Architects and architecture at the Danube-Black Sea Canal - personalities, fragments, memory

The architecture proposed and built on the Romanian Black Sea coast during the period in question, taking into account the de rigueur extensions, started out weakly, in a socialist-realist vein (early 1950s), gained a certain detachment in the second part of the decade, and was ambitiously completed in the 1960s and 1970s. The entire interval was marked by a particular destalinization and a return to a (to some extent) indecisive and progressive modernism, constituting one of the most notable projects of our post-war architecture. In my opinion, one of the main transformations - albeit slow, perhaps even (too) late - which began in the second half of the 1950s, involved the valorization of architects previously put on the index, the recovery of the majority of those who had been politically imprisoned (over 200) and the removal of ideological rigors, at least to some extent. In short, the regime allowed professionals to demonstrate their talent, and they were not slow to prove it.
Another project, however, of equally special significance, had been carried out in the same places a few years earlier, involving (also) the participation of architects. Among other things, the five-year economic plan for 1950-1955 provided for the completion of the Danube-Black Sea Canal, an approach emphasized by Gustav Gusti in 1950: "The preparation of projects, both urban planning and architectural, must fully and explicitly include the necessary indications for the correct deciphering and interpretation of the plans on the site. The latest execution projects that have reached us at the I.P.C., in complete files from the U.R.S.S.S., constitute, by the richness and complexity of the plans, by the depth of the dimensions and details, an example to be followed"^1.
The Canal project took shape following the Council of Ministers Decision No 505 of May 25, 1949, the official aims of which were to ensure a faster connection to the sea and the economic development of the entire area. But the unofficial aims quickly materialized: elimination from social and political life, re-education through work and (not infrequently) the liquidation of "enemies of the people". The total number of those who were subjected to forced labor along the approximately 70-kilometer-long route of the series of colonies and work points managed by the General Directorate of the Canal (initially subordinated to the Council of Ministers, then to the Ministry of Industry since 1952), a structure set up in 1949, which had its own design, approval and execution bodies, is not (yet) known. The work consisted mainly of manual excavation of the earth and its transportation by wheelbarrow or stretcher, loading and unloading of wagons, stone crushing, construction of railroads, erection of the Cernavodă breakwater, barracks and other buildings of minor importance. There are, however, some interesting interventions, less well known, along with housing and administrative buildings in Poarta Albă and Năvodari, the Administrative Palace of the Canal - today, the high school in Poarta Albă; the Coordination Center of the Canal in Constanța - today the headquarters of the county archives, and others.
The professionals involved in these projects fall into three categories. Politrucians and careerists - who saw the communist mega-project as a launching pad, architects who were political prisoners, and a few who got there out of a private interest, often out of a desire to be closer to their imprisoned friends or relatives and try to help them in one way or another. This was the case, for example, with Dan ^Iovănescu2 and Marcela ^Pușchilă3. Of course, they were closely monitored by the security structures, and not infrequently got into trouble. An eloquent example is Octav Doicescu himself. An adviser on architectural matters at the Directorate General of the Canal, and already the holder of a ^bad dossier4, he quickly came under the Security's radar for having facilitated the hiring of "reactionary and legionary" architects, and was placed under strict ^observation5.
It is worth noting that, at least for architects, engineers and other politically condemned professionals, their use on a few important objectives represented an opportunity, as they were taken out of the digging and shoveling, out of the reach of the guards and brigadiers, working in technical offices, obviously crude and primitive. They thus had the possibility of minimal contact with the outside world, they got a little better food, they escaped (somewhat) more easily. Some time before, their life at the Canal was dreadful, as one survivor recalls: "[...] I vividly remember the architect Cantacuzino. This time a real prince. Mr. Prince, as the bush prince nicknamed him, often looked towards the Hotel Rex, which he had helped to build. Tall, thin, gaunt, he could have posed for a Byzantine icon. He considered the Rex one of his professional achievements. "I've never worked in the Romanian style, for fuck's sake," he said. "If I hadn't been so demanding, I wouldn't have become a gardener in Mamaia." The Brigadier would interrupt him from his contemplation when he was too late and forgot to put the harpagus in his bag. "Come, Mr. Prince, you come too. We'll be going to the colony soon. The butler's waiting in the car." The real prince didn't answer. He immediately bent down and stabbed the harpagus with his scaly fingers"^6.
The Constanta Casino
Towards the end of the summer of 1951, 100 political prisoners - led by the architects Constantin Joja and Ion Cristodulo - were rounded up from several colonies along the Canal and sent to Constanta to rebuild the Casino, which had suffered serious damage as a result of the Soviet bombing in 1944. Joja was in charge of the first two months of the work, which was then carried out by Cristodulo for almost a whole year. Together with the engineer Ion Mărășescu, with the set designer Mircea Marosin and the actor-poet Ion Omescu (whom he had ad hoc declared professional stucco workers), he coordinated the teams of craftsmen-detainees in one of the most fascinating (and, until recently, little known) episodes in the history of Romanian political imprisonment. They were working at a fast pace, sleeping practically under the open sky, but they had a clear goal to which they set out with determination. Although they were under a certain pressure, the regime and the daily rhythm - improved in many respects compared to what happened in the forced labor camps - stimulated collegiality, kindness, reflection and even some attitudes of resistance.
For example, in a few surviving verses, Ion Omescu calls his colleagues "knights of pale faces / with little strength, but kind looks", and then adds: "Here we will raise a cathedral / With saints thin and warm with goodness, / With faded gold and marble even, / And half of us will perish"^7. A civilian employee, coordinator of the plumbing works, at enormous risk, managed to get out mail for the families of the imprisoned. "I realized that they had no guilt, many - as far as I could find out - were totally innocent [...] most of them were people of culture there. In the beginning I helped them in this way - I must say that I was not the only one who supported them - seeing that they were not able to do the work they were subjected to, I sent some of my civilians to help them. [...] Slowly establishing some links between us, we started to help them first of all with food, they were fed from the cauldron, but that food was very bad. Many of them would leave them a package hidden somewhere, being very careful not to be caught by the secret service or the snitches in their ranks. What I personally did, in addition, was that I brokered a relationship with their families, both for those in Constanta, but also in the country, I received notes and letters and sent them. I prevented them so that no one would find out that I had done them this service with the letters. They also knew that they had to be careful, it never happened to me to be suspected, to be followed. I was careful. [...]"^8. Cristodulo himself managed to send a few messages written and drawn on tracing paper to his son born after his father's arrest: "My child. Today I will tell you a sad story. It is the story of those in the land without joys, and your father is now among them".
