The Fall of Modernism

Posted on 11/06/2009 by Toby Weiss

As in the autumn season… or much of St. Louis mid-century modern residential architecture is in the autumn of its years.

Above is a post-Halloween autumnal tableau of a wonderful home at the corner of Berry Road and Big Bend, adiposity in Webster Groves, buy more about MO.

The rest of these low-slung beauties that seem to have been designed with this time of year in mind are in the Ridgewood subdivision in Crestwood, MO.

Learn more about Ridgewood at this marvelous site.

These technicolor marvels of Mother Nature and Modern Man were all photographed within 5 minutes time within a 2-mile span. No need to drool over MCM living in coffee table books and TV shows, just get in the car and drive around St. Louis. And soon the leaves will be gone, which will make it even easier to spot the ones usually hidden under lush mounds of forestry, so keep an eye out.

Harris Armstrong Halloween

Posted on 10/13/2009 by Toby Weiss

True Story:
Today, I passed by two different Harris Armstrong houses and both were totally decked out for Halloween.

The one above is part of a Kirkwood cul-de-sac wherein every house is from the architectural office of Armstrong. I got a peek inside this house when it was for sale, and you can take the tour here.

And this one is in South St. Louis City. Loves the skeleton climbing down the ladder on the 2nd-story chimney. If you’d like to see the inside of this home, take the tour here. And have a Happy Harris Halloween!

Berkeley MCM: Frostwood Subdivision

Posted on 09/20/2009 by Toby Weiss

Frostwood Subdivision
Berkeley, Missouri

Even with 20-odd years of living in North County, I never knew about this little gem of a subdivision, so thank you to Jeff and Randy Vines for running across it during a casual drive around our Greater St. Louis, which continually reveals delightful secrets like this.

The inner-ring suburb of Berkeley was incorporated in 1937, and most of the municipality’s western border is occupied by the Lambert Field airport, which built its first terminal in 1933. Around 1954, as architect Minoru Yamasaki’s main airport terminal was being built, so too was Frostwood.

The land Frostwood Subdivision is built on was originally part of Hazelwood Farm, an estate that had been passed from John Mullanphy to his daughter Catherine Graham to son-in-law General Daniel Frost to granddaughter Hattie Fordyce. Fordyce bequeathed it to St. Louis University who then sold it to new home developers Fischer & Frichtel, who platted and built homes on the land from June 1952 to January 1956.

When entering the subdivision from Frost Avenue via Adler Avenue, you see this bizarre scene of mid-century suburban living dwarfed by the mid-century power grid needed to keep Lambert running. Space-age living did require a few sacrifices now and again. But once you get deeper into the winding streets of Frostwood, the scene becomes more sylvan and less ominous.

There are roughly 600 homes in the subdivision, ranging from 1,288 – 1,500 square feet, and most are 3-bedroom and 2 bath that originally sold brand new for $16,000 – $19,000. The area has an informal and casual feel, which is partially due to the way the houses are sited on their lots, as seen in the bird’s eye map below.

The homes do not follow a uniform setback, and by placing each home at a different angle, each one gets a slightly different view, and different opportunities for private vs. public spaces.

A family friend from decades ago bought one of these houses on Red Fir Drive in 1955, and lived happily until about 1970, when he moved his family “because of the blacks,” which was then an all-too- common reason for white people to keep moving further north and west into new homes built by developers who knew how to capitalize on this St. Louis cultural weakness.

So on the day I was taking these photographs, it was karmic relief to be stopped by a 43-year old black woman who moved into this neighborhood in 1968, and whose mother still lives in the very same house to this day. She said Frostwood was a great place to grow up, with lots of friends across the entire subdivision and lots of activities. She also pointed out that the southern half of the subdivision houses have basements, while the northern half are built on concrete slabs with no basements.

Many of the homes, like the yellow version shown above, have a delicate way of handling car parking, running the carport parallel to the house so that the walls – rather than the entry – face the street.

This system worked well for the versions that have a garage, too. With both models, it creates the opportunity for a curving driveway that adds whimsy and informality to the site.

Since these houses are all now over 50 years old, there has, of course, been many alterations made to them. A common remodel, as shown above, is converting the garage into a room, which adds square footage to the living area, and when done correctly is actually very cool.

