Cruising, R.I.P.?

Driving around, I snap photos of most anything, signage, buildings, cars.

Particularly the cars my friends and I drove around in as teenagers in Oakland. None of my friends owned a new car, usually inheriting the family jalopy, hand-me-downs of a big brother or great uncle, oftentimes shared with another sibling, or a stay-at-home parent. For a time, I owned a 60's Volvo that had served as the high school auto shop project.
On hot summer nights, we'd cruise the long, flat boulevards, like Grove--now named Martin Luther King or E. 14th--now named International--listening to local radio (KSOL) and the great West Coast funk/R&B bands of the era: Earth, Wind & Fire, War, Tower of Power, the Brothers Johnson.

The plan, I think, was to meet girls, though I can't remember ever doing so. Usually we stopped for food, Mexican, or making our way to the Berkeley UC campus, pizza by the slice. There were all-night rib joints as well to frequent, on San Pablo Boulevard, where pimps and pro's would gather. We'd sit atop the hood or trunk, trying to look tough and yet at ease, as we sucked on fingers and bone. Grateful in the same way a nebbishy striver regards an invitation from the social elite. It never occurred to me that these were the sorts of places and the sorts of hours where and when people got shot. It seemed more likely that we'd just get beat-up.

I don't know whether teenagers still cruise today, and in some places there are ordinances to limit repeat drive-bys. The last time I went to Old Town Alhambra (and Fosselman's), the lowriders were out, probably preparing to traffic the ceaseless thoroughfares of the San Gabriel Valley. Of course, Los Angeles has a long history of street racing.

But crusing...seems like you'd need a Prius and a hefty allowance to afford that sort of thing now.

Inventory Part 2/The Pre-Foreclosure Market

Are foreclosures really driving the market? In the first quarter of 2007, mortgage lenders sent out 46,760 default notices to California homeowners--the highest level in a decade--according to Data-Quick Information Systems. Many default notices however, fail to become actual foreclosures, as homeowners (or borrowers) have up to three months to rectify matters.

More generally, it's the pre-foreclosure market that seems to be driving things, as borrowers scramble, mortgage consultants re-assess, investors ready, and real estate salespeople make like ambulance chasers.

Realty Trac and other pre-foreclosure tracking sites have become the new real estate porn (displacing Zillow). But does foreclosure or pre-foreclosure equal bargain? Not necessarily, as most properties are sold at market rates, even if the unpaid loan amount is less. The public auction circuit seems to offer the best bargains, but they're a high-wire act, and properties are often sold without contingencies or opportunities to research the title and condition.

In the end it doesn't matter, the Chicken Littles proclaim, inventory becomes bloated, the basis for all value is supply and demand, and prices decline. Will prices decline more, perhaps as rates rise? Probably, and if you plan on buying houses for cash, the waiting might be good. But for the rest of us mortals, nervously watching the bond market, sideline time has its own set of costs.

Nightwalking Part 2/1620 Oak

I never take the same route on my walks, it's pathological. For that matter, I dislike even driving the same route. My son will sometimes ask whilst in the car, headed to school or home, "why are we going this way?"
To which I'll usually respond, "because we haven't before."

Finding that "new block", the block I haven't sauntered along before, excites me. In those instances, I usually schlepp about, halving my pace, to take special notice. Sometimes I see things that cause me to return in the day. I saw such a thing on the 1700 block of Berendo.

Not for the watch-kitties at the corner of Berendo and Washington, but an exact copy of 1620 Oak Street. Yeah I know, other houses in West Adams and environs have a match.

Some new home owners, hoping for restoration clues, spend their free time driving around looking for a match. Sometimes a WAHA diehard helps out, "your first floor is identical to the Lambert's, only reversed."




Once I identified another pair of look-alikes, and as I paused to take a picture, the owner appeared.
"Your house", I trumpeted, "is identical to another on Cimarron."
"This is my house," he countered warily.
"Yes", I nodded, "and there's a house ten blocks away with the same porch details and windows."
"And the colors," he inquired.
"They're different, " I answered.
"Then they're not the same," he bellowed, slamming his screen door.

