Richard Rogers lit up a room. Literally. He loved a neon jumper. He loved a neon shirt, too. Worn together of course. And if they clashed? One got the distinct impression he felt that was so much the better. Why be dull?
“I look around at these events and I know I’m a bit different,” he told me once in his electric blue jumper and bright pink shirt as he surveyed a room of uninspiring grey, black and navy suits at a terribly formal RICS event back in 2012. “But my opinion is that there are all these colours in the world. Why not wear them?”
Why not indeed? A seemingly inconsequential observation at the time, that statement has stayed with me for nearly a decade and, I suspect, always will. He had a gift for delivering the most casual yet significant of passing comments. So casual, in fact, that you might not realise how deeply you had been affected by his words until after the event. He was a stealth sage, delivering snippets of wisdom under the radar. I don’t know if it was deliberate, but it was certainly effective.
I was lucky enough to interview Lord Rogers, who died on 18 December at the age of 88, twice in my career. On both occasions he was drinking red wine, running late and – of course – wearing clashing neons.
A lot struck me about him as a person. The founder and senior partner of Rogers Stirk Harbour + Partners (previously known as the Richard Rogers Partnership) always seemed almost immovably grounded in reality. He had a very earnest sense of where he had come from and how close his life and career had come to taking a different path.
Considered an iconic architect and designer by many, he was quick to remind people that success had not come easy to him. And he was never too proud to look back on the “awful” press associated with a large number of his biggest projects, and one in particular. “With the Pompidou we had six years of appalling – truly appalling – press,” he said. “It nearly killed me. It was so dire I pretty much gave it all up. I was 37 and I just thought ‘I’m done’.”
Thankfully, he wasn’t. He carried on and, of course, that very project went on to become the one he is probably best known for. And the one he tricked his sons into believing was clad in helter-skelter slides when they were young boys.
Rogers was a stealth sage, delivering snippets of wisdom under the radar. I don’t know if it was deliberate, but it was certainly effective
Rogers wasn’t just funny. He smiled. Lots of people don’t, especially when they are being interviewed or speaking on the record. It takes a rare depth of confidence to speak freely, truly freely, when you know your words will be presented for others to read, interpret and, let’s be honest, judge.
Rogers had that confidence. Whether it was always there I don’t know. But it made him a joy to talk to. He was a conversational maestro. But more fool anyone who mistook this lightness as a sign of weakness. As well as bringing a warmth to his words, the same confidence packed a real punch when it came to necessary sparring. And Rogers was never one to shy away from that, even if it meant going up against royalty.
He stood staunchly against Prince Charles’ involvement and interventions in major schemes and spoke out publicly on the rumoured practice of developers running projects past him to rule out royal objections further down the line. “Developers are in the game to minimise risk,” he said in 2013. “If there is a chance of a risk like an intervention, there are a lot who will run projects – even a list of architects – past him. I would say nine out of 10 developers in the UK show him plans. Prince Charles has said he does not debate. Well, if you don’t debate then you should not state.”
On another occasion he said: “Prince Charles shouldn’t be allowed to get involved. I have fallen out with people before, like Margaret Thatcher – but at least prime ministers will always come and go. Royalty tend to stick around for longer.”
That’s true. Prime ministers do come and go. One in particular was no stranger to Rogers when he took up the position in 2019: Boris. More than 10 years earlier, back in 2008, Rogers famously stepped down as the capital’s chief adviser on architecture and urbanism when Boris Johnson took over as Mayor of London: “I really, really didn’t get on with Boris,” said Rogers in 2012. “He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, make decisions. The very worst people to work with are those who do not, or cannot, make a decision.”
Never afraid to say what needed to be said when it needed saying, I got the impression that this wasn’t Rogers’ preferred gear in life. Conflict as a necessary evil rather than a chosen base level is certainly the healthier approach to making your mark on the world.
It was talk of food and wine, family and design that really seemed to light up Rogers’ face. Life.
His parting words on one of our meetings seem a good place to stop and remember this great man. He was almost out the door of the RICS when he stopped, turned around and shouted up the vast staircase, his electric blue jumper and bright pink shirt luminous in the two minutes of sun that shone through the windows on what was an otherwise entirely wet and gloomy day. “I’m taking my grandchildren to Paris,” he called out, beaming with pride. “Being old is alright you know.”
Like his comment about wearing the colours of the world, these too are words that will stay with me forever. I remember thinking at the time how reassuring they sounded being said, or rather bellowed, by someone approaching 80 to someone approaching 30.
Now, 10 years on, they have never been more encouraging to someone approaching 40. Lord Rogers – a legend, an iconic designer and a stealth sage.
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See also: Lord Rogers: Design for life