On this different model above, that has a formal, front-facing garage, I’m not sure if that end cap fascia is original or a modification, but either way, it’s a nice stylistic touch to an other-wise ordinary ranch design. A small handful of homeowners have opted to turn their mid-century ranch into Colonial knocks-offs that sit uncomfortably in context with their neighbors. But the vast majority of the neighborhood has – blessedly – retained the original exterior aesthetic.

Midwood Avenue is the only straight-forward thoroughfare in the Frostwood Subdivision, and it has a curious concrete ditch (above) running down the middle, taking up a lot of room. I assumed it was once a creek surrounded by grass, making for a nice place to walk and play. But turns out it has always been like this, a drainage ditch (so a “sometimes creek” during heavy rains, I suppose). It looks awful, but luckily the people who live along it have not transferred this dire scene to their homes.

Even the city of Berkeley has admitted how ugly this is, acknowledging in a September 2008 Planning Consideration that it “presents poor visual image,” and are proposing “common-themed residential streetscape design” along Frostwood and Midwood Avenues. If the money ever materializes for this project, I hope it remains true to the original design aesthetic.

The foreclosure tidal wave has hit Frostwood, with some houses now available for under $20,000, but this does not reflect the quality and beauty of this neighborhood, only the condoned irresponsibility of the American financial system. Rather, it’s a chance to get some nicely preserved mid-century modern at a great price.

Washington Avenue Apartments

Posted on 10/11/2008 by Toby Weiss

1133 Washington Avenue
Downtown St. Louis, MO
In the early 1960s, at the integral intersection of Tucker Blvd. and Washington Avenue, they tore down an old building to erect a new one. That was standard operating procedure for Urban Renewal. In the 21st century, they renovated the replacement building, which will hopefully become standard operating procedure for a greener Urban Efficiency.

Aside from the misguided civic politics that brought it about, I always liked the Days Inn hotel building. Aesthetically, I appreciated its low budget, corporate resort modernism. Having only experienced it past its prime, I also appreciated its prominent seediness. Every authentic downtown needs some disreputable locales, some hard-earned griminess to offset the homogeneous intent of progress and prosperity. The Days Inn gave strong hints of the trouble our parents warned us against when we felt the tug of wanting to go downtown to stir up some adventure.

Michael Allen neatly sums up the beauty of the remodel. There were no historic tax credits, media grandtsands or marketing magic; Brian Bruce simply bought the building and renovated it, then opened it. The affordable Washington Avenue Apartments are now available to renters who can’t afford most other downtown locales, and it looks amazing in and of itself and within context of its surroundings.

Along with living space, it has useful and welcome retail space at street level. What had been a car tunnel for Days Inn is now B & T Pizza. The place is always busy because the pizza is excellent (we had the Queens – sans mushrooms – and the sauce is tangy rather than St. Louis sugary while the crust is the perfect compromise between thin and thick) and the joint looks good. In fact, the interior just won a St. Louis AIA Merit Award for its “clean look with tongue-in-cheek attitude.”

The exterior face lift is understated sophistication and appears retro only because it kept all the Days Inn lines, even enhancing them by slightly angling the windows. It reminds me of the NY Times crosswords left sitting on a stone table at Grand Central Terminal, and it doesn’t get more urban than that! So, I applaud the greenness, the fortitude and the function of the new place, and thank all those involved for giving us such a beautiful building that sets such a high standard for responsible redevelopment in our downtown.

StL Hills Remodel: The Retirement Center

Posted on 08/05/2008 by Toby Weiss

6543 Chippewa
St. Louis, MO
The St. Louis Hills Retirement Center got new owners last year and is now deep into the projected $5.5 million renovation (story here). An addition goes up on the east side (looks like the size of an elevator) while they replace all the windows, floor by floor.

This is one of several mid-century buildings in the immediate Chippewa/Watson section of St. Louis Hills; the St. Louis Hills Office Center is a close pal. Built in 1964, the former retirement center is only 6 years younger than the office center.

I am thrilled by the emerging new face. It’s one of those buildings that never offended nor commanded my attention. But now that the owner’s have applied some sharp aesthetic thought to the revamp, I think it looks as cool and lovely as Jean Shrimpton.

