No Ordinary Clients

The Story of Luis and Ethel Marden

By Martin Moeller 

Blueprints Summer 2006
Volume XXIV, No. 3 

Famed for his brilliance and eccentricity, Frank Lloyd Wright seemed to attract clients who were extraordinary in their own right. It would be impossible, of course, to state definitively which of his clients was the most fascinating, but there can be little doubt that Luis and Ethel Marden, of McLean, Virginia, would be prime candidates for that distinction. Anyone lucky enough to have met the Mardens could recount numerous tales of their improbable exploits: how Luis personally discovered the wreck of the infamous H.M.S. Bounty, for instance; or how Ethel set the women’s record for underwater diving; or how the two of them fearlessly challenged the academic establishment by declaring that the long-accepted account of Christopher Columbus’s first journey to the New World was all wrong, and that he actually made his initial landing far away from where most experts believed.

Luis Marden, who died in 2003 at the age of 90, has been called “the epitome of the Geographic man.” The epithet alludes not only to his 64-year career as a writer, photographer, and senior editor with National Geographic magazine, but also to his intrepid spirit, his insatiable curiosity, and his vast knowledge spanning a wide range of disciplines.

Born in Chelsea, Massachusetts, to Italian parents, Luis was originally named Annibale Luigi Paragallo. As a teenager, he became proficient in five languages, learned Egyptian hieroglyphics, and wrote a book called Color Photography for the Miniature Camera, which may have been the first ever published on the topic of 35mm color photography. He was soon invited to host a radio program about photography, a position that led to his name change—the station owners thought his name was too difficult for his audience to understand (although one wonders now if they simply felt it was too “ethnic” given the prejudices of the era), so he chose “Luis,” as a variation on the nickname “Louis,” which he already used, and then picked the surname “Marden” at random out of a telephone book.

Luis moved to Washington in 1934, when he was only 21 years old, to accept a job with National Geographic. Despite his youth, he almost immediately had a profound influence on the character and reputation of the magazine, thanks to his introduction of the use of lightweight, 35mm cameras and Kodachrome film, which provided richer color than the film the magazine had used previously. Later, his many notable achievements in various areas brought added luster to the magazine. While exploring with Jacques-Yves Cousteau (who became a life-long friend of the Mardens), Luis developed innovative techniques for underwater photography, and thus introduced the magazine’s readers to images of a heretofore unknown submarine world. He even had the distinction of having both a species of orchid (Epistephium mardenii, which he discovered while on assignment in Brazil) and a sea flea (a parasite that lives on lobsters) named after him.

The biography of Luis’s wife, Ethel, who now lives in an assisted-care facility in Arlington, Virginia, is equally remarkable. Born in Texas, she studied both mathematics and English, and as a young woman moved to Washington, where she got a job with the Federal Communications Commission. She was considering pursuing a doctorate in mathematics when she was offered the opportunity to join the National Bureau of Standards to work on the development of one of the earliest true computers. Like her husband, Ethel held a pilot’s license. She also loved sports cars, and in her heyday, she could be seen zipping around the Washington area in her MG (she later owned an Austin Healey and a Jaguar). In an interview conducted as part of the Frank Lloyd Wright Archives’ Oral History Program in 2001, she said, “I admire anybody who has done something for the first time. . . anyone who has been a pioneer in something.” It is hardly surprising that she and Luis enjoyed each other’s profound respect, nor that both would find themselves drawn to a larger-than-life figure such as Frank Lloyd Wright.

The Mardens married in 1939, just one day after Luis returned from an extended trip to South America, where he had been working on a series of articles for the magazine. They settled into a new apartment, but soon began to discuss the idea of commissioning Wright to design a house for them. In March of 1940, Luis wrote the first of several letters of inquiry to Wright, but the architect was enjoying one of the busiest periods of his career, and even though he soon accepted the commission, it was more than ten years before he was able to begin the design of the Mardens’ house, and nearly twenty years before its construction was complete.

When Luis first wrote to the architect, the Mardens did not yet own a piece of land on which to build their dream house, but in 1944, while fishing along the banks of the Potomac—it was wartime, and they did not have enough gasoline ration coupons to drive to a preferred fishing spot along the Shenandoah—the couple became entranced by a site on the Virginia side of the river just above Little Falls. The next day, they called a real estate agent and learned that a property in that area was for sale, and they bought it shortly thereafter.

