I don't know of any great man who ever had a great son.
— Anthony Mann
He hoped some of it would rub off on him, but things just never quite worked out.
Jack smooth-talked his way into a job as a draftsman at a Los Angeles construction company, but quickly grew restless with his junior-man's position. When he announced his intention to move abroad to study architecture, Jack's father offered him a job as office manager at his now-bustling Chicago studio, in lieu of help with tuition.
He packaged the logs in a garish green and red cardboard box that featured a log cabin and a portrait of Illinois' favorite son, Abe Lincoln.
At the age of 18, shiftless and unhappy, Jack Wright quit his freshman year at the University of Wisconsin—his father's alma mater—and headed to the West Coast, where he scraped along on menial jobs until deciding to try his hand at architecture.
Jack would last at the studio of Frank Lloyd Wright only four years: his father fired him after a heated argument over salary.
Suddenly jobless, Jack Wright tried something altogether new: designing toys for Chicago retailer Marshall Field.
Swiping his father's earthquake-proof design for Tokyo's Imperial Hotel, Jack designed a set of notched wooden logs that kids could play with (his US patent application described the miniature logs' purpose as "Toy Cabin Construction").
The packaging promised "Interesting playthings typifying the spirit of America."
Jack Wright's "Lincoln Logs" caught on like wildfire. Parents and kids—swept up in a post-World War I patriotism craze—couldn't get enough of them.
Although they never made him rich and famous—Jack would return to architecture after selling his patent for the toy to Playskool for $800—Lincoln Logs became 20th-century American kids' go-to building blocks, peaking in sales at 100 million sets.
In 1999, along with the Hula Hoop, View-Master and the Radio Flyer Wagon, they were inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame, 27 years after Jack Wright's death.