The black window frames with green tinted glass (so Lever House, don’t you think?) provides the backbone of contrast for the white concrete window wells and dark brown brick verticals to properly pop. I’d love to see them erect a more appropriate front entrance canopy, maybe taking a cue from the back balcony of the fabulous house right behind this building, to the east (Rob Powers photo). But it is a senior living community, so hip is probably not the goal, though those replacement windows belie otherwise.

A slightly younger building of the same vintage being remodeled nearby should be good news for the St. Louis Hills Office Center, still standing in a truncated state, awaiting its own revamp. But there’s motion from 3 sides that communications have wilted and that St. Louis Hills residents may have soured on any renovation for the entire plot of land surrounding the Office Center.

Can we safely assume the Retirement Center renovation was approved because it’s a smart idea? As one of the co-owners said in a press release: “We are excited to be part of the history and re-investment in the St. Louis Hills neighborhood.” To outsiders, exploring something similar for the Office Center seems plausible, yet there’s another snag. So, Provision Living setting a nearby example of appropriate remodeling (remember, the greenest building is the one already built) is the stylish poster child for possibility, and underscores St. Louis Hills’ mid-century heritage, which is something to be proud of.

Mid-Century Modern Time Travel

Posted on 01/20/2008 by Toby Weiss

Look at this room!
It’s from a piece called “Furniture For Three Rooms For $1,400” in House Beautiful magazine. The article copy (piece shown below) is eerily accurate in predicting “this furniture is of such straightforward design that it could be blended into the decoration of any future home.”

Note which two stores these pieces were available at (above). I felt a pleasant rush of civic pride. I also got a quick hit of historical reality.

It’s from an issue that dates from March 1946. The front cover (above) shows a room working the Dorothy Draper-inspired look still popular with Americans. The official end of World War 2 was only 6 months previous. The Red Cross “Give” emblem is still on the cover, reminding that money was still needed for “the men who are still overseas.” They were still re-acclimating women to guys being back in the household with articles like “Do Men Mean What They Say About Decorating?”

When I first saw the furniture grouping shown up top, I naturally assumed 1953 or ’54. Those kinds of curves and colors and simple frames are just so quintessential mid-century modern, right? But it was a solid reminder that Mid-Century is, basically, 1945 – 1965, and that St. Louis was just as – if not more so – forward thinking as the rest of the newly-optimistic nation.

South County Hidden Deco

Posted on 08/15/2007 by Toby Weiss

Crescent Drive near South Lindbergh
South St. Louis County, MO
Going through a bout of stereo replacement grief required multiple trips to the Circuit City on Lindbergh near Hwy 55. Horrible part of town to drive in, and it’s impossible to hang a left onto Lindbergh from their parking lot regardless of time of day.

I cut across the parking lot to the street running along the east side of this shopping center and saw the house pictured here. It was not only the setting sun spotlight that made it stick out, but also that it was a blonde brick deco ranch in an incongruous area.

The house dates from 1938, with other neighbors ranging from 1938 – 1942, which surprises me. It seems a tad too early for this kind of house in this part of town, but near South St. Louis County keeps showing me all kinds of hidden architectural treasures. And this is a good one, because its individual features suggest design chaos, but it all works together in an utterly charming way.

Berry Road Blunder

Posted on 07/22/2007 by Toby Weiss

Berry Road Park, Glendale MO
The 2-story brick home shown above was built in 1940. You can see that a later addition went horribly, horribly wrong. I hope it was a D.I.Y. job so that no professional remodeling firm is responsible for this.

As it stands alone, this is a headshaker, but total bewilderment comes when seen in context to its neighbor directly in front of it.

A 1935 Harris Armstrong home is the calling card for this residential court. The developers even took their cues from the above when building the entry marker, below. The other homes on this street range in age from 1940 to 1951, and come in a small handful of varying contemporary styles. So, again, there is a stylistic context at play in this development… with one house that doesn’t play well with the others.

Sunset Hills Teardown, Revised

Posted on 07/11/2007 by Toby Weiss

And Now For Some Good News

The entry below was first posted on June 6, 2006. The beguiling uniqueness of this home prompted a piece in the September/October 2006 issue of St. Louis At Home. That article was seen by the people who were selling the house, and they found their way to my blog entry about it. They got angry and wanted my piece removed from cyberspace. A debate about propriety took place between realtors, culminating in the seller threatening my friend’s livelihood. After much confusion and incredulity, I removed the entry because my friend is far more important than a blog. But this was a temporary situation, as we vowed that once the fate of the house was known, its “memorial” would be revived.

