Tell me about your early years, your family, where you went to high school and the activities you participated in there.

I was born in Cleveland on Nov 27 th , 1928. I came from a blue collar background and we lived on the East Side. My parents' focus was on making a living, providing for us—especially during the Depression. It was my mother, my father, my brother and I. I was the oldest.

I went to parochial school, Holy Trinity, on Woodland, and was taught by German nuns. What I learned from that parochial education was focus, focus, focus; that meeting your goals meant meeting a deadline; and that when you focused on your goals you became a much richer person.

I always liked sports…I ran track—I was never that good, always the last or the next to last to finish, but I liked competing—and I loved baseball. I was manager of our [neighborhood] baseball team. There were no parents or other adults involved. We'd find empty lots for our games.

That's where I learned a lot about teamwork and personalities; about how teams work to do what needs to be done; about helping each other out; about the closeness of friendship and the trust that comes along with it.

Maybe the most important thing I learned from that was that the conflict that comes up in a situation isn't necessarily bad. It can help you find solutions to problems, and it bonds people.

When conflict becomes vicious, that's when it's destructive, and tears things down. But conflict itself, it can help you expand [your] knowledge and understanding.

I was fortunate to go on to high school at East Tech. That's where I learned about architecture—and that my life was going to be involved with space and architecture and building. I took architecture [classes] in the morning and the college prep program in the afternoon. (Laughs) I didn't ever have study halls or a lunch period, I just went to classes.

They had such a grand program there that after graduating in 1946 I was awarded the scholastic scholarship to go to Carnegie Tech. That was the only scholarship that was given out [to that college] that year…It was amazing how I got the scholarship. My senior year there was a portfolio competition here in Cleveland. My portfolio [i.e. architectural drawings and renderings] didn't win the local prize, but it made the cut. When they sent the finalists' portfolios—and mine was one of them—to the national contest, I won the national contest.

When I won, I was worried. I had problems with writing. The English teachers [at East Tech] knew about my lack of confidence about my writing, so when I won the scholarship they mentored me, without any payment…so that I—a 17-year-old competing with all the mature GIs coming back from the war—could [do the work at] Carnegie Tech.

After five years at Carnegie, I was awarded a fellowship to Columbia University —where I taught freshmen design—then I was awarded a grant to study in Italy . I lived a year there, studying proportions and size, and scale and size, and texture and size. (Laughs) Since then I've traveled all over the world studying the same things.

You essentially came of age during the Depression and WWII. How do you think that shaped the person you have become?

I remember when I was a kid, we were in the car and all of a sudden there was a ping, and the casing on the engine cracked. My dad said, “That's it. We don't have a car anymore. We'll have to take public transportation” [and] I remember my mother taking an old sheet and remaking it into a smaller sheet, and finally tearing it up into rags because you didn't throw anything away.

I'm giving these examples to show that I learned to accept what was available, what was possible. I did not suppress my expectations just because times were bad.

Now that I think about it, I realize that [the Depression] and later World War II, when we had to have ration stamps for food and gas and so many other things, and when nothing was ever thrown out, were very exciting times for me—in terms of growth and experiences.

Then going away to college must have been a real “growth” experience.

I had this drive to go to college. I was the only one in my family—from my generation—who wanted to go…When I went away to college in [the fall of] 1946, I packed a suitcase—a big one—and my father took me down to the train station (then at 55 th and Euclid). I was 17 years old and this was the first time I'd ever been out of the city.

When I arrived in Pittsburgh I had to ask someone how to get the streetcar to the college, and when I got there the dorm wasn't ready, so I had to find a place to sleep, which was difficult because there were so many returned soldiers. That's when I realized I was entirely on my own.

But everything was so wonderful…because I was learning so much. About everything. I have a saying, “If you aren't standing on the edge you are taking up too much room.” That's how I felt then, that I was standing on the edge.

What got you interested in architecture, and can you pinpoint the time in your life when you knew you wanted to be an architect?

[Laughs] Probably always. My Uncle Frank, my father's brother, probably did more to guide me into it than anyone else. He was a foreman at Cleveland Graphite Bronze and was always telling me I had talent and to make my own breaks and to be prepared. So early on in school I was always drawing and making models. And winning ribbons for them, too. When other kids were out playing, I was working on projects.