Recent Lowlights

Everybody has their likes and dislikes, those things they react to viscerally, discount hastily, into which they invest too much or too little.

I try to be open-minded, and not carry any irrational bias into a property viewing.
Most things after all, can be undone. Front yard driveways can be taken up, stucco can be removed, ill-constructed lean-tos can be demolished. One needn't be a pollyanna, cheerleading for every sad-sack property and lame-o listing; but, one also needn't throw out the baby in the bathwater.

Still there are a few things that perenially burst the gonfalon bubble.

The hot water heater in the front yard. (A milder variation is, the hot water heater that's just plain uncovered.) Sometimes it accompanies a major shift in use, and a major re-plumb, wherein front rooms have become kitchens (or what is described next). But who wants to re-program an entire house?

Washer/dryer hookups in the living room. (A lesser variation is the dining room.) The first time I saw this, I wondered if the owners were running a laundry service. Ironing boards abounded, a television was mounted high on a wall, and the floors were covered with white ceramic tile. Alternatively, the utility hall was converted, by way of a curtain hung lengthwise--to conceal a bunk bed--into a rinconcito for the mother-in-law. Her earthly belongings, clothes, beads, and a stack of People En Espanol magazines filled the top bunk. She sat below reading the issue entitled Los 50 Mas Bellos.

Exotic animal rooms aka the Herpetorium. Snakes as big as your thigh. With yellow eyes. A room full. A million dollar plus house in the West Adams heartland, a Craftsman mansion. The big game trophys and taxidermy were a bit odd, but not nearly as discomfiting as a bedroom bedecked with heat lamps, bounding with boas. Just try telling a young mother, "and this could be the nursery...."

Baltimore Salvage

Naturally when I was in D.C., I had to slip off to Baltimore, to check out the architectural salvage. There's a lot of good architectural salvage in Baltimore--though according to some--most comes out of D.C..
Second Chance, Inc., a non profit, operates five warehouses along Warner Street, with over 100,000 square feet to explore. I picked up these porcelain brackets there, amongst the largest and most unique I've ever seen.





A few blocks away, Housewerks (1415 Bayard St.) operates in a former gas works. A little more boutique-y, Housewerks showcases industrial and large scale items, as well as simple house parts. I snapped up a subway tile tissue holder there.






My wife suggested recently that I take a short vacation, "maybe to the mountains or up the coast..."
"Or to Buffalo", I interjected.
"Because there's salvage, " she asked
"I've always wanted to go the Albright-Knox."
"And there's salvage?"
"A park system designed by the Olmsteads."
"And salvage."
"I could stay at the Roycroft Inn."
"Salvage?"
"Wellll, there is a guy with some sinks in Niagara."

Night-Walking Part One

I like to walk about the city at night, generally with the shepherd, occasionally with friends.

I typically don't walk West of Crenshaw unless I'm cruising the Windsor Village, Victoria Circle areas en route to Country Club Park/Wilshire Park. Mostly I walk toward downtown, through Jefferson Park/Halldale/Adams-Normandie/North University Park or through the West Adams Terraces/Arlington Vista/Harvard Heights/Byzantine Latino-Quarter corridor, seldom traipsing further East than Union, even though some of my favoriteneighborhoods lie beyond.

There aren't many people on the street after dark in the residential quarters. Some are happy to see us, eager to ask about the dog, whether we're in training, or just out for fun.

Nicely, there are great places thereabouts to pause for snacks, like on this night when Hunter Ochs, Rocky, and I stopped at the peerless Chabelita's (Western & 20th St.) for tacos. (Recently I opined to a client, concerned about the service shortfalls of West Adams and vicinity, "there's Mexican food, the best Mexican food West of the river!")

