JCM — aka John Calvin Morris — was a true genius. He was called, lovingly, the “Redneck Sophisticate.”
I first met Mr. Morris in the fall of 1987, when I was just 17 years old. I had run away from home and moved to Blairsville, Georgia. It was my dream to become an architect, a la Howard Roark, and I had a portfolio of drafting that I had completed in high school. At that time, Mr. Morris’s office was in the building at the center of Town Square in Blairsville. I saw his sign while driving by and made it my business to meet the man. I gathered up my portfolio, walked in, met him, and told him that I wanted a job, and to train as an architect.
He told me that he was in the process of moving to his farm studio (today, fully restored!), and that I should see him once he had moved there. We arranged a time for a more formal interview. I awoke early that day, and it was quite cold, as my cabin in the mountains did not have heating. My hair was a bit of a mess, so somewhat spontaneously, I decided to shave it all off… but I only had my face razor.
After 30 minutes of chopping away, my razor was getting dull and I was nowhere near finished. It became clear that I would either have to get to the interview on time with a half-shaven head, or be terribly late with a clean-shaven head.
I decided to arrive on time. I got to his farm studio at 9am sharp, down that long winding dirt road. During the whole interview, Mr. Morris didn’t even once mention my bizarre haircut. We had a late breakfast up at the cabin, where I met his wonderful wife Marty. At the end of breakfast, he offered me a job. I was delighted.
Me & Mr. Morris
The unspoken agreement was, he would teach me how to be an architect, and I would teach him how to use AutoCAD, at that time a fairly advanced and esoteric architecture software. The man sensed my talent and gave me great leeway. At first he just had me converting his sketches and drawings into CAD files, adding details and specifications. But soon enough he was giving me the liberty to design entire floor plans and facades.
One of the more famous residences that I worked on was the residence for Carey Paul and his wife. Paul owned a number of car dealerships in Atlanta, had made a great deal of money, and the home was no compromise, classic luxury. Its floor plan (including the “maid’s house”) exceeded 14,000 square feet, and it had beautiful high ceilings, stone masonry, and a stunning slate and copper-clad roof.
But Mr. Morris’s pièce de résistance was a very modern house that he designed that was inspired by Frank Lloyd Wright’s classic, Fallingwater. It was a stunning modern cantilevered multi-story house, and just like Fallingwater it bridged over a wild stream, right by a mill, deep in the North Georgia forest. It was a true sight to behold.
I likened Mr. Morris to the legendary “Old MacDonald who had a farm.” It seemed to me like he enjoyed the best of both worlds: he had a fully functioning hobby farm with a rustic log cabin where he lived (he built a second one for his adult son and his wife). And then we worked in this thoroughly modern architect’s studio, on the same land, with massive plate glass windows so we always had natural sunlight, and wonderful views of the surrounding fields and forest.
John Calvin Morris, Farmer
Many times Mr. Morris and his wife would go out of town, and leave me to take care of the farm… a long list of feedings, and gate openings and closings. Cows, pigs, chickens, dozens of dogs and cats. Only one dog was actually allowed in the house; the rest pretty much roamed wild on the property. I truly cherished these weekends, pretending that I was in fact a farmer myself, tending to my flock and my land.
Mr. Morris ran both the local AA meetings, as well as a very intelligent Bible Study group. He was equally comfortable milking a cow, feeding his dozen or more dogs via a trough outside the cabin, designing beautiful modern homes, and playing polo atop a horse to socialize with clients. In later years he took up the hobby of watercolor painting, and I felt that he had tired of architecture (or rather, dealing with the quibbles of clients), and that the painting was his true passion.
Many months after I was hired, at one of our many lunches with Marty up at the cabin, he looked at me and said: “So, we have to ask you, Gregory: What in God’s name were you thinking coming into the interview with your head half shaven, looking like you’d just escaped the asylum?”
I explained my choice to be on time, rather than present perfect. Then I asked him why he had hired me with such an appearance. He gave his hearty Santa Claus laugh, and said:
“Well, seeing you
. . . with that haircut,
. . . I thought: This kid is crazy.
Perhaps he’s actually
. . . crazy enough
. . . to be an architect.”
John Calvin Morris is one of the favorite characters across my entire wild life story. Mr. Morris was a model of a life well lived, and lived on his own terms.
May 2025