What to do with the World Trade Center.

That’s an assignment nobody asked for. Not only did 9/11 change our lives forever it drastically altered New York City’s skyline. Now lies the tough task of figuring out what to with the 16 acres of devastation in Lower Manhattan.

Designed by Seattle-born architect Minoru Yamasaki (who also designed Seattle’s Pacific Science Center, IBM Building and Rainier Bank Tower), the World Trade Center’s 110-story twin towers became a symbol of New York City and the United States,

In Paul Heyer’s 1978 book “Architects on Architecture: New Directions in America,” Yamasaki (who died in 1976) put forth his thoughts on the steel frame, glass and concrete skyscraper:

“I feel this way about it. World trade means world peace and consequently the World Trade Center buildings in New York … had a bigger purpose than just to provide room for tenants. The World Trade Center is a living symbol of man’s dedication to world peace … beyond the compelling need to make this a monument to world peace, the World Trade Center should, because of its importance, become a representation of man’s belief in humanity, his need for individual dignity, his beliefs in the cooperation of men, and through cooperation, his ability to find greatness.”

What to do with the World Trade Center.

Several weeks after the terrorist attack, the New York City Infrastructure Task Force (www.nycrebuild.org) was formed. The mission of the 220-some committee members is to “advocate a vision for the rebuilding of New York; inform and assist elected leaders, legislators and public officials; and provide professional advice and counsel on key matters including the rebuilding process, resource availability, issues of liability and jurisdiction, emergency response procedures, codes, energy and utilities.”

But you don’t have to be on a task force to have an opinion on what to do with the World Trade Center. Everybody’s got one.

I turned to John Ottenheimer of Freeland, who has been an architect for 32 years. A dapper fellow in his late 60s, Ottenheimer moved to South Whidbey a year ago from Seattle, where he had his own architectural practice since 1970.

“This is my eighth life,” laughs Ottenheimer about his new home.

Ottenheimer caught the building bug as a young boy growing up in Connecticut.

“I liked to build since I was a child,” he said, “and in fourth grade I was drawing to scale.” When he was 14 his mother bought him a book on the architect Frank Lloyd Wright. “I took one look at it and I knew this was it; I think it’s something you’re born with.”

While attending the University of Chicago in 1953, the 20-year-old budding architect decided to pursue his dream. He wrote a letter to Frank Lloyd Wright at Taliesen in Spring Green, Wis., stating his desire to work as an apprentice. An appointment was made, and Ottenheimer hopped a train from Chicago to Madison, Wis., and then pedaled his five-speed bike 45 miles for the meeting with Mr. Wright.

“It took him an hour to size me up,” recalls Ottenheimer of the 83-year-old icon. He was accepted as an apprentice and spent five years under the tutelage of the architectural notable: summers at Taliesin in Wisconsin and winters at Taliesin West in Scottsdale, Ariz. “It was like a commune,” said Ottenheimer, “and Frank Lloyd Wright was incredibly creative and productive.” In awe of their mentor, Ottenheimer said there was also deep affection toward him. “He had a great sense of humor; he was a very ‘human’ person.”

Ottenheimer eventually became a staff member of Taliesin Associated Architects, where he was employed for 11 years. He worked on numerous projects, including the Guggenheim Museum in New York City. He also served as the librarian of the drawings of Frank Lloyd Wright during the last four years of Wright’s life until his death in 1959.

Today, Ottenheimer continues with his solo architectural practice and work on a series of books and monographs. He has strong opinions on just about everything, including the World Trade Center. Here are his ongoing thoughts.

October 2001: “Just grass. No pavement. No trees. No signs or any kind of explanation. The sound of silence. The very starkness is the most powerful reminder. Leave the rest to memory and imagination. The imagination is more powerful than any concrete things that could be built. There will be plenty of words about the event elsewhere.”

November 2001: “My idea is to create the world’s first ‘No Violence Zone.’ Like a nuclear-free zone. This fits with the plain grass. The idea being to encourage others, particularly nations, to create more and more no violence zones.”

December 2001: “The idea of nothing but lawn. No pavement, no signs, no remnants. It is like the minute of silence, the visual equivalent of silence. Silence being more powerful than any speech or sermon. Everyone will know what it represents, what it means, and in the middle of New York it would stand out like nothing else. A human, natural simplicity in answer to the event.”

Sue Frause can be reached by e-mail at skfrause@whidbey.com.