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       Architect Fred Lebensold conferred frequently with the patient chief architect for the Department of Public Works, James Langford (centre), examining the building model with Hamilton Southam. Langford ran interference with the politicians as building costs rose. Photo © NAC.

      From Southam’s viewpoint, cost was a secondary matter. Although he believed that “no public servant should think of money as a detail,” he was convinced that he was “doing the right thing” and that cost was not the prime concern. He had a clear vision of the complex, one that was already set out in the Brown Book. After an early meeting with the American impresario Sol Hurok, he had discarded the notion of a 3,000-seat opera/concert hall that would accommodate the travelling road shows of hugely successful American impresarios. He had sternly informed Hurok that “we are not in this for profit.”⁷ Instead, Southam favoured the European style of opera houses and theatres, with their intimate auditoria and superb acoustics. There was no model in North America for what he wanted, so, shortly after becoming coordinator, he sought and received Maurice Lamontagne’s blessing to go to Europe to research ideas.

      On April 17, 1964, the core design team of Hamilton Southam, Wallace Russell, Fred Lebensold, and Jim Langford left Canada for what would be a whirlwind, month-long trip across the continent. Langford, who had not visited Europe before, remembers a “fabulous trip” as they “went everywhere,” visiting twenty-five different theatres and halls, seeing performances, and studying technical facilities from Prague to Munich to Copenhagen. While Russell, Langford, and Lebensold stayed in small hotels and pensions, Southam, at his own expense, booked into grander hotels and met with equally grand friends that he seemed to know in every city. Nevertheless, they experienced an enormous amount together—and Southam ensured that they saw the best. The memory of seeing Maria Callas singing at La Scala still lingered in Langford’s memory over forty years later. Southam already knew Milan and Florence well, having “liberated” the opera houses as part of the Allied Forces during the war, although he never boasted to his companions about these experiences. As a Jew, Lebensold balked when it came to going into Germany so soon after the war, but he rejoined the group in Paris before returning home.

      Russell meticulously documented their technical observations of each facility, recording everything from a hall’s mechanical equipment to styles of seating and crowd control. Southam noted that Vienna’s Staatsoper had the best orchestra pit in Europe, and he made sure that they obtained the exact dimensions to guide the NAC’s architect. The Austrians tried to sell them mechanical stage equipment, which they rejected as being “too complex,” but this exposure helped them later to find better and easier solutions in Ottawa. Europe’s experience became their model: “good acoustics” were key and “everything was to be top drawer.” Years later, Southam would often tease Langford whether Canadian taxpayers had received good value from their trip. Langford, who wrestled many times with Southam over costs and scheduling, would ruefully always admit that this excursion had been well worth the money.

      On June 1, 1964, back in Ottawa, Southam was “exhilarated” as he fed the details of the advisory committee meetings to Lebensold, who then single-handedly worked up the design concept for the building. He did not take the advice of the advisory committees lightly. Like Southam, he attended many of their meetings and listened, although perhaps not as carefully. The intrepid Russell, as secretary, continued to record the technical implications of each group’s discussion and provided them to Lebensold. There were long debates among the artistic advisers on the Music, Opera, and Ballet Committee over such matters as acoustics and the size of the backstage required for large-scale ballets, while on the Theatre Committee the advisers focused on the size and shape of the stage—the virtues of “thrust” versus “proscenium” stages— sight-lines, and other theatrical necessities. All the participants took their duties extremely seriously: they were working together on something new that they believed would be good for Canada.

      Langford saw Southam and Lebensold as two of a kind—both single-minded, strong-willed men. Once Lebensold had settled on an idea, he was “unmovable.” Even Southam found him hard to handle, but he enjoyed his company and went along with his suggestions. Langford found the development of the architectural process engrossing and, even though he was there to defend the client’s interest, he was frequently included in the weekly meetings and debates at ARCOP’s offices in Montreal. Southam didn’t like conflict. Rather, he would “wine and dine” his way through problems, Langford said, often leaving the clever but less-sophisticated Public Works architect feeling like a “bumpkin” in awe of the coordinator’s skills at “manipulating” people.

      Langford had to review the project for his department and arrange the contracts and tendering, all the while trying to ensure that Canadian taxpayers got their money’s worth. It was a tough task at times, often conflicting with Southam’s grand and glorious ideas. When the first prices came in, as Langford had feared, they were far beyond the original estimates. Yet, in the minds of the organizers, there was no question of cutting back. They were aiming for the best—and that was going to be expensive. It fell to Langford to devise the solution that would allow them to proceed. Although previously unheard of in government circles, and against his better judgment, he broke down the total work into three separate contracts. Ensuring that “the tendering process was all handled correctly,”⁸ the first phase would excavate the massive hole in the

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