized extension of graphic design,

now called environmental design or wayfinding.

[photo] Exhibit design was also now a recurring part of the office output
and I was asked to devise a logo or identity for a USIA exhibit
on “US Research and Development” traveling to eastern Europe
[photo] which I revised a few years later for its second tour to Russia [black].

I should say, in hindsight,
that I regretted not being more involved with the guys upstairs.

The familiar perfume of Ernest Farmer’s pipe tobacco was a constant reminder
of the activity on the second floor where these exhibits were put together

but I can hardly ever remember going up there.

Exhibit design now seems to me to be one of the richest areas of design, Combining, as it does, all one’s 2 and 3-dimensional synapses,
and involving the designer in research, content creation, clear writing, typography, images, physical displays
and an ever-increasing set of media options

for making engaging and memorable explanations of complex ideas. The perfect playground for someone of George’s persuasion.

I pitched in every now and then when recruited in over-flow crunch moments, but at this stage of my career it didn’t occur to me

to up-sell myself to the second floor. ……………………………………………

Of all the projects I helped with during my time in the office, two stand out. I will talk about them in more detail

because I feel that they highlight the key features
[title] of what it was like “Working with George.” [black]

The very first thing George asked me to do was to rationalize and re-design the communications that represented the office itself.

A key characteristic of George’s penchant for collaboration [that we have just heard about]

was his ego-less ability to select and trust others to make important decisions,

in this case, representing the visual persona of the office.

As a collaborator, after defining the problem and sharing his objectives, my memory is that George pretty much left me alone.

The fact that he usually gave the thumbs up to my initial design direction
also soon informed me that our instincts were quite compatible.

So I went ahead and developed a family of business papers
that were based on a simple [photo] typographic vocabulary of text and rules.

[photo] In addition to the standard business paper,
[photo] was an activity report, purchase order and transmittal.

This visual typographic vocabulary of the business papers was then extended to the building signing [photo],

with etched bronze plaques announcing both Nelson/Chadwick Architects and George Nelson + Company, Designers and Planners.

When it came to his personal note-writing,
George wanted something more casual and playful
so I made him this small engraved note-paper [photo]

with a subtle translation of his distinctive, but illegible signature that would land somewhere near it [photo].

7:32 And when Christmas rolled around that first year (back when offices celebrated Christmas)

George asked me to devise a holiday greeting
he could send out to clients and friends. [photo]

The tree-like pen point became a theme [photo] that played out in variations for subsequent years.

George’s comfort with the design of these communications [black] that represented his business,
as well as his hands-off style of management,

were reassuring and liberating for me. If he had things to add in the design process,

they would often be in the form of casual drop-bys
with course corrections embedded in wry comments or amusing stories with a moral at the end.

These work-based interactions were augmented by periodic after-hours conversations when I either missed the dreaded last train to New Haven
or when I was spending several days in a row at the office.

These chats would take place upstairs, where the family lived,
sometimes over a light dinner
or when stumbling up to the small, dark (as I recall it) little room off the kitchen where I would sleep over.

These conversations were rarely about work.
They were more often philosophical ruminations on his pet subjects [image],

sprawl, [image],
non-verbal communication [image],
the importance of seeing, not just looking), [black]

or tales from his rich life and extensive travels, or, more occasionally,

personal advice regarding my own young life and unsettled career.

This casual comfort I felt with him,
his willingness to turn to me to help develop these fairly personal projects, plus the trust and respect I sensed through our relationship,

were key features of what it was like for me in his office. ………………………………………………….

But there was another project,
the biggest and most challenging of my time in the office, that I want to describe.

Some time in 1970, George was contacted by Russel Jalbert,
newly appointed to head up communications
and public relations for the Social Security Administration [image]

the one organization we all belong to. He related this dilemma:

Field offices throughout the country were drowning in administrative costs. Huge error rates when claimants filled out forms

were resulting in hours of repeat visits to correct wrong or missing information. Jalbert, who was not a career government employee,

but had a communications background in the private sector, wanted a complete review

of the hundreds of Social Security forms, form letters and informational pamphlets, with the goal of reducing the error rate

and improving the customer experience. [black]

While the assignment would later grow to include interior design standards for all the field offices,

something very much within George’s sweet spot, the office had little experience in this kind of project,

and George turned to me to head it up.
Our collaboration resulted in key lessons that have stuck with ever since.

