In the cascade of catastrophes occurring in 2005, none struck Americans more forcefully than Hurricanes Katrina and Rita.

When the weather forecasters began to warn that the hurricane might take a turn up the Mississippi River, pass over our scented, magical city, then stall over Lake Pontchartrain, dumping millions of gallons of water on New Orleans, I took one look at my wife and said, "We're leaving."

From the windows of Two Penn Plaza, the offices of Architectural Record survey a tough-talking, broad-shouldered scene straight out of Miracle at 34th Street: It’s where the garment district collides with Macy’s, animated by the daily headlong rush of thousands of commuters inclining toward Pennsylvania Station and home.

As if we didn’t have enough initials to keep up with, three little letters now demand remembering.

For more than three years they have come. Day by day, the faithful gather at the wall, drawn to the place where the unthinkable happened.

It erupted as a primal scream from a frazzled-looking conventioneer leaning against a wall, hair askew, punctuated by a complaint repeated by others in corridors and grand spaces: “Get me out of here!” Not everyone felt it; many, if not most, reveled in the mix.

Set just off the axis of major highways connecting Anatolia and Europe, not far from a new airport in Istanbul, the strong, clear forms of the Anadolu Health Center project images of contemporary solidity to the surrounding countryside.

Something’s in the air. Call it community-based design. Call it architecture for people. In any understanding, socially conscious architecture seems to be blossoming again.

You are in store for a visual treat. In this issue, we celebrate 50 years of Record Houses by including a collection of 10 private residences from around the world, most in stunning natural settings—flung out into the desert, perched by the water, clipped to hillsides.

Now what do we do? With the turn of a new year, Ed Feiner, boots and all, has left the General Services Administration.