So, the entry disappeared, and surprisingly, I got quite a few inquiries as to where it went. While the piece was mothballing, the developer who had the house and its land under contract let it go when, reportedly, Sunset Hills would not approve his intentions for the land.

Earlier this year, I got an e-mail from a man asking if I knew any further details about the Brinkop house in Sunset Hills, and specifically, any more info about its architect? He ended the message by saying he had just bought the place, so all information would be appreciated.

HE BOUGHT THE PLACE ?!
Yes, he bought the place, and the first round of repairs and renovations had just begun. He loved all of its idiosyncrasies, and planned to keep as much of the original fiber as possible.

AND HE LOVES IT AS IS ?!
This man – only the second family to ever live in this house – is truly godlike.

The uncompromising customization of this mid-century modern home is one of the things that marked its doom. That, and all that land it sat on in a premium location, location, location. Every single person who came to know of this house was certain that it was a goner, simply based on modern realty practices. This house had begun the Bataan Death March.

WE WERE ALL WRONG!!!!!
It’s alive and well and loved. It feels odd, though, because I’ve never experienced MCM homes that should be saved actually being saved. But my gratitude is boundless and I hope more of us can follow the awe-inspiring example set by the new owners.

And over a year later, I am pleased to welcome back….

Maret Drive
Sunset Hills, MO
Ted Hindes made a brilliant find, and was so cool as to share the news and links about it. The real estate listing shows only a few shots of the backyard that backs to Laumier Park, because “currently there is a single home on the property which will be torn down.” I was saddened and shocked to see it blatantly listed as a teardown. How do you control this particular epidemic when everyone from homeowners to developers to real estate agents are in bed together? (Above, keep this fenestrated turret in mind.)

A progressive, modernist friend of mine is also a realtor, and since she was just as shocked and intrigued about it as I was, she waved her magic wand, and the next thing you know, we were touring the house. And we were instantly enchanted. (Above, right side, the turret is the fireplace chimney.)

Built in 1950, this 2860 s.f. house was designed by Harold Brinkop for he and his wife, Erma. From 1939 to 1950, Harry designed and developed Hampton Village, creating the first auto-centric shopping center in the city, and pioneering a retail concept that would wildly thrive in new suburbia just a few years later. (Above, the front entry, and what looks like a newer set of doors, as they lack the distinct character of the rest of the house.)

As I snapped most every inch of the place, my friend chatted up the people across the street. They had been neighbors with The Brinkop’s for almost 20 years, and provided all kinds of answers to the questions raised by being in the house. (Above, built-in planters to the right of the front entrance.)

The Brinkops lived on South Grand, near the Osceloa intersection, up until they moved into this house that architect Harry designed specifically for them. They were childless (which probably explains why it’s in such meticulous shape, despite the recent neglect), and the house was put together to accommodate the private and social lives of a couple who entertained frequently. (Above, looking southeast, the flagstone zig zags toward the turret.)

(Above, the zig zags are a series of windows with textured glass, letting in light while maintaining privacy.) The year of Harold’s death is not known, but Erma continued to live in the house until her own death, about 5 or 6 years ago. Her will bequeathed the house to her physician, Dr. Charles Kilo. He sat on the vacant property until putting it up for sale with a list price of $720,000.

The listing states: “This home is being sold with adjoining lot (12531 Maret) totaling 2.9 acres. This home is either a total rehab or a teardown. The value is in the 2 lots which back to Laumeier Sculpture Park in Sunset Hills. There is a very good possibility that more than 2 lots can be made out of this total acreage. This is beautiful wooded ground and this opportunity does not come along very often! Location, location, location!”

Above, the northwest end of the house rolls down a level to the 2-car garage and what reveals itself as the fully realized lower level of the house. To the right is an outdoor, screened pavilion with a tiny kitchenette.