We tried to start work on the projects without any preconceptions.
Our intentions were to examine the big pile of existing materials

as straightforwardly as possible
and then to determine, with the Social Security staff,

[image] the functional intention of each piece

[image] and how people were supposed to feel abut it. We then would attempt to develop visual solutions that

directly reflected this functional-philosophical configuration. [ black]

But before designing anything, we sat down and developed a set of design objectives.

I re-read these recommendations recently, while preparing for this event. The straight, colloquial language
and the evidence of pushing back to so-called first principles

—to the real, underlying heart of the matter—

letting the “style” of the thing evolve from its content… all these things,

as I read through the presentation,
reminded me of the comfortable compatibility I felt at the time between me and George.

In the lengthy first phase report that I wrote and designed we shared these objectives with Social Security.

Because they reveal a way of thinking that we shared, I decided to also share them with you.
Here’s what we wrote:

Attitude [image]
Every piece will be examined [image] from the point of view of the recipient. As we learned about the recipients, and Social Security’s relationship to them, we observed these conditions:

Your services affect people of every social, educational and age group. You don’t have to compete for members.
You don’t have to sell anything.
Social Security is the trustee of a person’s legitimate earnings.

It has nothing to do with welfare. (A very George observation.)

Most contacts are made during a period of emotional stress. Your principle problem

is simply to give the quality of service your members deserve. All of which adds up to a fundamental demand for [image]

humane, considerate, and direct communications materials. [black]

Visual organization [image]
Wherever possible, [image] the natural shape of the content

(its length, organizational structure, logical sequence)

should determine the form of the communication.
Logic and use [image] should dictate the formal grouping of information. Very basic perceptual cues [image] should be relied on

in order to promote immediate visual understanding
regardless of a person’s visual aptitude. [black] (Also very George.)

Simplicity [image]

Wherever possible and logical, reduce the number and variety of elements [image] that supply visual information

(like typography, illustration, color, size and format) A parallel effort should be made [image]

to use simple, direct and appropriate language. [black] (a crucial objective, as you will see).

………………..
These basic, common-sense, relatively reductive and user-based objectives drove the design process and seemed to come naturally, both to George and to me.

Measured against these goals,
some of the key documents we examined were appalling.

Take for instance SSA 1 [image], the form that every individual fills out to begin to draw benefits,

and one of the leading bottlenecks in the system Jalbert was trying to fix.

Printed in black on darkish green paper, SSA 1 was [image] dim (low contrast between paper and ink),
dense (to save paper, the contents are compressed,

type size is reduced),
sequentially confusing (several responses are put in a single box

resulting is missed data) bureaucratic (in appearance and language) and even threatening.

[image] In this box right at the top is this message:

“Notice: Whoever makes or causes to be made any false statement or representation of a material fact in an application or for use in determining the right to payment under the Social Security Act is subject to not more than a $1000 fine or 1 year imprisonment, or both.”

Welcome to Social Security.

[black] In our research, George and I had observed
that every applicant who steps up to this document is in a stressful situation:

They are retiring, have been laid off or injured, or have suffered a death of a spouse…

Most are 65 or over, many with reduced vision. Many have English as a second language.
And Social Security statistics showed that

the appropriate reading level was about 5th grade.

In every instance,
the tone, appearance and functionality of SSA1 predicted a poor experience and a poor outcome.

I just so happened that our client had introduced us to a critical collaborator in this project:

a reading specialist named Dr Rudolph Flesch
[image] a formidable and well-known advocate of plain English, [image] who wrote a landmark manifesto in the 50s.

And because of his extensive work on K-12 reading books, he knew by heart the vocabulary and grammar best suited to every grade level. [black]

Although heavily resisted by Social Security lawyers,
Dr. Flesch managed to recast the contents in clear appropriate language.

[image] The revised form now leads with this statement:

“Please be as careful as you can in filling out this blank. This will make it easier for us to work on your application, so that you’ll get your checks promptly, as soon as they are due. Thank you for helping us.”

It goes on to say things like this:
“Take your time….”
“This is your official application and everything you say on it must be the truth.”

A very different attitude. [image]

The propsed new form looked and felt very different and included other changes: [image]Calling it what it is: an application for checks

(something you can actually put in your bank account). Putting one question in a box
Allowing adequate room for a response
Using a larger type size

And providing greater contrast between text and paper to improve legibility. The revised form also uses 6 pages instead of 4,

to adequately accommodate the natural shape of the content. We added that the cost of this extra paper would be
a fraction of the cost of correcting incomplete or incorrect responses.

