You may not know his name, but you almost certainly know his work.

He's the architect behind some of America's most iconic homes, from the extravagant Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach to the tranquil Shangri-La in Honolulu.

But he also designed a 220-foot granite war memorial in New Jersey.

His name is Marion Sims Wyeth, and his career was far more diverse and fascinating than just the sunny, coastal retreats he's famous for.

Today is the anniversary of Wyeth’s death. He lived from 1889 to 1982 and retired in 1973. He was still living behind Mar-a-Lago, where the estate's original owner built a gate so he could walk over and play golf.

More on the man behind the blueprints, but first.

In the 1920s and ’30s, Palm Beach wasn’t shaped by a single star, but by a small circle of architects often called the “Big Five”—Addison Mizner, Marion Sims Wyeth, Maurice Fatio, Howard Major, and John Volk.

Together, they baked what we now shorthand as the “Palm Beach style” into the island’s streetscapes.

It's a luxurious, coastal blend of Mediterranean Revival and Spanish Colonial influences. It features white or pastel stucco walls, red-tiled roofs, arched doorways, wrought iron details, and lush courtyard gardens designed for indoor-outdoor living.

But each of the "Big Five" brought a distinct personality to the mix.

Mizner played the flamboyant showman, draping houses in romantic Spanish fantasy. Fatio refined things with tailored, cosmopolitan elegance. Major supplied the scholarly traditionalism, and Volk became the versatile stylist who could do almost anything well.

Wyeth’s niche in that group was different. He was the calm planner—the Beaux-Arts–trained architect whose work often looks understated at first glance, but reveals extraordinary clarity and comfort the longer you live with it.

It also seems that Wyeth was the only one of the five with full, prize‑winning Beaux‑Arts architectural training.

• Wyeth studied at Princeton and the École des Beaux‑Arts, bringing a more “rational,” classically trained approach to Palm Beach.
• Addison Mizner, though the public face of the 1920s boom, was largely self‑taught and worked before modern licensing norms fully took hold.
• Maurice Fatio and John Volk came with European training and significant firm experience before establishing themselves in Florida, while
• Howard Major built his practice after working in Mizner’s office.

Wyeth was in Italy during World War I, serving as private secretary to the American ambassador, when the 1915 Avezzano earthquake occurred.

He was sent to survey the damage and produced careful sketches documenting ruins and surviving classical artifacts, essentially conducting on-the-ground post-disaster fieldwork.

Imagine how that experience must have sharpened his sense of perspective, and I'm sure he had a deeper appreciation of this than I did at that age.

At that point in my journey, as I began to find my footing as an aspiring residential designer, I was entirely oblivious to the "Big Five." Growing up in South Florida, I was familiar with Mizner, but it wasn’t until three years before relocating to an office in Palm Beach that I even heard of Wyeth.

Even then, I didn’t delve into any serious research. Had I done so, I might have discovered that my office was just steps away from Phipps Plaza, where both Volk and Wyeth once worked.

Anyway, after the war, Wyeth interned at a New York architecture firm. But not just any firm, Carrère & Hastings. They were Henry Flagler's go-to firm for all the resorts he constructed along his railroad down the east coast of Florida. One of which is Casa Marina, my lodging choice when racing triathlons in Key West.

But that's a story for another Meander.

Wyeth came to Palm Beach in 1919 to look at one of the houses he’d worked on, and he found a town filled mostly with wooden, Shingle-Style homes (four of them still exist).

Mizner offered him a job, but Wyeth took the road less traveled and didn’t need directions.

Immediately upon arrival, drawing on the prestige of his Alabama medical lineage—with both his father and grandfather having served as president of the AMA—he immediately secured the commission for Good Samaritan Hospital. This landmark was not only the first hospital in West Palm Beach but also the first building to shelter Steve Mickley, marking the very site of my birth.

Serendipity played a role in Wyeth's first residential commission. He was walking down the street with the manager of the Everglades Club (Designed by Mizner for Paris Singer as a retreat for recovering soldiers, yes, the son of that Singer), and he met Marjorie and E. F. Hutton as they were overlooking a lot at the club’s golf course.