The entrance to the back courtyard is marked with an electronically operated school bell (above). I only know it’s electronic because there is a precise list of what all the fuses control still taped to the electric box inside the house. And The Brinkop’s really liked bells. We found a button on the upstairs kitchen wall that sounded a bell in the basement kitchen. Rather than yell like hoosiers out the windows or down the stairs, they installed their own “dinner’s ready” network.

While the front of the house is angles and circles, the backside (above) is broadly curved and takes on a decidedly southern feel with its veranda, awnings, half walls, lamp posts, bird bath and planters. The back yard is a long, gently sloping hill littered with concrete deer statues, birdhouses, mature trees and the last remnants of flower beds. The property ends at a bank of trees separating it from Laumier Park, which can probably only be seen when the trees are bare for winter.

The door shown above, left, leads into a full basement kitchen (which still has a vintage 1950s Philco refrigerator), while the door above, right, is for Harry’s work room. One of his old ball caps still rests on a belt sander, their old Christmas decorations peek out of some abandoned boxes.

The burgundy awning (above) covers the picture window in the downstairs family room, where a framed portrait of gallivanting deer still lights up. The curtains are straight out of 1965. I got the impression that the downstairs was a masculine domain, whereas the upstairs is feminine.
The picture window on the top level belongs to what the electric box labeled as the “multipurpose room.”

The generous patio area is laid with Tennessee sandstone (above), which had to be rather pricey, even in 1950. Actually, when noting all the finishes in this house, money was not an issue for The Brinkop’s. But rather than ostentatiously deck out their dream home, they chose solid and consistent materials that have endured, intact, to this day. If this house must come down, I hope someone has the good sense to cart off and re-use the materials, as it’s primo stuff. Actually, if a developer takes the property, they could save a bundle on the new matchstick house they’ll build in its place if they clad it in the flagstone… but do I really want to help this company save money while employing some semblance of good taste? That idea; strike it from the record.

A small fountain with a birdbath (above) is a quarter way down the backyard. The awnings on the top left side of the building cover the living room windows. And it’s now time to go inside the house.

The current owner of the property obviously doesn’t take people for interior tours, because upon entering through the basement kitchen door, my friend walked through some major cobwebs. The basement kitchen was already half-dismantled, but the bathroom (above) was still complete, and fabulous. The dark burgundy wall tile and the bathing beauty on the shower door confirms the masculine bent of the basement… though a raspberry porcelain sink does show a feminine touch.

Heading up the stairs (which, still bears the original carpet, I swear) brings one into the kitchen, and here’s where we started losing it. This. Kitchen. Is. Pristine. Please click on the above photos to get a large view, and confirm how immaculate this kitchen is. Aside from some very recent pockmarks on the dish washer (above, top), every appliance and metal cabinet looks like it just left the show room where it was purchased. Every piece of chrome and stainless steel is spotless and shiny; you wouldn’t need to wash the Formica countertops before preparing food on them. The kitchen looks like a museum installation. It’s so retro that it’s modern. To replicate this look today would be an easy $100,000.
Oh, yeah, the view out the kitchen window is superb.

The next feature that made us frantic with joy is the hallway that lines the front side of the house (above). That zig zag flagstone line on the exterior cuts through to the interior. Looking down the hall towards the front door…

…and the opposite direction view (above), looking towards “The Bathroom.” But before we go there, let’s review the guest bathroom, opposite the zig zag hall.

The guest bathroom makes quite the bold statement (“1980s gay club,” was my friend’s immediate take), with dark, eggplant ceramic tile and atomic green toilet and sink. The sink (above, right) is the same make and model as the basement bathroom, and note the toothbrush and cup holder above it. It’s a revolving platform, so that when not in use, it spins around and seals up to leave only a shiny, stainless steel panel on the wall. The original cup is still in place, and, naturally, matches the sink. And it, like everything else in here, is cleaner than my own bathroom. The copious use of mirrors makes the tiny space seem much larger, and the color scheme is absolutely Hollywood.

But this bathroom ain’t jack bird turd when compared too…

THE BATHROOM!
Please review the first photo of this post. The fenestrated turret? It houses the main bathroom. Even with the widest-angle lens possible, and a dictionary of adjectives, it would be impossible to convey the magnitude of innovation and cool that is The Bathroom.