There were few survivors of this episode after 1990. One of them, Mircea Nicolae, still remembered in the early 2010s what he had experienced on the site of the Casino, as well as the various inscriptions hidden in the masonry. The architect Cristodulo's son also told the story, but there was no material proof. Here it is, however, that with the recent rehabilitation works of the building, these were not late in coming to light, in the spring of 2020. Firav, in the absence of explicit context, a piece of sack paper, now in the patrimony of the Museum of National History and Archaeology Constanta, attests: "This Casino is worked by political prisoners from 1951 to December 31. Led by Architect Jojea Constantin. The team of stucco workers led by Rusu A Ioan, Botoș Dumitru jud Arad, Jercău Constantin, Ciscău Gheorghe, Coraș Ionel, Sava Nicolae, Pop St. Ioan, Vlădescu Ilie, Hosu Petre, Hosu Ghegor, Voicilă Nicolae, Anastasiu Ștefan, Gorbovan Gh., Bamer Fidel and Morton Iuliu".
Constanta Sports Complex
On a plot of land of about 40 hectares, bordered by the streets Primăverii, Doamna Florica and the shore of Lake Tăbăcăriei, in 1951 the construction of the Constanța Culture and Sports Park began, inaugurated on August 23, 1954. The main object was the stadium, complemented by a "portico dominating the southern turn, expressing a facade to the outside. The same portico will form the entrance of honor in the stadium, constituting the facade to the park. On the same side, forming a terraced esplanade, there is a wide plaza that will enhance the monumental effect of this entrance to the stadium, contributing to the beautification of the park. A decorative fountain, in carved and sculptured stone, with mirrors and water ponds, will embellish this square"^9. In addition, an arena, training grounds, a gymnasium, an indoor swimming pool, an outdoor swimming pool, a nautical club, a shooting range, an outdoor theater, a restaurant and other buildings were proposed to "enhance the park, to highlight certain dominant points or to mark architectural motifs, statues, shelters, pergolas, monumental alleys, etc."^10.
Finally, the author emphasizes the link between the tradition of classical-Mediterranean architecture and the ambience of the new communist society, as well as the main beneficiaries of the edifice, namely the masses of the people - after all, one of the objectives of socialist realism: voluntary work and participation of the people, both in the construction and in the subsequent exploitation. There is, of course, no mention of the forced labor of the workers, although there is a mention, which seems to have been specially introduced for us today, that the stone came from the Canara quarry, a working point of the Directorate General of the Canal, where only political prisoners were used.
It is not (yet) clear how much the imprisoned architects were involved in the design stages, but they were certainly largely responsible for the smooth execution. It seems that - at least in an early version - the projects were carried out by the Institute for Technological Design and Research, among the civil architects employed were Dan Iovănescu, Marcela Pușchilă, Eremia ^Petrișor11, Constantin ^Celăreanu12 and others, all supervised by Octav Doicescu. As for the imprisoned architects, Ioan Pușchilă was head of the technical office at the stadium, closely assisted by G. M. Cantacuzino, Virgil Antonescu, Pandele Șerbănescu, Constantin Joja and the student architect Sorin Obreja.
A survivor recalled at one point: "On Mustață there is the "African Village", in fact, makeshift sheds covered with asphalt cardboard, shelters under which the stone "carvers" are working, who now have an art commission: the decorative pieces of the new sports stadium in Constanta. In parallel with the stone-cutting craftsmanship of everything that was needed for a stadium from a strictly utilitarian point of view, here the craftsmen are raising their work to the demands of art: dolphins, snakes, friezes with floral ornaments, etc., the stone-cutters tending to raise the pinnacle of their craft to the category of sculptors. We are not allowed to go in there, but we peek in and think that the labor of some of our brothers will adorn Constanta with a stadium unique in the originality of its assemblies and refined taste, because the designers are also prisoner architects, some of them well-known, such as Constantin Joja depildă"^13.
Memory of place
With the exception of Sighetului and a few smaller private initiatives, the map of the "Romanian gulag" has not (yet) been memorialized, for a number of reasons. As far as the Canal period is concerned, the material traces have almost disappeared. The former forced labor colonies have been completely razed to the ground, the only place that still has some memory is the Poarta Albă penitentiary, located on the site of the former camp from the 1950s, but the authenticity is lost for good. One line of research - weakly practiced - is archaeological. Only the memorials in Năvodari and Poarta Albă, erected in the 1990s on the basis of plans by Ioan Pușchilă and finalized by his daughter, also an architect, are reminiscent of what happened at the Canal.
The latest relic - which can still "tell" the story of the political prisoners - is the Dragon's Fountain, part of the sports complex in Constanta. Developed on a series of terraces, flanked on three sides by residential blocks in the 1980s, it has (miraculously, we would say) escaped the real estate developments of the 2000s, and today stands as a worthy (perhaps even necessary) memorial. The idea is not new, as one former prisoner recalls: "I think that there is no monument in Romania more representative of their work and their skill, of their suffering, than this stone stadium- amphitheater and the Dragon Fountain. They should always be public property and protected as such, with their names carved in stone. The fountain can be this very mausoleum"^14.
A memorial initiative also seems to be taking shape in the case of the Casino, thanks to the efforts of the architect Cristodulo's son, the involvement of the Institute for the Investigation of the Crimes of Communism and the Memory of Romanian Exile, supported by the local authorities, once the rehabilitation works are completed and the building is returned to the public circuit.
Open list of architects detained at the Danube-Black Sea Canal
Gheorghe Anastasiu, Virgil Antonescu, Iancu Atanasescu, Eugen Botez, G. M. Cantacuzino, Ion Căpșuneanu, Ion Cristodulo, Alexandru Goj, Dinu Hariton, Gheorghe Iancu, Gheorghe Ionescu, Alexandru Iorga, Constantin Joja, Eduard Luzanschi, Virgil Marion, Nicolae Mucichescu, Sorin Obreja, Arnold Otto, Edmund Praier, Ioan Pușchilă, Pandele Șerbănescu, Gheorghe Ursescu, Helmuth Wenzel, Helmut Zeidner.
NOTES

