Light at the end of the tunnel

Published On: September 25, 2009

When First Lady Andrea Conte unveiled plans to expand the social capacity of Tennessee's Executive Residence by going underground, opponents derided the venture as "Bredesen's Bunker." The moniker suggested a fallout shelter for parties, with the legislature and other hordes immured within sweating walls, tossing back canapés under stark lighting. But Conservation Hall is no dark dungeon.

On a recent tour with Andrea and assistant state architect Alan Robertson, I found little that seemed "underground" about the almost-completed place, except that you walk down to get into it.

The grand staircase leading to the hall is luminous, with light bouncing off the smooth white walls and polished concrete floors. The wood covering the stairs themselves—recycled from oak timbers fished out of the Tennessee River—warms the cool tones of the space. At the end of the stair hall, a gleaming slit in the curved wall offers a teaser of the natural light just around the bend.

That light floods the atrium, an ellipse defined by a glass curtain wall that extends upward into the front lawn, providing a subtle clue that Conservation Hall lies beneath. On the late afternoon of my visit, the atrium glazing reflected clouds, surrounding trees and a ghostly image of the residence itself—a visual reminder of gubernatorial hospitality.

Beyond lies the meeting hall itself, with a capacity of 160 seated, 400 stand-up, that will enable governors to wine and dine the whole legislature without resorting to tents. The wide planks of the flooring—"We wanted wood to give the space warmth," Andrea says—were recycled from an old Clarksville house and barns across the state.

Support spaces provide the latest in the technology of entertaining—and greening. "I remember standing in Ferguson's" (a kitchen and bath supply house) "listening to a long discussion about waterless urinals, and wondering, how did I get here?" Andrea laughs. Now Conservation Hall has two, which "will each save us 40,000 gallons a year." A niche is already stocked with magazines for the guys.

Andrea named the place Conservation Hall "because that's what it's all about," Alan Robertson explains. "It has a green roof and takes advantage of the even temperature of the earth, so it will require a lot less energy to heat and cool. And we've used recycled materials whenever possible." Not to mention that the below-grade placement preserves the sightlines to the façade of the historic residence.

The cost of the project included $3.86 million in state funds, dedicated to roadway improvements and ADA access. The remaining $5.1 million was supplied by private contributions to the Tennessee Residence Foundation.

How Conservation Hall went under the executive lawn rather than on top of it is a story best told by Barry Yoakum of archimania, who, with partner Todd Walker, served as architect for the project. As Barry recalls, "There was a state-wide invitation to architects, and Todd and I came over from Memphis" for the presentation of the program for the building. State architect "Mike Fitts explained that they wanted an entertainment hall with support facilities, that they were thinking of a glass conservatory approach"—such as Vanderbilt University used at the Chancellor's residence—"and that we had to stay away from the front lawn because we couldn't block the view of the house."

"So of course Todd and I immediately walked out to the front lawn," Barry laughs, and agreed right then and there "we ought to go underground. We thought that any 14,000-square-foot structure—even if it was at the rear of the site and made of glass—was going to challenge the 8,000-square-foot house, which didn't make sense, since they were spending so much effort restoring the house as a piece of history."

The architects sketched possibilities on the trip home and prayed that "maybe, just maybe, we'll get a break and it won't be all rock under the lawn." Barry and Todd ultimately got the job, "because we went in the opposite direction from everybody else. The fun of it was taking the program and twisting it to give them what they never imagined."

As we left the hall and emerged into the circle that serves as the drop-off area, Andrea introduced me to "Spud," the 16,000-pound limestone "potato" unearthed during excavation and now the sculptural ornament for the entrance. "He represents everything we tried to do, to save as much as possible."

The First Lady acknowledges that there were some dark days, dealing with challenges from neighbors and attendant publicity. "But we went ahead, because I really believed it was the right thing to do, I was so convinced of the concept. I still am."