Warren Corman strolls down Jayhawk Boulevard on a sunny autumn morning, a chilly breeze at his back.

Wisps of his grayish-white hair peek out from beneath his navy blue ball cap — the front reading “We build, we fight” in bold yellow embroidery.

He’s wearing khakis with a blue windbreaker over a navy button-down shirt — buttoned to the top button, but no tie — that brings out his soft, blue eyes. He has a gentle chuckle that can put anyone at ease.

Each building he passes, from Bailey Hall with its facade of Oread limestone to Strong Hall and its glazed, stain-resistant terracotta, helps define the University’s character.

Each building, in turn, helps define Warren Corman.

Corman has had a hand in the design or development of nearly every building project at the University in the last half century. From Allen Fieldhouse in 1955 to the dorms on Daisy Hill in the 1960s to Wescoe Hall in 1974 to the School of Pharmacy that opened this August.

Corman himself is an institution: 84 years old, the University architect and special assistant to the Chancellor, designer of the Santa Fe Depot in north Lawrence, husband to his wife Mary for nearly 30 years, father of six, grandfather of 22, great-grandfather of six and World War II veteran.

On Thursday, he’ll add one more descriptive note to his long list of accomplishments, incredible as that may seem.

After 63 years as the king of design and architecture at the University and across Kansas, Warren Corman will retire.

He’ll climb into his silver 2008 Honda coupe in parking space 002 behind Strong Hall and make a trip past the elegant and striking buildings on campus and drive into the sunset.

As he travels down Bob Billings toward his house two miles away, he’ll see Fraser Hall in his rearview mirror marking the top of Mount Oread.

He’ll leave behind more than just a job. He’ll leave a storied career and tales about how campus came to be.

Beginning a legacy

Corman has acted as University architect since 1997. He spent 31 years as Kansas Board of Regents chief architect and a stint in private practice before that.

His relationship with the University goes back further, though. He studied architecture at the University from 1946 to 1950.

Corman’s Jayhawk roots run deep. His father graduated from the University with an architecture degree in 1925.

Corman sits in his office in the Chancellor’s Suite on the second floor of Strong Hall.

Sketches and drawings of buildings across campus cover the walls of his office. Even more sketches are rolled up and standing on end in boxes next to his desk.

A 5-foot wide and 3-foot tall poster of the Master Landscape Plan — one of his first projects as University architect — hangs on the wall behind him. A white hard hat with KU decals on each side and “Corman” on the front rests on the table.

Slowly, Corman is moving boxes of belongings out of his office. He guesses he’s moved 30 boxes full of papers, awards and other belongings. A few weeks ago, he took home a lamp he made out of a Japanese mortar shell from World War II.

Corman spent two years as a Seabee — a member of the Construction Battalion — in the United States Navy from 1944 to 1946.

After fighting in the Battle of Okinawa, the last and bloodiest battle of World War II, Corman came back home to the United States. He came home on Mother’s Day 1946. It happened more than 60 years ago, but talking about it still brings tears to his eyes.

“It’s hard to talk about,” he says.

Corman’s personal history ties to the growth and development of the University in more ways than one.

When Corman and other soldiers came back from World War II in 1946, enrollment jumped from 3,412 to 8,846 students. When he was a student, campus didn’t cover the 870 acres it does now. West Campus wouldn’t be designed for nearly 50 years, when Corman would start his career as University architect.

Iowa Street wasn’t Iowa Street. It was just US-59. It was just a two-lane highway west of town.

Campus had only about 20 buildings.

“Jayhawk Boulevard was it,” he said.

The early Kansas Union was the farthest building to the east. Lindley Hall was the farthest building to the west.

Beyond that, there wasn’t much — mostly cornfields and farmhouses. The future spot of Allen Fieldhouse was just a golden cornfield south of campus.

Lawrence was a lazy river town with a total population of about 23,000 people. (For the record, 26,266 students are enrolled at the Lawrence campus this year.)

Back then campus was just a string of buildings on the edge of town.

When Corman graduated from the University in 1950 with a B.S. in Architectural Engineering, his first job paid $260 a month.

“I thought ‘My gosh, what am I going to do with all of that money?” he said.

The University has changed and expanded in his time. In his first five years as University architect, he worked with $300 million in design and construction on campus.

The development of West Campus can be especially credited to his hard work.

That’s one of the reasons former Chancellor Robert Hemenway hired Corman in 1997.

“He always seems to find a way to solve problems,” Hemenway said. “Then he moves on to the next challenge.”

When Hemenway began his career as Chancellor, West Campus was a mere three buildings: the Simons, Higuchi and Smissman labs.

It was one of Hemenway’s goals to expand West Campus in order to propel the University toward research success and recognition.

Corman was part of that plan.

“He’s been at the center of all of that,” Hemenway said.