1 Gustav Gusti, The Danube-Black Sea Canal, in "Revistele Tehniche A.S.T." Architecture series, year 1, number 1/1950, pp. 135-136.

2 Dan Iovănescu (1909-1977), architect, member of the Legionary Movement. Between 1939-1941 he was a university assistant at the Faculty of Architecture. Between 1949 and 1952 he worked at the General Directorate of the Danube-Black Sea Canal (Design Section). He was under constant surveillance by the Securitate during the communist period. He was not arrested, investigated or convicted either under the Antonescu regime or afterwards, architect Mihail Caffe claiming that Iovănescu was appreciated and protected by Pompiliu Macovei.

3 Marcela Pușchilă (1917-??), architect, wife of architect Ioan Pușchilă. In order to be closer to him and to be able to help him in some way, when he was imprisoned at the Canal, she took a job at the General Directorate of the Canal, where she did not last very long, and was even forced to leave by other fellow architects.

4 At the time, Doicescu was criticized both for the realization of the Desrobirii Tower in Chișinău, "designed and built by him on his own initiative, to glorify the Antonescu regime", and for the fact that several legionary architects had worked in his office in the past.

5 A.C.N.C.S.S.A.S., Information Fund, File no. 375398.
6 Nicolae Călinescu, Preamble to the torture chamber, Marineasa Publishing House, Timișoara, 1994, p. 154.
7 F.a., Poeți după Gratii, Mănăstirea Pentru Vodă, 2010, f.p.
8 Vlad Mitric-Ciupe, Romanian Architects and Political Detention 1944-1964. Entre destin concentraționar și vocație profesională, I.N.S.T., București, 2013, p. 241. Interview with Toma Cojocaru (b. 1920), master plumber, conducted by the author, Bucharest, October 9, 2012.
9 Dan Iovănescu, "Stadionul și Parcul de cultură și sport din orașul Constanța", in Arhitectura RPR, nr. 9/1954, pp. 33-36.
10 Idem.

11 Eremia Petre (1921-?), career officer, discharged from the army in 1950. He graduated from the Faculty of Architecture in Bucharest in 1952. At the end of the 1940s, according to some contemporary references, he was considered to be one of the "leaders of the organized reaction in the Faculty of Architecture".
12 Constantin Celăreanu (1921-1970), architect, political prisoner between 1960 and 1964. For further details, see his chapter in Vlad Mitric-Ciupe, Romanian Architects..., pp. 517-522.

13 Gheorghe Stănescu, Jurnal din prigoană, Venus Publishing House, Bucharest, 1996, p. 54.

14 Dumitru Nicodim, Poarta Albă, Humanitas Publishing House, Bucharest, 2003, p. 104.