Sullivan vs Wright: The Master Who Fired His Own Protégé

I gave you the phrase that built the modern world, and you moonlighted on side jobs behind my back until I had to let you go.

I finished your sentence, Lieber Meister—form and function are one, and I took your ornament out into the prairie where it could finally breathe.

You call it prairie; I call it me, diluted—my Wainwright Building stood tall while you were still sketching your first porch.

And you died broke in a Chicago hotel while my houses still hug the earth a century on—the pupil outlasted the tower.