MORE THAN CLEARANCE

by Dominique Haggerty, NCARB, AIA

Inever thought about the relationship between architecture and pain. Our ability as architects to anticipate and perhaps even prevent it through thoughtful and elegant design suddenly became apparent when I gave birth to my daughter via an emergency C-section.

Prior to that moment, I had spent six years specializing in high-rise residential developments at a large prestigious firm in NYC. ADA and accessibility requirements on these projects were strictly observed, albeit in a generic and impersonal way. This is the nature of developments—design has to be for all and no one at the same time, and I have to confess that my younger self only attended to accessibility as a checklist of codes to apply. Fortunately, the firm I worked for championed classical proportions and generous room sizes which aligned well with ADA requirements, and this was my first hint that those things were linked—that the language of spatial and architectural luxury was also the architect’s tools to advocate for universal comfort through design.

My personalized lesson in accessibility came via a 1970s suburban contemporary house that my husband and I purchased in anticipation of our newborn. Our previous accommodation had been an old Victorian farmhouse, and though charming and romantic, refused to provide comfort. It had long and steep staircases, worn-slippery treads, random and sometimes extreme settling of floors, electrical outlets in out of reach locations. It was not family-friendly, it was time to move on.

The newly purchased house on the other hand offered an immediate and unanticipated mercy: it had been custom designed by local design firm Flemming and Silverman Architects for the original owners’ needs: those of an aging couple. These original design discussions between owner and architect would have predated ADA requirements by at least a decade, and although there is no way of knowing if there had been explicit talks of disability, limited mobility was clearly top of mind and how to ease the body’s quotidian journey through old age.

The house was mostly one level, any stairs always incorporated railings on both sides, including a small set of only three risers. Grab bars had been integrated from the onset at the tubs and the shower stall had a built-in seat; a unique horizontal support, much like a ballet bar, had been installed at the longest stretch of hallway; the kitchen sink and cabinets were shallow reducing the need to lean or reach too far; and the circulation was laid out in a loop around the house to prevent the need to turn around or back out. Yet even with all those well-planned fixtures and layout, evidence of unforeseen challenges remained. Carved in the wood paneling and door jambs along the narrowest halls and pinch points, horizontal rut marks at 4” and 7” above the floor mapped out where a wheelchair would have needed to squeeze by in the latter years of a routine.

Both being designers, my husband and I were certain we would strip away all those artifacts to make way for a cleaner, more youthful and modern aesthetic, but by the time we moved in our daughter’s imminent arrival precluded any renovation plans and everything was left in place. I was in a joyous state of new parenthood, but also in a state of post-surgical recovery. It took a long time to regain strength and rebuild, and that convalescent time was softened by the new baby and by the people around me who were wonderful to help out. For those moments when I was alone or no one was immediately available to assist, life was not as difficult as it could have been thanks to all the accessible features our house had available. es of dementia; another with Multiple Sclerosis who has built a business informed by her own health journey. Each of these clients are very successful in their fields and defiantly independent—yet what has imprinted in me most through the arc of each project, was the level of support and care that came from their partners as they quietly and imperceptibly adjusted the surroundings to ease their partner’s movements through the day: silverware moved to the working arm’s side, doors held open, chairs brought without having been requested.

I always felt confident and in control moving through the space—all of a sudden, every grab bar was put to use as I steadied myself carrying the baby around and going about daily chores, I was quietly thankful to have two railings to go up and down stairs, and the ballet bar came in handy when I had a dizzy spell once, even the shallow kitchen sink and cabinets were unsung gifts to a person with a weakened core who could not lean forward more than a few degrees.

Rarely do clients ask for custom modifications to our designs specific to their condition, but taking a cue from their partners, we always considered them and aimed to incorporate elements of accessibility wherever possible. Easily gripped hardware, single handle faucets, railings each side of stairs, and flush sills and transitions are now standard in most of my projects, automation and pneumatically assisted hardware are often suggested, and special attention is placed on the maneuverability of hallways and how well circulation flows throughout a home. As I talk to people about my anecdotes, I am amazed at how many respond with similar mobility issues that they are struggling to manage, from general aging, to arthritis, long Covid, Lyme disease, pregnancy, a broken ankle, etc. Through design, architects can provide beauty but also care and relief as we are asked to steward a person’s experience through a space. This principle is what ADA guidelines and codes have emerged from and it has taken me my own experiences to understand that they serve not as requirements to fulfill, but as reminders to design more kindly for life and the body’s journey now and as it will be in years to come.

All of these accessories were a blessing, yet I still considered them and my limited mobility a temporary condition. When I recovered, my husband and I reopened the case to renovate and remove the grab bars and redundant railings. However, we had to admit they were still used on a regular basis even without a direct disability to service any more: by myself through habit, by our toddler who was enjoying some accelerated autonomy enabled by those grab bars and railings, and by our visiting parents, aunts and uncles, themselves entering their senior years.

Unluckily, five years later I was diagnosed with breast cancer and again found myself in a state of post-surgical recovery— this was a harder and longer convalescence without the joy of a new baby, but I was newly grateful for our house with its thoughtful accessories which buttressed my path to recovery.

I speak of my personal story, but professionally this enlightened my approach to accessibility design as I saw more clearly how its consideration does not need to follow physical injury, it should be ready for it.

Since 2019, I started my own practice focusing on private residences. This allowed me to engage more directly and personally with clients in a way that was not possible through the speculative developments from my corporate days. When talking through each client’s backgrounds and narratives, I was surprised at the prevalence of limited mobility issues that everyone was going through in all its varying forms. I have designed for a person whose arm was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident, his wife who has a hyper-sensitivity to specific vibrations; a paralympic athlete; a matriarch at the beginning stag-

And yes, all of the grab bars and railings in our house remain, anticipating a new need for them in the future whether from us or the next owner that will hopefully appreciate them as I have. l

Dominique Haggerty

is Founding Principal of

DADO

Architecture P.L.L.C., a boutique design firm located in New York’s Hudson Valley that focuses on residential and hospitality projects in New York City and surrounding areas. Prior to starting her own firm she was a lead designer at Robert A.M. Stern Architects. She grew up in Paris and Chicago, and holds a Bachelor of Architecture from The Cooper Union.