The humidity in Baton Rouge does not merely sit on the skin; it dictates the shape of the windows and the height of the ceilings. By the mid-20th century, modernism was sweeping across the American South, bringing with it the flat roofs and glass walls of the International Style. But A. Hays Town, an architect who had spent his early career designing sleek, Art Deco courthouses, began to look backward. He noticed that the old Creole cottages and plantation houses of the 18th century weren’t just relics—they were masterclasses in survival. While others reached for the air conditioner, Town reached for a stack of salvaged cypress beams and a pallet of "Old Baton Rouge" brick. He didn't just build houses; he engineered a way to live with the swamp.
The Architect of the Salvage Yard
Arthur Hays Town lived to be 101, and his longevity mirrored the permanence of his work. In the 1960s, while the rest of the country obsessed over the atomic age, Town was scouring the demolition sites of the French Quarter and the crumbling sugar parishes. He looked for materials that carried the weight of time. He sought out floorboards made from virgin-growth heart pine and shutters that had survived a century of hurricanes.
His signature was the use of "full-thickness" materials. In a Town house, a wall isn't just a partition; it is a brick-and-mortar lung. He famously developed a technique for painting brick called "the slurry"—a thick, porridge-like coating of beige or off-white lime wash that allowed the red of the brick to weep through over time. This wasn't affectation. It was a visual shortcut to historical depth, making a 1974 build look as though it had witnessed the Louisiana Purchase of 1803.
The Pigeonnier and the Vertical Accent
To identify a Town estate from the road, one looks for the pigeonnier. Historically, these small, tower-like structures were used by French settlers to house pigeons (a source of food and fertiliser). In Town’s hands, the pigeonnier became a romantic, vertical counterpoint to the sprawling, horizontal lines of the main house.
He repurposed these structures into guesthouses, garden tool sheds, or writing studios. By elevating these functional farm outbuildings into high architectural art, he cemented the "Louisiana Vernacular." It was a style that celebrated the agrarian past while providing the luxury expected by his wealthy patrons. These towers often featured deep-pitched hip roofs covered in hand-cleft wood shakes or slate, topped with copper finials that turned a pale, sea-foam green in the salty Gulf air.
Cooling by Design: The Gallerie and the Fanlight
Long before "passive cooling" became a buzzword in sustainable architecture, Town was obsessed with the movement of air. He understood that in the Deep South, the sun is an adversary. His houses almost always featured a "gallerie"—a deep, wide porch that shaded the exterior walls, preventing the brick from soaking up the afternoon heat.
The layout was almost always a "single-pile" plan, usually only one room deep, to allow for cross-ventilation. He insisted on floor-to-ceiling French doors, often three or four in a row, which could be thrown open to the courtyard. Above these doors, he installed delicate fanlights, intricate semicircles of leaded glass that allowed light to filter into the dark, cool interiors. It was a sensory experience: the smell of damp earth and jasmine blowing through the house, the sound of the ceiling fan whirring against the high plaster ceiling, and the cool touch of Mississippi River flagstone underfoot.
The Palette of the Atchafalaya
Town did not use a standard colour wheel. His interiors were dictated by the landscape. He favoured a palette he called "The Grey-Greens," inspired by the Spanish moss hanging from live oaks and the silt-heavy water of the bayous. To walk through a Town interior is to move through a series of muted, organic tones.
He often left the wood "raw," using cypress that had been submerged in the river for decades (known as sinker cypress). When it was dried and milled into panelling, it possessed a tight grain and a silvery sheen that no paint could replicate. In the kitchens, he avoided the sterility of modern cabinetry, preferring heavy, freestanding butcher blocks and copper pots hung from wrought-iron racks forged by local blacksmiths like those found at the legendary Orleans Ornamental Iron Works.
Gardens as Outdoor Rooms
For A. Hays Town, the house didn't end at the back door. He was a pioneer of the "outdoor room," using brick walls and dense hedges to create private courtyards that felt like extensions of the parlour. He often worked with landscape architects to ensure that every window framed a specific botanical view.
The flora was strictly regional: Camellias for winter colour, Azaleas for the spring explosion, and Crepe Myrtles for summer shade. He had a particular fondness for the Magnolia Grandiflora, placing them near bedroom windows so that the heavy, lemony scent of the white blossoms could drift inside during May nights. His pools were never the bright, turquoise rectangles of a suburban motel; they were dark, slate-lined basins that looked like natural ponds, reflecting the overhanging oaks and the heavy Louisiana sky.
Where to See the Legacy
While most of Town’s work remains in private hands, his influence is woven into the public fabric of Louisiana. To understand his mastery of scale and materials, one must visit the sites where his philosophy is on display.
In Lafayette, the Hilliard Art Museum sits adjacent to the A. Hays Town-designed plantation house, which now serves as part of the museum complex. It is the purest distillation of his residential style available to the public. In Baton Rouge, his presence is felt at Louisiana State University, where he designed several buildings, and at the Our Lady of Mercy Catholic Church, which showcases his ability to translate the vernacular into a sacred, monumental space.
For those who wish to see the materials he loved in their original context before he reclaimed them, a drive along the River Road is essential. Sites like Houmas House and St. Joseph Plantation provide the architectural DNA that Town spent a lifetime deconstructing and rebuilding for the modern era.
If You Go
The best way to experience the A. Hays Town aesthetic is through a road trip between Baton Rouge and Lafayette. Fly into Louis Armstrong New Orleans International Airport and rent a car.
- Eat: Dine at Mansurs on the Boulevard in Baton Rouge, a spot that captures the wood-panelled, upscale Creole atmosphere Town’s clients adored. Order the Cream of Brie and Crabmeat soup.
- Stay: Book a room at The Watermark Baton Rouge, located in a 1920s skyscraper that echoes the Art Deco era of Town’s early career.
- Listen: Turn the radio to a local Zydeco station while driving through the Acadiana region to understand the rhythm of the landscape Town was building for.
- Season: Visit in March or April. The humidity is manageable, and the azaleas—a staple of any Town garden—are in peak bloom.