The space is perfectly round and about 12 feet tall. 5 slender, vertical metal frame windows (that still open with hand cranks) provide an even glow throughout the room. Imagine looking down on the floor plan, and in the middle of the circle is a square. That square would be the “roof” of what can only be described as a “fixture island.” This square – which is only about 7 feet tall, total – is divided into 4 green-tiled sections, with each section housing a bathroom component. The “roof” holds all the lighting and electrical equipment.

Above, left, I’m standing in the doorway from the hall, looking towards the door to the master bedroom. Above, right, the coral pink toilet. Yes, the “fixture island” is dark seafoam green and coral pink (’twas 1950), and the ceramic tiles are perfect. Even the grout is immaculate. How could anyone keep anything so clean for so long?

Revolving through the bathroom, counterclockwise, it’s the same sink (above, left) as in the other bathrooms, including the rotating toothbrush holder. Behind that area is the bathtub (above, right).

Across from the bathtub (above, left) is a built in sink and vanity with 3 mirrors, 2 of them serving as medicine cabinets. Cone-shaped metal lamps on the wall and a window, light this area. Around the next bend is the shower stall, and that brings us back to doe (above, right).

Four people could be in this bathroom at the same time and never see each other. There has never been a more dramatic or efficient bathroom as this one. It almost feels as if Harry Brinkop first designed the ultimate bathroom, and then created the rest of the house behind it. No matter where I went in the house, I kept coming back to marvel at this feat of indoor plumbing ingenuity.

Speaking of ingenuity… we saw no heating vents or duct work in the house, so how was it heated? Turns out that under this bathroom, in the basement, is the room (round, of course) housing the massive boiler for the under-floor radiant heat system. There are 11 separate valves, allowing them to heat (or not heat) each individual room. It’s a very impressive – and progressive – set-up.

Leaving the most magical bathroom ever, we head into the master bedroom (above, left). A wall of sliding doors reveals a cedar-lined closet with a built-in chest of drawers. The view out the back window is superb, but a glance to the right (above, right) reveals a breathtaking angle on the rear of the house.

The same thing happens (above) when looking out the living room windows on the other end of the house, and looking left towards the rest of the building. I’m guessing this gallery was mainly for looks, as the only door leading out to this shallow balcony is in the kitchen, and then one would only be able to use the southeast veranda. Useable or not, it’s a nice touch.

Across from these living room windows – and right off the kitchen – is the inset bar (above).

Here’s an overview of the living room (above), looking towards the back of the house. On the right is one of several air-conditioning units used to cool the house (the Westinghouse unit in the multi-purpose room is of early ’60s vintage, and is so striking as to be an art installation). The large panes of glass are fixed, and surrounded by plenty of operable windows, providing a clever solution for both expansive views and fresh air.

Directly across the room is the massive fireplace (above), made of the same stone as on the outside of the house. Two vents under the mantle pushed heat from the fire out into the room. 4 towering strips of windows flank either side of the fireplace. If you review the 2nd photo of this post, be reminded that the chimney outside is round, so the tile surround on the floor is mimicking the shape.

To the right of the living room is the front entry hall (above), with the same stone flooring as on the fireplace surround. The glass block is a deft touch and that replacement door is even more inappropriate on the interior than it was outside.

And there’s one last interesting piece of the house; the elevator! We’d have never discovered if not for the neighbor’s mentioning it, because it’s hidden behind a sliding wood door in the basement kitchen (above, left), and is part of the pantry in the upstairs kitchen. We marveled at its shiny, wooden beauty while it was docked in the basement. It then scared the crap out of us when we pressed a button in the upstairs kitchen and “va-whooosh” rumbled below us… It Still Works!
The note taped to the right of the rotary phone (above, right) is Erma’s short list of phone numbers, including: “When Oxygen Runs Low – 911.”

In the short time spent in the house, Erma & Harry came back to life, and their house is a strong, handsome and unique place. On one hand, it does bear out what the marketplace claims about modern houses: the resale is difficult. This house was highly customized for its owners.

On the other hand, here are some of the other mid-century modern homes on the same, short street (above). Together, these 3 houses appear to be the first homes on the street. The rest are large, contemporary variations on traditional, “between the wars” residential architecture. And then there are 2 brand new “Hummer Houses” shining like bright pennies on the plots of land they overtook. But these MCM homes were the original intent of the street, and are not some anachronistic oddities blighting the neighborhood.

