Richard H. Deerhaus, an avid investor who turned his grade-school coin collection into a fortune he used to champion historic preservation and classical architecture, died on March 9 at a hospital in Chicago. He was 78.
The cause was a cerebral hemorrhage, a spokesperson for Dryhaus Capital Management said, where, as chief investment officer and chairman, he had overseen $ 13 billion in assets.
Mr. Dryhaus (pronounced DREE-house) restored landmarks in the Chicago area and gave the city a palatial museum that celebrates the Gilded Age. He also instituted a $ 200,000 annual award in his name for classical, traditional, and sustainable architecture as a counterbalance to the $ 100,000 Pritzker Prize, funded by another Chicago family, which he called the modern Was seen as a validation of motifs that were a “homogenized” rejection. Past.
He had sunk into the stock market since the age of 13, began to crack down on risky rising stocks, and was named one of the 25 most influential mutual fund figures of the 20th century by Barron in 2000.
While he also won the Lifetime Achievement Award from the American Institute of Architects in 2015 for sponsoring competitions designed to better design, he never formally trained in that field. But he knew what he liked and what he didn’t.
“I believe that architecture should be of human scale, representational form and personal expression that reflects the architectural heritage of a community,” he told architect and urban designer Michael Likudis in an interview for Architect. Institute of Classical Architecture and Arts in 2012.
“The problem is that modern architecture has no rhyme,” he said in an interview with Chicago magazine in 2007. Classicalism has a mysterious power. It is part of our past and how we have evolved as human beings and as a civilization. “
Asked whether he considered buildings designed by Ludwig Maes van der Rohe, for example, to be suitable, he pointed out Architectural record In 2015: “They are mechanical, industrial, not very human. It’s like my iPhone, which is beautiful, but I wouldn’t want the building I live in to look the same way. “He said:” Architects build for themselves and build for publicity. They don’t really care what the public thinks. “
First Richard H. The Dryhaus Prize was presented through the University of Notre Dame School of Architecture, awarded to Lon Cryer, a designer from Poundbury in 2003, a British city built in accordance with the architectural principles of the Prince of Wales. The first American Laureate in 2006 was Alan Greenberg of South African descent, who redesigned the Treaty Room Suite at the State Department.
In 2012, Dwight D. in Washington. Mr. Dreyus’s opposition to Frank Gehry’s original design for the Eisenhower Memorial was credited by many critics with improvements to the final design.
In a statement after Mr. Dryhaus’s death, A. Gabriel Esteban, president of DePaul University in Chicago, Mr. Dryhaus’s Alma Mater (and the recipient of his philanthropic philanthropist) called for Mr. Jihaus’s “curious mind, tireless determination” to succeed Held responsible. And unquenchable desire to learn. “
Mr Esteban said Mr Dryhaus’s approach was in part to “education in neighborhood schools”. Mr. Dryhaus himself credited the nuns who taught him at St. Margaret of Scotland Catholic School on the southwestern side of Chicago. “In addition to reading, writing, and arithmetic,” he told Chicago magazine, “he taught me three things: You have to keep learning all your life, you have to be responsible for your actions, and you have to give something back to society. for.”
Richard Herman Dryhaus was born on July 27, 1942, in Chicago, to Herman Dryhaus, a mechanical engineer for a coal mining equipment company, and Margaret (Ri) Dryhaus. He grew up in a bungalow in the Brainard neighborhood.
Because his father was trapped in a dying industry, his hopes of relocating his family to a better home were never realized. (Her mother returned to work as a secretary when her husband developed Alzheimer’s disease in his 50s.) “I knew that I would never work as hard as my father and not afford the house.” Will be able to lift as he wanted for us, “Mr. Told Philanthropist Magazine in 2012. “What my father could not do, I wanted to do.”
He started raising money for the family as a coin collector in the third grade. He subscribed to a coin magazine, which he later recalled, and “saw on the back of the publication what they were really trying to buy for their own accounts, rather than what they wanted to unleash on the public.”
When he was 13 years old from a page in Chicago American, “showing a lot of partial changes in corporate names, numerous columns, and small print,” He decided “This was the industry for me” and invested the money made from distributing The Southtown Economist in stocks suggested by financial columnists. Shares tanked, taught him to research the growth potential of each company on his own.
He ran out of the University of Illinois at Chicago, enrolled at Southeastern Junior College, and then moved to DePaul, where he earned a bachelor’s degree in 1965 and a master’s degree in business administration in 1970. He worked for the investment bank AG Baker & Company. Before starting his own, Driehaus Securities in 1979 for its youngest portfolio manager and many other companies. He founded Driehaus Capital Management in 1982.
They married in the early 50s; The marriage ended in divorce. She is survived by three daughters, Terza, Caroline and Catherine Deerhaus, and two sisters, Dorothy Dryhaus Mellin and Elizabeth Mellin.
“I never did anything until I was 50 years old.” the new York Times in 2008. “I spent my early years earning money for my customers. Now I’m ready to do something fun.”
He staged his own extravagant-themed birthday parties for hundreds of guests at his mansion on Lake Geneva (at a gala, he made his grand entrance on an elephant) and enjoyed his passion for collecting.
He started with the upholstery, which he provided to a bar by the name of Gillole, then moved to the center of decorative arts and art, Samuel M. Nickerson Mansion was for a Palazzo, whom he called Richard H. Dahouse was restored as a museum. He also included a fleet of vintage automobiles.
He gave DePaul and Chicago theater and dance groups, Catholic schools, and other organizations ignored by many major million philanthropists, as good as they got. And he felt quite at ease that what he had accepted was a very large fish – a small pond – but more hospitable.
“In New York, I’m just another successful man,” he told the City Club of Chicago in 2016. You can’t make an impact in New York. But in Chicago you can, because it’s big enough and it’s small enough and people really have enough. “