Offices in the Suburbs

Troubled by New York City's prices and pressures, 14 major corporations have moved their office headquarters to nearby suburbs in the past three years. At least ten other companies have announced plans to follow suit. But suburbia is not delighted. Many local governments doubt that increased tax revenues will offset the cost of more schools, police, fire protection and sewage treatment. Residents fear that the whole idea of suburban living may be threatened. As a result, the companies try to soften the impact of their arrival. Two that have succeeded are PepsiCo Inc. and American Can Co.

PepsiCo has turned a 112-acre former polo club in Purchase, N.Y., 35 miles from Manhattan, into a lovely park complete with a 4.5-acre artificial lake. "In terms of aesthetics," says the company's architect, Edward Durell Stone, "the creation of a rural atmosphere was the name of the game." Pepsi planted thousands of daffodils, flowering trees and evergreens. The result enhances the quiet atmosphere, benefits non-employees who want to visit the grounds (on weekends), and does not disturb property values of the surrounding residential community.

PepsiCo spent $25 million to preserve the bucolic effect. Business suits seem oddly out of place amid the meadows and groves. Thick stands of trees hide the 1,200 employees' cars from sight. The headquarters building itself is as low and lavish as a latter-day chateau. It is really seven separate buildings, linked at corners and grouped around a formal central courtyard.

With upper floors stepped five feet out beyond lower ones, the structures have a brooding quality. Fountains and an impressive collection of outdoor sculpture lend a touch of urban design. The place seems to foreshadow a new kind of city-suburb.

Real Guts. American Can Co.'s new headquarters in Greenwich, Conn., also shows that the company takes its responsibilities to the community seriously. Instead of tying into the local services, it dug its own wells for water and built its own sewage plant. In addition, American Can conserved 45 of its 181 acres as a nature preserve and asked its architects, Skidmore, Owings & Merrill, to save old trees and otherwise be kind to the environment.

The architects did even better. They designed two strikingly handsome buildings, and hardly disturbed the rest of the site. One is a lean, elegant little concrete and glass container for top management. The other, says Gordon Bunshaft, S.O.M.'s partner in charge, "has real guts." From the main approach, this building looks quite small--three stories tall and 255 ft. wide. A view of its profile reveals much more. The building stretches 525 ft. from end to end, spanning a deep natural ravine. By filling that ravine, the brawny structure acts as a dam for a two-acre lake on one side and gains six additional levels on the other. There are no land-consuming, unsightly parking lots; instead, the company's 2,200 employees drive from homes as far away as New Jersey straight into the building, which contains garage space for 1,600 cars. They take elevators up to their offices, where they have a view on an interior courtyard or out over treetops and greenery.

To a confirmed urbanite, such a cloistered atmosphere might seem oppressive. After all, there is no escape to restaurants and shops, no chance meetings with friends who work for other companies. But American Can's workers seem to love their new environment; only 80 have quit because of the move.

In some ways the suburban headquarters retains an urban feeling. Perhaps this comes from the vastness of the place, perhaps from the wide range of services--a drugstore, bank, gymnasium, a cafeteria, plus conference, computer and projection rooms. In effect, American Can took part of midtown Manhattan out to the suburbs. If such a move has to be made, the company has shown how to do it beautifully.

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