Now, West Campus encompasses a myriad of facilities including the Multidisciplinary Research Building, Park and Ride and the new School of Pharmacy.

Hemenway appreciates Corman’s regard for moving forward in the construction process even under tight timelines. Corman’s consistent forward thinking has been crucial to the development of buildings and renovations.

“That’s one of Warren’s great talents,” Hemenway said.

During Corman’s career, he’s been connected to nearly every building on campus.

With every building comes a story

As an architect, Corman sees more than bricks and mortar when he looks at a building. He sees the steel frame of Allen Fieldhouse. Beyond the porous, cast-concrete shell on Wescoe, Corman can see the lack of money that prevented the building from being 25 stories like Chancellor Clarke Wescoe hoped.

“There’s so much work that goes into it that’s on paper,” he said. “And you throw it away.”

He sees memories. Buildings mean stories.

• Carruth-O’Leary. Wilt the Stilt.

• Nunemaker Center. That’s Avon.

• The Dole Institute. Bob Dole, of course.

When he sees Carruth-O’Leary, he doesn’t see the administrative offices. He recalls when the building was a men’s dormitory in the 1950s. He sees 7’1” Wilt “the Stilt” Chamberlain ducking through its standard 6’8” doorways.

He remembers when Irene Nunemaker gave the University $415,000 in 1971. Nunemaker was a 1922 graduate of the University and went on to become an executive at Avon, a cosmetics company. Nunemaker Center on Daisy Hill was built with the money.

In the early 2000s, Corman was in charge of building the Robert J. Dole Institute of Politics. The building needed to be completed before Dole’s 80th birthday in July 2003. Inside, the institute harbors the world’s largest congressional archive. But the outside of the building was designed to represent Dole himself.

“The back is rough stone, like post rock in western Kansas and as you come more toward the front it becomes more like Washington, D.C., with a lagoon and smooth stone and monuments,” Corman said. “That was our idea.”

One of his favorite projects, though, is the Hall Center for Humanities. The old power plant from the 1880s was transformed into a reservoir of ideas and research about humanities and creative works acting as a home for faculty with Hall fellowships.

Nine white and yellow limestone arches in front of the building are the oldest surviving structures on the University’s campus.

Don Steeples, distinguished professor of geology and former senior vice provost for scholarly support, said he considers Corman to be one of his best friends.

Steeples said Corman’s continual sharpness and intelligence radiates when he talks about buildings on campus and the history.

“You don’t want to criticize any old buildings around here,” Steeples joked. “Chances are Warren had something to do with it.”

One of the most prominent of those buildings might be Allen Fieldhouse.

Corman helped design it.

The loudest fieldhouse in America

When Corman walks through Allen Fieldhouse, he knows the names of almost everyone he runs into.

From Debbie Van Saun, associate athletic director and senior women’s administrator, to Scott Ward, associate athletic director for academic and career counseling, to Susan Wachter, the chief financial officer for KU Athletics.

He addresses almost everybody — no matter their age — as “kid” or “guy.”

“This guy knows all about the fieldhouse,” Van Saun says, grinning.

He sure does.

In the early 1950s, Corman worked in the state architect’s office in Topeka. Back then, state laws required the office to design any buildings built by the state.

That included the fieldhouse.

He was the youngest architect on the project and is the only surviving member. Drawings for the fieldhouse were done by hand using ink on starched linen.

Before Allen Fieldhouse was built, basketball games were played in Hoch Auditoria, where Budig Hall is now. There were only 3,000 seats available, so students could only go to every third game (some things don’t change).

A bit of controversy surrounded where the fieldhouse would be built. The place where the fieldhouse is located was just a cornfield back then.

“People said ‘Well, that’s not even on the campus,’” Corman said. “Students won’t even know where that is.”

They built it anyway.

Steel was hard to come by because of the Korean War. A few older architects on the project who served as officers in World War II traveled to Washington, D.C., dressed in their uniforms to add leverage to their case of trying to get steel. After some negotiating, they got the steel they needed, but had to rename the building, adding “Physical Education Building and Armory” and design a room where guns could be stored.

Of course, no guns were actually stored there, he said.

Upon its completion in 1955, the building was renamed Allen Fieldhouse.

Corman had no idea he was helping design the “loudest basketball arena in America.”

“Now it has a lot of tradition and everybody thinks it’s really important,” he said. “It was just a big barn to house about 17,000 students. That was it.”

He remembers the first game played in Allen Fieldhouse. Kansas took on Kansas State in the inaugural game. Phog Allen was the coach. The Jayhawks won 77-67.

That’s not his favorite game in the fieldhouse, though.

“I think that’s an easy one,” Corman said.

On Dec. 9, 1989, the Jayhawks faced the Kentucky Wildcats. Roy Williams was in his second year as head coach. (A few months before Williams was hired, the Jayhawks won the 1988 National Championship.) Rick Pintino, Kentucky’s swaggering, young first-year coach, promised to throttle the Jayhawks.