By the end of the day, he had the commission to design their home at 17 Golfview Road, which was to be called Hogarcito, or ‘Little House.” Designed in the Spanish Mediterranean style, it’s more than 10,000 square feet and features an open-air colonnade.

Hogarcito was completed in 1921, and opened the door to a spectacular series of homes Wyeth designed in Palm Beach and West Palm Beach.

Among them was the master planning for Mar-a-Lago, a project initially designed for his friend Marjorie Hutton (later Marjorie Merriweather Post following her divorce from Ned Hutton). After the structural planning, Post commissioned Hollywood set designer Joseph Urban to execute the estate’s extravagant, over-the-top decor—a stylistic choice that Wyeth so strongly disliked that he later regretted his role at Mar‑a‑Lago and denied responsibility for the house’s look.

“Wyeth did the bones of the house, the central cloister, and the way the wings came off center, and Urban did the ornamentation,” said Dr. Jane S. Day, author of the book From Palm Beach to Shangri La: The Architecture of Marion Sims Wyeth. “There’s nothing subtle and rational about that house – it’s a Hollywood set, and that’s what it’s being used as now.”

While I may not possess the architectural pedigree of Marion Sims Wyeth, I have designed homes that I believed were destined for ARDA recognition, only to see them derailed by the homeowner's interior styling.

While you might be thinking "fictional, mythical utopia," it might be a good time to mention Wyeth's design of Shangri-la (now the Shangri-La Museum of Islamic Art, Culture & Design), formerly Doris Duke's home in Honolulu, Hawaii.

Wyeth's career included 700+ houses, including at least one other notable resident, the Governor of Florida (i.e., the Governor's Mansion); although most were of modest means, in Palm Beach standards that is.

For example, I came across the Landmark Preservation Designation Report for the home at 200 Algoma Road. The 2022 application is for a French Provincial Ranch style designed by the firm Wyeth, King, and Johnson.

Wyeth and King had known each other since the Beaux-Arts, and formed a partnership soon after Wyeth's arrival in Palm Beach. Johnson worked with them as a draftsman and became a partner 20 years later.

It's interesting that the Landmark Preservation Designation Report mentions King's Florida architectural license (#AR0000977) and Johnson's (#AR0001402), but there's no mention of Wyeth being licensed.

The list of notable projects goes on and on. But what does all this mean to your practice?

Wyeth’s life serves as an inspiring example for designers—especially for those of us in residential work who may never design a Mar-a-Lago or a statehouse. His story reminds us that impactful design is built in everyday moments.

Here are a few practical moves you can make this week:

Lean into your “bones,” not your brand. Borrow a page from Wyeth and critique your own work at the level of circulation, daylight, and proportion before you worry about style.

Let your style follow the brief. Wyeth moved from Mediterranean fantasies to Georgian formality, Cape Dutch experiments, and Islamic‑inspired modernism without losing himself. Identify one upcoming project where you can consciously step outside your default aesthetic—still grounded in good planning—to better match the client, site, and story you’re trying to tell.

Study how your buildings will age. Wyeth’s earthquake sketches in Italy forced him to think about what survives stress and time. Pick a building you’ve designed (or a local favorite) and walk it as if you were documenting it decades later after hard use. What details are holding up? Which decisions are causing problems? Capture notes you can roll into your next set of drawings.

Build a legacy, not a moment. High Point Monument, Grey Rock Inn, neighborhood villages, hospitals, governor’s mansions, quiet houses—Wyeth accepted a broad mix of commissions and still maintained high standards. Take stock of your own project mix. Is there one emerging building type—aging‑in‑place remodels, small infill, accessory structures—where you could consciously decide to become “quietly excellent” over the next decade?

Wyeth didn’t chase celebrity; he built a body of work that rewards close looking.

On this anniversary of his passing, his example offers a gentle challenge: worry less about being the loudest in the room and more about being the one whose plans, decades from now, still feel composed, generous, and worth preserving.