An Introduction to Building Codes
Fuss all you like about sprinklers and guardrails, we need building codes. Here's how to get your architect to play along.
Stuff happens to buildings. Fires burn them down, storms knock them over, quakes shake them up. As occupants, we add to the chaos with our own bumbling actions: We tumble down the stairs while texting; we zap ourselves while fishing a jammed Pop-Tart out of the toaster; we topple over the balcony while trying to escape a wayward bee. Danger surrounds us like the maniacal vuvuzela cloud that surrounds a World Cup match, and there’s no way around it. Building codes don’t guarantee our protection from tragedy, but when crafted with care and foresight they can at least give us a fighting chance.
Unfortunately, progress in the development of building codes is typically made in response to some major catastrophe. After the London fire of 1212, a law was enacted that made it illegal to construct thatched roofs or wood chimneys within the city limits. After the Great Fire of London of 1666 (in which nearly 15,000 buildings were lost), further provisions on materials and minimum distances between buildings were codified. In the United States, public outcry in response to the 1911 Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire in New York resulted in the development of modern fire codes and eventually led to the development of the NFPA 101—the Life Safety Code that, in its amended form, is still in use today.
Which brings us to a relatively new Risk-centric skirmish documented in the 2006 IRC requiring all new single-family houses to be outfitted with fire sprinklers. When introduced, this provision had an effect on the industry similar to Bob Dylan’s first power chord at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival. The Yes Sprinkler side, which includes insurance firms and safety advocates, celebrated and drank champagne (though not too much), chanting, “It’s about time.” The No Sprinkler side, comprised of residential contractors and developers, booed and scooped dog poo into flingable brown paper bags. We architects are stuck in the middle. On one hand, because we are familiar with the catastrophic effects of fire, we applaud the sprinkler measure as visionary. On the other, the thought of a juicy commission falling through because additional sprinkler costs busted the budget tends to mute our enthusiasm.
But we can’t change the subject, and for good reason. The IRC is just another animal in the great pet shop of design. A big, joyless, slobbering puppy, say. Similar to the other “animals” in the store—–construction cost, climate, craftsmanship, and the like—the puppy should be respected and appreciated, not feared. You should enthusiastically embrace the code puppy and give him a snack. You should get to know him and let him get to know you in return. With patience and with guidance from your code-savvy and benevolently mischievous architect, you’ll be able to stand tall and befriend this well-meaning beast. He’s as scared of you as you are of him.