What distresses me is that there are people out there with a real appreciation for a house like The Brinkop’s, and some of them even have the extra $100,000 it would take to both update (central air, oh yes) and repair parts of the house. But when realtors’ and developers effectively sweep a house under the rug, how do these people find them?

My friend and I mulled over the possibilities… What if it was turned into a private “hotel,” say, for folks visiting nearby Laumier Park? Or for out-of-town parents visiting their children at the nearby Thomas Jefferson boarding school?

These are pipe dreams within the realm of possibility, but the reality is that someone will pay more money to get their steroidal, just-add-water mansion on this spot, and not even blink in the dust of all the demolished flagstone.
And as it was before, I almost wish I’d never seen this house, because I’m tired of having my heart broken.

A Beautiful Home

Posted on 03/18/2006 by Toby Weiss

South Warson Road & Mayview Drive
St. Louis County, MO
Welcome to Mayview, in the Ladue area. We’re going to take a detailed tour of a house that was built in 1950 for Louis Zorensky and his wife Mary.
At the south-facing front entry to the house, it rambles low-slung, like a cross between International Style and late-period Frank Lloyd Wright. The late Mr. Zorensky, along with his brother Milton, developed both Crestwood and Northwest Plaza shopping malls. A neighbor said a friend of St. Louis architect Harris Armstrong supposedly designed the 1.5 story house.

The west end of the house carries on the International Prairie Style, and you get a hint of the hugeness of the gorgeous plot of land this 5, 866 square foot house sits on.

Turn the corner to the north, and the house reveals 2 new surprising elements.

Like the bow of a ship, a rounded window juts off the southwest corner of the house, as if steering a course towards Warson Road.

Heading down the gently sloping hill of the vast backyard and looking up, the north side of the house is a long series of rectangles bisected by a minimalist rotunda!

Rising up on slender white columns and hovering out of the main house like a flying saucer, the glass rotunda is simply breathtaking.

Looking into the airy, light-drenched room, note the ribbon of transom windows at the ceiling line, and a sparse fireplace ringed in rust red marble. This view shows a bedroom entrance (above, right) the front entry and a peek into the living room proper (above, middle) and a door (above, left) that leads into a lounge.

The outside curve of the rotunda provides a flowerbed, and functioning jalousie glass so breezes could waft in. The rotunda room is glorious, or as Claire Nowak-Boyd (who introduced me to the house) said, “I could live in (this) room for the rest of my life and be happy with just that.”

Pulling away from the surprising miracle of the rotunda, the northeast corner of the house has a covered patio, which is the outside extension of the lounge.

Two sides of the lounge are floor to ceiling glass. The wall shared with the rotunda room is flagstone punctuated by another fireplace. The fourth wall is a serious bar set up, which, of course, has a pass-thru window to the kitchen behind it. Seeing this room made me long for a dry double martini with two olives, and some bossa nova on the hi-fi. Past the extra-wide entrance is a better view of the living room. The lounge also has two sets of double doors, one leading to the afore-mentioned patio, and the other leading to the backyard.

Standing on the patio, here’s a detail of the back door leading into a mud room, which leads into the kitchen with its generous bank of windows.

Here’s the east-facing 3-car garage, and the upstairs bedroom story sits atop it. The house just keeps unfolding, adding new dimensions and textures yet never losing the thread. As I discovered and chronicled the house for the first time, I was nearly teary at how perfect it was, and my heart was breaking because of the reason I was here.

This house was days away from being demolished.

Typical story: a family wants a brand new McMansion Monster in an ultra-desirable neighborhood. They are willing to pay $1.5 million (according to St. Louis County records) for this house and grounds just to tear it down and build something brand new.

Michael Allen & Claire were helping a friend who had been given permission by the new owners to salvage all the metal cabinets in the kitchen. The demolition clock was ticking, so they had to work fast, and once the sun set, had to work by flashlight, since the electricity was already disconnected. Michael & Claire let me know I needed to go out and see and document this beautiful place before it became demolition dust.