And when I say working, I mean it. I got my first job in 1944. I was a house plan drawer for an architect named Moses P. Halperin. He did a lot of houses in University Heights during the war and after the war and I'd work for him in the summers, on weekends, whenever he needed me. Sometimes I'd make $25 a week.

(Laughs) When you think about it, I've been doing architectural drawings for 60 years.

Who were your early role models and career mentors…and what did you learn from them?

My first one was my Uncle Frank. And then it was Paul Schere, who was the head of the architecture program at East Tech. I could not have become the person I've become without his encouragement. He's the reason I became fascinated with architecture—with space, with details—and he's the one who set me to drawing everything from gas stations to Greek temples.

The other person who's had a great affect on my career was the architect Bill Conrad. He was a true renaissance man. Eventually we opened a studio together.

If you were “mentoring” someone today, what is the most important thing you would share with them?

That you have to stretch your mind. And that you should never find excuses not to do things—because the things you don't want to do are the ones that are going to stretch your mind and make you grow the most. By doing that, you discover new ways of looking at things and you learn and discover new options and opportunities.

Barely into your 30s, you set up your own studio in 1961. How did that come about.

It wasn't just me, it was with Bill [William H.] Conrad. He was 60, and I was working at his firm [Ward and Conrad]. There were some issues that he didn't like there, so he suggested we open a new studio. So, in 1961, we set up Conrad Fleischman Architects in Cleveland Heights in the Rockefeller Building at Mayfield and Lee.

That's when I really got started. My first major project was a church [St. Martin of Tours in Maple Heights ] with an altar in the round. The pastor of a church in Detroit saw it and we did a church there.

In the late ‘60s, Bill retired, and the firm became Richard Fleischman Architects. I bought the old Dodd Camera building on Huron Road in 1988 and gutted it—that took two months!—and turned it into the kind of studio that reflected my designs. Essentially, we haven't made any changes since then. It's open. It's light and airy. It's visually stimulating. It's energetic. But that's not to say we haven't grown…In 2001, the firm [with the addition of two others] became Richard Fleishman and Partners.

It seems you do mostly ‘public' buildings, such as churches or government buildings, rather than residential design. Why is that?

I do houses, but with them you are dealing with people's personalities and with what's stylish and what's fashionable, so I don't go out of my way to do them. I'm far more interested in doing buildings that serve a public need.

What's your definition of great architectural design?

It's not historical architecture or contemporary architecture, it's quality architecture that's sensitive to peoples' needs. It's timeless design that creates and defines space. But don't think that because something is 200 years old that it's great design. It can be that it's just solidly built.

Bad design is just the opposite: space that's insensitive to the needs of the people who will be using it.

What are your “design” hallmarks?

One is transparency. All my buildings are transparent in some way, so that means I use a lot of glass.

Open space is another [hallmark]. There is lots of exposed surface and natural light in my buildings. That's important because it shapes the way the building is experienced.

Another is scale. But scale has nothing to do with size. It has to do with proportion and detail and how spaces flow together.

And my interior spaces are never lined up like a mineshaft. They are positioned for visual stimulation and function.

If I had to describe what I do it's that I work with space, and the quality of space.

If you had to pick just one project to be remembered by, which one would it be?

That's so difficult. For me—for any architect—it's always going to be the one I'm doing next week. Still, I'm proud of the Polymer Science Building [at the University of Akron] and the Ohio Aerospace Institute [in Cleveland]. Both were the clients' dreams and visions. I just put them into three dimensions.

Architecture is a stressful, competitive occupation. How do you balance work stress and the rest of your life?

(Laughs) I don't think I distinguish the two. For architects, their 30s, 40s, and 50s are stressful and competitive because that's when they are growing and developing their architectural style, and firm and client base. I'm past that now. I'm doing more now—and I'm busier—than I've ever been in my entire life. And I'm doing new things, too. I've just been commissioned to do a monumental sculpture. The buildings surrounding it are massive, so it's got to be massive too.

There is so much joy in what I'm doing today…[so] it's impossible to separate my personal life and professional life.

You are married to Helen Moss, one of the regions true movers and shakers. How did you meet her—and what drew you to her and when did you marry?

