The Swiss architect famous for designing the iconic USM Haller modular furniture system was, less famously, a spaceman. In 1961, when Fritz Haller first met Paul Schaerer—the third generation of the Schaerer family to helm the USM furniture company—Haller was a young, homegrown architect with only a handful of school buildings to his credit. But he was quickly emerging as a leader among a close-knit cadre working to revive a dream that had been kindled in the years before World War II—the unity of architecture and industry.
Born in 1924, Haller came of age during the gravest period of upheaval in modern history. While the world tore itself apart between 1941 and 1945, Haller’s formative years were spent in the security of neutral Helvetia. He studied architecture, learning from the graying modernists at ETH Zurich (also known as the Swiss Federal Institute of Technology), and later, he apprenticed in the architectural firm of his father, Bruno Haller. It was only three years after the war’s end, in 1948, that the twenty-four-year-old Haller saw the destruction of the war firsthand. In Rotterdam, a city in ruins from German Luftwaffe bombs, he spent the next year working in the office of Willem van Tijen, a card-carrying member of the Congrès Internationaux d’Architecture Moderne (CIAM), and at the time, a designer kept busy by the urgent reconstruction of the city. Haller learned much from van Tijen; most of all, he gained a deep understanding of what led the lofty idealism of the prewar architectural avant-garde to give way to ruthless pragmatism—the only reasonable position for architects in a city that had been all but annihilated in a single night of bombing.
Thirteen years after he first set foot in Rotterdam, Haller waited in his small office in Solothurn, Switzerland, a city that had been built over an ancient Roman castrum, or fortress, laid out, as they were throughout the empire, on a rectangular grid. Haller was meeting Schaerer—the man who would make his career. Just thirty-seven years old, Haller was a young architect by any measure, but Schaerer was younger—just twenty-eight years old—and ambitious. Trained as an engineer, Schaerer immediately recognized the potential in Haller’s systematic approach. The stars seemed to align: Haller’s expertise, combined with Schaerer’s vision for modernizing his family’s nineteenth-century company, set both men on a course that led further than either had ever imagined.