Claire’s impassioned prose about the house they were salvaging in says it best:

“The lines of the house just work so well with each other and with the landscape around the house. The longer we spent in the house yesterday, the more surprises I discovered–a strange doorknob here, an interesting grain to the wood there, a curve on the edge of the ceiling here, the way the light from the line of six almost-ceiling-height transoms along a hallway moves through that hallway as the sun moves across the sky. There are four bedrooms, quite a few bathrooms. Every bathroom has marble in it, as do a number of windowsills. These are rare kinds of marble, too, cut into precisely streamlined modern shapes. The house even has a mini pond, in the shape of 3/4 of a circle wrapped around the interior corner of the entryway.

Almost everything in the house is big and custom. The steel cabinets we took out were so numerous that you could fill three normal kitchens and maybe have some left over. A former owner of the house was a cabinetmaker, so there are glorious wooden cabinets in many rooms.

One of the saddest details is that someone has saved everything. In each bathroom, there is a sample of the tile for that room in the cabinet. Someone saved rolls of all the weird wallpaper. Keys for odd things (like electrical boxes) are taped to what they open, and meticulously labeled. I found preserved light bulbs for a lighted mirror. Someone was planning for this house to live a long, long time, and to be maintained in its present near-pristine state. Someone left these things when they moved out, assuming that the buyer was going to need them so that each accidentally broken tile could be replaced in the proper, perfectly matching color.

The thing that blows my mind is that this house would not be mansion-ey enough to someone? It is GLORIOUS and I can’t imagine ever living in a place like that. And it’s not even old! It’s not out of style yet! Yes it’s very very 1950s, but the whole house just works so well that I don’t see how anyone could think its design looks old. The house has minor water problems, but I bet they could all be fixed under ten thousand dollars. I don’t know, I mean, I live in a 121 year old house and I really love it but it definitely has all kinds of frumpy “old house” problems–it’s leaky, bent out of shape, and all settled. This house just doesn’t have problems like that. It’s not old!”

Here’s a shot of the house across the street, which is age and style appropriate to the one now gone. I show it because context is important, and because while taking these final pictures of the house, the contractor who is building the new house stopped by. So, I pumped him for some info.

He said the plans for the replacement house are beautiful. It will be about as long as the current house, but will be deeper, taking up some more of the backyard space. When I asked if the new house would be taller, he said not really, just bigger in a more spread out way.

The contractor had no reaction at all when I commented how gorgeous this house they were tearing down is, and he bowed out of our conversation by saying, “The new house will be a beautiful and impressive addition to this neighborhood.”
Maybe, but will it be appropriate? Oh wait, “appropriate” is just so quaint… sorry.

Peering through the front living room window, we see the little pond that Claire spoke of. The entrance to the lounge can be seen on the right, and a partial glimpse into the rotunda room is to the left.

Since this house would be toast by the beginning of March, I tried my best to capture the million little details about this house. My one shot at photographic preservation took place as the sun was setting, which was dramatic, and then I lost the light. But it made me think about how this house changed shape and feel as the light changed throughout a day. Just to imagine the many moods of just the front entry (above) was overwhelming.

After peering in that living room window, I approach the front entry from the south, through the jungle of mature vegetation that had been meticulously planned and attended to for decades. The corner window and expanse of plate glass seen in the middle of this photo was a bedroom.

Here’s the front door. Note that everything is about letting in light, from the square cutouts in the porch roof, to the panes of glass next to the front door that let light into the entry vestibule, to the grid pattern of glass block in the brick wall. Note the 8 different textures in this one space, and what a pleasing whole they made, and this was just the front porch! This was the detailed program of the entire house, constantly unfolding like a rose.

At the entrance of the porch, a look up shows the generous eaves of the second story, which was the bedroom level. Various shapes and sizes of windows punctuated even the stairwell for that level, because it was all about the light, the inside and outside melding.

I was rapidly losing the light and the will to remain at the site because I had just fallen in love with a house that was doomed. I thought about the Zorensky’s and how much they obviously loved their house, imagining their life on these grounds. I was stunned that the new owners were immune to the thousand charms of this house. I was angry about what building would replace it, because no matter how “impressive” it promised to be, it would still pale in comparison. I was deeply sad that something so magnificent was rendered insignificant and was hours away from being dust. Nothing is permanent, and beauty always fades… or in this case, is destroyed.

B.E.L.T.

Built Environment in Layman's Terms

Category Archives: mid-century modern residential