Finally, in 1952, Wright produced a design for the Mardens’ house. Because he was so busy with high-profile projects such as the Guggenheim Museum in New York, and advancing age made it increasingly difficult for him to travel, Wright had worked primarily from topographical maps of the Mardens’ property (on his sole visit to the site before construction began, Wright had been unable to reach the main viewpoint because the terrain was too steep for him to negotiate). When the Mardens received the architect’s initial drawings, Luis was quite displeased with the design. It was apparent that Wright had merely recycled a scheme for one of his somewhat formulaic “football” houses— a term referring to the shape of the plan— and only slightly adapted it to fit the site overlooking the Potomac. In the interview for the Wright Archives, Ethel explained that the design “would have been fine on the prairie . . . but it wasn’t suitable at all for our place because it didn’t take advantage of the river.” This initial design had rooms on one side and a serene pond and a terrace on the other. Ethel added, “[M]y husband was indignant and wrote Mr. Wright and said it was ridiculous to put a placid lily pond above a roaring cataract. And we didn’t hear from Mr. Wright for a while after that.” 

Wright had appointed his apprentice Bob Beharka to oversee the Marden project, and it was he who gingerly presented the clients’ specific concerns to the architect. Grudgingly, Wright agreed to eliminate the “placid lily pond,” and to honor the Mardens’ request for a “straight glass wall” overlooking the river. Once construction was well under way, Wright visited the site again. This time, he was able to reach the viewpoint, and upon doing so, freely admitted, “I had no idea it was so dramatic.” By then however, major changes to the design were no longer possible. Miraculously, despite what would seem to be a significant lapse in the architect’s understanding of the site, the completed house nonetheless appears to be well integrated into its landscape and takes excellent advantage of the spectacular views to the rapids below.

In April 1959, as their house was nearing completion, the Mardens traveled to Phoenix for a conference, and while there, Ethel decided to visit Wright’s compound at Taliesin West. Wright sent word that he was unable to join Ethel for lunch because of another appointment. Ethel later learned that the appointment had been with his doctor; Wright died on April 9, two months short of his 92nd birthday. The Mardens moved into their house on May 31.

Over the next four decades, Luis and Ethel enjoyed their home to the fullest. They dubbed the house “Fontinalis,” a Latin term meaning roughly “at the spring” or “by the stream.” Not coincidentally, Salvelinus fontinalis is the formal Latin name for the brook trout, which was the Mardens’ favorite fish. As much as they loved the house, they rarely entertained, and indeed were reluctant to have visitors in general. Friends of the Mardens generally attribute this to the fact that the house was always so cluttered with diving equipment, books, and countless souvenirs from their explorations. Given Wright’s insistence on orderliness, they may have been slightly embarrassed to be using the house so vigorously. As a result of the Mardens’ desire for privacy, their house remained one of Wright’s lesser-known works.

In 1998, Luis, who had developed Parkinson’s Disease, moved to a nursing home. Ethel remained in the house, but she realized that the time was approaching when she and her husband would have to come to terms with the fate of their beloved house once neither of them could live there. In prosperous Washington, there were plenty of people who could afford to buy such a house. But who among these prospects would be willing and able to provide the proper stewardship for such a landmark?

Eugene Smith, a retired banker and executor of the Mardens’ estate, was aware that James V. Kimsey, co-founder of the company that became America Online (AOL), had bought the property next door to the Marden house and was building a palatial new residence for himself. When Smith ran into Ted Leonsis, another AOL executive at a party, he took advantage of the opportunity and asked Leonsis to approach Kimsey to see if he had any interest in acquiring the Marden house. Kimsey’s positive response came quickly, and in 2000, the purchase went through.

Kimsey knew that he would need a talented and knowledgeable team to oversee the restoration of the Marden house. He asked a number of people for recommendations, and one name kept coming up: Bailey C. Adams, of Adams General Contractors, Inc., in Chevy Chase, Maryland. Adams already knew the house well; he had met Luis Marden a number of years earlier when he was looking for some rare Brazilian rosewood for a project on which he was working. As in so many areas, Luis had expertise in tropical woods, and was able to advise Adams on obtaining the wood he wanted. Kimsey interviewed Adams and concluded that he was the ideal person to handle the complex project. Richard Williams Architects served as preservation and interior architects, while Robin Rose, co-owner of the Cantilever art and design gallery in Bethesda, and Daniel Donnelly, who owns an eponymous shop in Alexandria, consulted on furniture and upholstery.

The results of the team’s efforts speak for themselves. The restored house is simultaneously authentic and fresh. Kitchen appliances have been upgraded, and a copper roof replaced the original tar covering, but on the whole, the building has been faithfully restored. Period furniture, though much of it is not original to the house, fits comfortably. The interior is inviting and livable.

Now that the project is finished, Kimsey is making good use of Wright’s work as a guesthouse and as an unparalleled venue for entertaining. It is not open to the public, but thanks to Kimsey, everyone can now at least get a glimpse of this residence through photographs such as those that accompany this article, which convey the house’s warmth, elegance, and timeless beauty.

Luis Marden supposedly once declared that “One lifetime isn’t enough.” Fortunately for those who admire the work of Frank Lloyd Wright, however, the Marden house has now embarked on its second life. •

Get National Building Museum news.