I was divorced six years before we met in 1984, in Akron. She was president of Ohio Ballet there, and when I was invited to be on the board [of Ohio Ballet] I met her. (Laughs) I don't think she was interested in me till she saw me dancing.

We married in 1987. She's a very strong woman. We discuss things and work on a lot of things together. We have a real partnership and a strong intellectual and emotional bond. (Laughs) And we live in a house with 44 rooms.

[[Speaking of your 44-room home, you and Helen bought an old stone mansion in Bratenahl and renovated it. What drew you—a man who is very much a modernist—to such an old building.

Helen is the one who wanted to buy the house; she loved it. I liked it because of the 7 acres of land that came with the house. I thought it would make an excellent site for a development [Breezy Bluffs] that I would be able to do my way. And it was.

But don't misunderstand me, I like the house, too. The detailing is sensitive and elegant, and it's got wonderful proportions and spaces without being massive. It's very open, with wonderful views, yet it has private spaces, too. I studied [Renaissance architect] Palladio in Italy , and it's got the same kinds of proportions he used.

There's a saying that when one member of a family has cancer the whole family does. Helen was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2000. How did you—both of you—deal with that situation?

Cancer has struck us twice. In 1987, I was diagnosed with colon cancer. Sixteen inches of my colon was removed, and she was there through it all. She was wonderful. So when she was diagnosed with breast cancer I understood the anguish and the anger and the anxiety. We worked together to get through it.

It's five years now and she's as active as ever. She's even started her own foundation to work with physicians around how to better deal with patients who are diagnosed with cancer—any kind of cancer.

Architecture is a very competitive field—especially here in Cleveland—yet from the beginning, you have been a successful architect. What is it about you, personally , that's made you a success.

Hmmm. I'm not sure, but I think it comes down to what I—through the studio—have to offer. I'm not just an architect. I strive to answer questions with my work and through my work. And people trust me. That's reflected in the amount and scope of work we do.

Most architects are also artists, too. What about you?

(Laughs) I'm a sketcher, always have been. And I paint. And I'm doing a sculpture for Case. It's going to be three dimensional, and very massive.

At 76 * , are you doing the kind of architectural projects you thought you'd be doing when you set up your first studio 44 years ago?

Yes and no. I didn't want to be a niche architect; though my first major projects were churches, I didn't want to only do churches. And I'm not. Today, along with churches, I'm doing schools and libraries, airports, research complexes and government buildings. But I guess I do fill a niche: Most of the work we do is public buildings, buildings that are going to be used by many people in diverse situations and ways.

(Laughs) But it's a broad and deep niche.

Your design is forward looking, progressive—in many cases, exuberant. How do you stay mentally and creatively fresh, current, on top of things in your work?

I travel—a lot—especially to do consulting. But when I'm someplace else I put in a lot of time “studying” the architecture I see. And I make sure that I'm constantly working on something—a project at the studio—that I enjoy.

And I stay connected with my family. I've got three daughters [by his first marriage] and I'm always in touch with them. One of my daughters is getting married soon and she and her fiancé have bought some land and I'm designing a home for them.

And Helen and I are always doing something that nurtures creativity—the opera, dinners with friends that turn into animated discussions, travel.

All of that keeps me young—not just mentally but physically, too.

Physically, you're very fit and trim. Since you have an extremely sedentary job, how do you stay in such good shape?

Part of it is diet. When I had cancer in '87, I changed my eating habits—totally. Since then I've lost about 45 pounds. Today I don't eat bread, butter, or pasta, but I do eat a lot of chicken and fish and salads. And every morning I have three poached eggs on toast. A lot of people say “ Three eggs a day, that can't be good,” but for me it's energy and stamina. And I don't take vitamins or minerals. All the nutrients I get, I get from real food.

I get up at six every morning and I exercise—seven days a week—for at least half an hour on an exercise machine that works both my arms and legs. (Laughs) And I go out dancing whenever I can.

In a nutshell, what's your advice for successful aging?

Stay active—not just physically, but mentally, too. Stay engaged in things that you like. And stay interested in other people. What I mean by that is actively cultivate diversity in the people and situations you encounter on a daily basis. And always be working and thinking and acting outside the box.