From a “graphic design” point of view, this looks pretty basic. But all the decisions were aimed at

providing a humane and intelligible experience for the user. For me, most important insight here

was that language was the critical design component.

Similarly common-sense criteria were used on other parts of the project.

The agency sent out millions of these form letters [image]
conveying or requesting information about a person’s benefits.

When claimants get one of these, what they want to know is: The purpose of the communication
What they should do about it
Who is it from, and to whom could they reply.

It quickly became evident that these ”form letters” shouldn’t be letters at all, but something else.

The anachronistic form of a “letter,”
[image] with its meaningless emblem,
[image] a bureaucratic heading, burying the identity of Social Security, [image] and signature of some higher-up who will never read your response,

[image] also manages to miniaturize the key category headings squeezed into little boxes,

that also multiple tab points in the data entry process.

[image] By calling the communication what it is
—information about your benefits—
and foregrounding the information of most interest to the reader,

the purpose of the document is more immediately evident, the personal data is more clearly presented
and the avenue of response is more honest and effective.

[black] Finally, the same thought process had to be applied
to the hundreds of the Social Security informational pamphlets that were displayed in the local field offices,

or mailed in response to a question
[image] “Your Social Security,” the introductory booklet that most visitors were given,

was a nasty little all-text, all-business booklet.
As a test case, this pamphlet was humanized with new writing,

[image] and then re-designed in a larger format
[image] that included dozens of wonderful images that we discovered in Social Security’s little-known stash

of Farm Security-style documentary photos
[image] from half a dozen important 60’s era photographers,

including Diane Arbus and Gary Winograd.

[image] The rest of the informational pamphlets
were rationalized into a few common sizes
and given a consistent set of typographic, color and layout guidelines,

replacing a dog’s breakfast
of formats, typography and illustration styles.

[black] Our goal throughout this project was to help create communications that were inviting,

easy to use

and that resulted in the lowest possible error rate.
Social Security may well have been the first government agency to replace legal gobbledygook with plain English.

Although user-based design is standard practice today, at the beginning of the 70’s,

in the thrall of the cool,
high modernist
top-down, one-size fits-all design mindset,

user-based design was unusual.

But empathy for the user came naturally for George,
and the friendly, simple, unpretentious approach we took towards the project made sense and felt natural to both of us.

I have carried the lessons learned from this collaboration throughout my career,

which I have spent almost entirely in public service and teaching, thanks in large measure to this project.

……………………..
I’ll end with one more example of how it was, Working for George. His casual conversations with me would often veer off

towards his lifelong conviction
that if only people could really see the environment around them

they would begin take responsibility for it.

[image] His huge library of personal observations provided ammunition for opinionated but persuasive slide talks

[image] that he gave to anyone that would listen
full of stories about how to really see the word we live in.

On those lay-over nights he would periodically raise the possibility of collecting these stories in a book.

One such story involved his own living room,
[image] crammed with objects from his travels.

“How much do we really see, even in our own intimate environments,” he mused.

[image] Looking around the living room, he noticed some faces,
[image] human and animal, probably a couple of dozen he figured,

[image] and started counting,

and it turned out [image] that there were over 400 in that one room. [image] And of course he photographed them all

and then asked me to make some compositions of these faces, [image]possibly as a Christmas gift,
but really as practice for how they might look in a book.

The gift book never materialized while I was at the office, but in 1977 the real book,

called, predictably, How to See, [image] was finally published

and there on the second spread [image]
of the chapter called The Four Hundred Faces,

[image] were my guys. [Black}

…………………..
Then in 2002, Rob Forbes,

who was busy reviving mid-century furniture at Design Within Reach, and who will speak later this afternoon,

stumbled on this now out-of-print book, loved it,
and asked Jacqueline if he could reprint it and distribute it in his showrooms, along side his re-issued Nelson furniture.

Jacqueline said sure, as long as you have Pullman design it.

So, low and behold, 30 years after my time in the office, I got to finish the job on How to See. [image]

The 1977 book was rather disappointingly laid out by the publisher, and poorly printed in black and white),

[image] but most of the images were drawn from George’s color slides. [image] Jacqueline opened up his archive for me, and it was a feast. [image] So my last collaboration with George was long distance,

[image] but it brought back many fond memories
[image] of working with this smart, witty, perceptive man. [Black}