The Jayhawks were ranked No. 2 and Kentucky wanted a win.

“They were coming to just beat the heck out of us,” Corman said.

Kansas was playing extra well that day. Kentucky said they could beat Kansas on the fast breaks. They couldn’t keep up.

Kansas was way ahead at halftime. Williams tried persuading Pintino to slow down the pace of the game and save Kentucky from embarrassment.

Pintino wouldn’t have it.

Kansas won 150-95.

“It was the craziest game I think I’d ever been to,” Corman said.

Corman has seen a lot of craziness, but enthusiasm for his job and his life has a spill-over effect. Sometimes, others even start thinking like him.

What would Warren say?

Corman first started working in the state architect’s office in 1947 while he was still a student. Plans were being drawn up for Ahern Fieldhouse at Kansas State University then. One afternoon, the state architect called Corman into his office.

“I thought, ‘Boy, I’m in trouble now.’ He said, ‘Warren, are you having fun?’ and I didn’t know. This was 60 years ago. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to have fun.

“Before I could think up an answer, he said, ‘Warren, if you’re not having fun in your job every day, you’re in the wrong job.’ And I never have forgotten that. He believed it. He believed it and he made me believe it.”

He still reflects back to that moment, and it shows.

David Mucci noticed Corman’s enjoyment from the start.

“This place is going to be so much less vivid and vital when Warren Corman leaves the campus,” he said.

Mucci, director of Kansas Memorial Unions, has worked with Corman for the last 11 years. Mucci said Corman played an instrumental role in building The Underground in 2005, among other projects.

Corman’s enthusiasm reflected the love he had for his job and the University.

“It wasn’t a job for him,” he said. “He lived KU.”

Mucci describes Corman as being “fiercely protective” of the University — to the point of almost giving a voice to the University.

At the annual Chancellor’s Luncheon for graduating seniors, Corman always greeted seniors first with a charismatic smile and handshake. For students and families that was one of the most friendly embraces and memories they could have in their final days at the University, Mucci said.

This year though, the Chancellor’s Luncheon will retire, too.

Mucci said he thought it was altogether fitting. The luncheons wouldn’t be the same without Corman.

In other instances though, Mucci said, Corman didn’t even need to be there for his voice to be heard.

Occasionally in meetings about building projects when he was absent, Mucci said there was an air of “What would Warren say?”

“You always felt the Warren Corman presence,” Mucci said.

At any given time, Corman was usually overseeing 100 or so projects ranging from renovations to new buildings.

When projects weren’t going well, Corman had a way of putting the situation in perspective.

Steeples said when the Multidisciplinary Research Building, or “Mr. B,” on West Campus was under construction, about 20 people were huddled into the J.E. Dunn construction trailer.

The building was supposed to be finished in four months, Steeples said, but things weren’t going as planned.

“Tempers were getting short,” Steeples said. “People were pointing fingers.”

Steeples said there was a moment of silence.

Steeples vividly remembers what Corman said in that moment:

“Well, fellas, I was in World War II in the Battle of Okinawa and this isn’t as bad as that.”

Working on Mr. B turned out to be one of Corman’s favorite projects.

When he was a Seabee in the Navy, they had a saying: “If it’s difficult, we do it immediately. If it’s impossible, it may take a week.”

Corman likes challenges.

Mr. B wasn’t going to be an easy project. The building needed to be finished quickly. Construction started in December. Everybody said they could never do it because the ground would freeze or snow would fall hindering construction. They moved in 15 months later.

“That was really something,” Corman said.

The building was the largest building in record time that the state’s ever done in history, Corman said.

“It’s fun to take on challenges and solve them,” he said. “I guess that’s what it’s all about.”

Retirement

Most don’t seem to be surprised that Corman waited until the age of 84 to retire. His age is masked by constant dedication to the University and genuine love of life.

“He’s an amazing specimen for someone in his 80s,” Steeples said.

Corman likes to stay active. He runs three miles a day, rain or shine, around his neighborhood near Alvamar Golf Course.

Corman said he’s not sure what he’ll do when he’s not working anymore. He likes woodworking. He jokes that maybe he’ll start playing golf.

He’ll still be a loyal KU fan and plans to attend football and basketball games. He and his wife, Mary, are already planning on going to the 2011 EA Sports Maui Invitational to watch Kansas play basketball.

He said maybe he and Mary would do some other traveling too. They have plenty of places to visit. Their family is scattered across the country in Alaska, Alabama, Arizona and Topeka.

When Corman wakes up Friday morning, he won’t need to get to campus to get to the office.

For Corman, Stop Day will be more than the end of the semester — it will be the end of his extensive and impressive career.

Jayhawk Boulevard will lack the bustle that day, but his work and legacy will still stand tall.

Corman’s mark isn’t going anywhere.

— Edited by Roshni Oommen