Chime In What Building a Dragon Taught Me About Collaboration Stories You May Like New ‘Sensory Room’ Provides Refuge for Neurodivergent Students September / October ’25 Trivia Roundup Dashing Through the Snow, in Vintage Style I learned that it’s not just about assigned roles—and that working together successfully is less structural than it is cultural “Chime In” comprises brief first-person essays by Cornellians. Do you have a topic in mind? Email us at cornellians@cornell.edu! By Laura Weiss ’86 Dragon Day arrives on the Hill with the start of meteorological spring, continuing a 125-year Cornell tradition. The grass may still be buried beneath snow, but the first-year architecture students will emerge from Rand Hall (during daylight hours, no less), and proudly parade a dragon across campus. As a graduate of the College of Architecture, Art, and Planning, I know that Dragon Day is more than just a uniquely Cornell event. The weeks leading up to the dragon’s appearance are a rare opportunity for architecture students to collaborate on a high-profile project before taking center stage on campus. In the run-up to this year’s edition of Dragon Day, I reflected on my own class’s creation in spring 1982. I recall the secretive nature of the pre-Internet, pre-cellphone era, when the date of the dragon’s arrival was mostly a mystery—until one morning’s sunrise revealed the Arts Quad’s trees festooned with toilet paper. Other forms of good-natured mayhem followed, including the general disruption of classes along the parade route by rowdy marauders (our more senior classmates) heralding the dragon’s imminent arrival. I’ve been told these antics are no longer part of the tradition—alas. The weeks leading up to the dragon’s appearance are a rare opportunity for architecture students to collaborate on a high-profile project before taking center stage on campus. While memories of the parade are vivid for me, the creation of the creature itself is much vaguer. I recall no real guidelines or structure for organizing the work. There were no bosses to oversee our activities or clients to inform our design. A due date was communicated—but it was otherwise a self-organized, completely voluntary, semi-chaotic process. During the pre-parade week, we had to quickly determine who had skills to support different aspects of the project: two classmates had experience with welding and the tools available in the Rand Hall shop. Another had experience with silk-screening. Yet others offered to create promotional materials for the day’s festivities. There was a tacit understanding of leaders and followers, and a general willingness to contribute to the effort (and the fun) in whatever way was needed. At the time this all felt like improvisation; in retrospect, it was my first lesson in collaboration. rare and manuscript collectionsThe Class of ’86 dragon passes by Sibley. Architectural education in the 20th century traditionally focused on developing singular design talent, mostly through solo assignments, and this was certainly true for Cornell AAP’s curriculum in the 1980s. I would soon discover, however, that it stood in stark contrast to the complex, multi-stakeholder reality of architectural practice. After receiving my Cornell degree, followed by a master’s from Yale, I returned to Boston to begin that chapter. Over the next eight years I earned my license, worked at three firms, taught at other architecture schools, and assumed I would be an architect for the rest of my professional life. Architectural education in the 20th century traditionally focused on developing singular design talent; I would soon discover that it stood in stark contrast to the complex, multi-stakeholder reality of architectural practice. Instead, I made several career pivots I never would have predicted—though perhaps they were foreshadowed by my Dragon Day experience. The first was sparked by my observations of the architect-client relationship and the communication challenges that often obstruct collaborative decision-making. It became clear that clients themselves exert significant influence on the built environment, so I decided to explore the business side of the creative process. After earning an MBA from MIT, I shifted my focus to the more commercially oriented world of new product design. Soon after, I was fortunate to join the renowned design consultancy IDEO, where I would spend a decade as a practice lead and associate partner heading innovation programs for numerous Fortune 500 companies. Stories You May Like New ‘Sensory Room’ Provides Refuge for Neurodivergent Students September / October ’25 Trivia Roundup rare and manuscript collectionsA closeup of the beast, with very ’80s optical effects. Curiosity about why some innovations succeed while many others do not led to my next pivot. I took on roles in organizations across a range of industries that were building their own capacity for innovation, and made a critical discovery: the biggest lever for bringing new ideas to life is not a new technology, a novel business model, or a clever strategy. Innovation succeeds when there are leaders who establish and protect risk-tolerant environments that nurture unconventional ideas—and who can navigate conversations with clients, colleagues, and communities who may have divergent perspectives. Innovation succeeds when there are leaders who establish and protect risk-tolerant environments that nurture unconventional ideas—and who can navigate conversations with clients, colleagues, and communities who may have divergent perspectives. This informed my final career pivot, toward supporting the growth of creative leaders. I pursued additional training in mediation (because conflict is a necessary but often mismanaged element of the creative process), earned my coaching certification, and spent time as a principal in the leadership and professional development practice of the organizational consulting firm Korn Ferry. The author in Rand Hall ... ... and in costume for the traditional parade. It’s been 44 years since that memorable Dragon Day experience, and I now understand the true power of collaboration. Recently, a classmate reminded me of how unusually cohesive our cohort was. Our ability to establish trust was likely accelerated by the intensity of the architecture undergraduate program and the amount of time we spent together in the design studio. It’s been 44 years since that memorable Dragon Day experience, and I now understand the true power of collaboration. This supports the idea that collaboration in the workplace is not merely a function of assigned roles; it’s less structural than it is cultural. Collaboration traverses hierarchy, function, geography, and generations. In a rapidly changing world, our ability to collaborate across our differences is the key to both individual and organizational growth. And every spring, a new class of Cornell architects gets an early lesson in that truth—building something together that none of them could possibly have created alone. Laura Weiss ’86 has partnered with global brands to achieve growth through innovation for more than 30 years. Today she is a coach, mediator, educator, and leadership development consultant in private practice, focused on developing the next generation of creative leaders. (All images provided, unless otherwise indicated.) Published March 13, 2026 Comments Daniel P Gehman, Class of 1985 13 Mar, 2026 Love the images. The memories in general made me smile. Hard to believe this was over 40 years ago! Reply Leave a Comment Cancel replyOnce your comment is approved, your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *Comment * Name * Class Year Email * Save my name, email, and class year in this browser for the next time I comment. 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