I'm not much concerned about encountering the wrong elements, more the wrong canine elements, and occasionally I will cross a street to avoid a dispossesed dog.

In some houses the same light always burns, one imagines for decorative effect, like a jack-o-lantern. No one, it seems, can agree on porch light etiquette, left on or turned off. Sometimes a house is completely black, save the steely xenon-ish glow of solar landscape stick-ins.

Systems Can be Beautiful Too

Marble lined electrical panel (from a house in the West Adams Avenues). While the property has been completely re-wired, the original (1914) panel with copper connectors remains in the basement stairway. Note the insulation (asbestos) on the back of the panel door.

More Ads from 1907

For starters I haven't the slightest idea where 4603 Brighton is. Brighton mostly runs a block West of Normandie, but there isn't a 4600 block whatsoever.

1620 Oak, on the other hand, survives. Very little of Oak South of Venice remains, wiped away by the 10/110 connections.










A decorative truss, likely altered, remains in the gable, a horseshoe like pattern above a semi-circular or elliptical window. Note also, the gable-on-hip roof, quite common on these one and one-and-one-half story Queen Anne cottages.

Shingle patterns, like these diamonds, are most frequent in gables, but also in horizontal bands between floors, like here.

This was modern (or at least it was described as modern). Does modern last? Moderne lasts, but modern seldom does. In the 1970's, no one bragged, "I'm putting in a 1970's kitchen." Rather they'd crow, "I'm installing a modern kitchen, a contemporary kitchen." Sure.

Guest Contributor

I'm reprinting one of Danno Sullivan's hilarious postings, from his web-site InAccuFacts (www.largecorp.com).

The Sullivan clan is sadly leaving Jefferson Park (and Los Angeles) after seven years of restoration fun.

What's the worst part of being an agent? Being involved in the departure of friends.

Restoring the Arts and Crafts Bungalow

27 April 2007 | Permalink

The Arts and Crafts Movement dates back to the 1860's as a dramatic rebellion against the formalized style of the Victorian period.

We recently purchased our own little slice of heaven, a bungalow of 1911, a glowing example of the Arts and Crafts movement. Restoring and re-decorating this could-be jewel to its original Arts and Crafts glory is largely a matter of detective work.

The fireplace, for example, now brick, we discovered was once made of macaroni necklaces--one of the most visually impressive of the arts and crafts.

The bathroom is still mostly original arts and crafts, with Gods-eyes covering the floor, and felt bookmarks with glitter initials all around. What was once a wonderful old laniard keychain has been updated, tragically, with a sink.

And so through the rest of the house. The parlour still has some of its original spoon puppets, and the clothespin sailboat has somehow remained untouched, but the egg-carton flowers were pulled out during an "improvement" in the 1950s, and, even more tragic, the tuna-can pin cushion that would have once been the jewel of a house like this has vanished.

Most Arts and Crafts items are much sought by collectors--and expensive. One can try eBay or estate sales, but I've found, surprisingly, that any kindergarten classroom is rich in these valued treasures of our architectural past.

Buying Mission Furniture Part One

Buying a period house is only a start for some. Filling it with period furniture comes next. Personally, I'm smitten for good Mission style furniture and Arts & Crafts era accessories.

I've bought and traded dozens of pieces, and while I never considered myself a collector, I guess that's what I am.

Some collectors have success scouring Craig's List and buying "smalls" on e-bay. If you've the time and dedication, both can be bonanzas, though I don't recommend paying much for furniture that one can't touch, inspect, etc. Flea markets or antique fairs (er, faires) are another outlet, and if one is handy, may be the best place to buy distressed pieces. I purchased this late 19th century commode (see door with the sunburst relief) several years ago at the Long Beach Antique Swap Meet for $40. Painted white, it languished in my garage for a few years, before working its way up the project list.



The number of Mission furniture dealers seems to be in steady decline, and several prominent LA shops (Antiques Too, Circa 1910, Marc's) have ceased operations recently. Among the surviving vendors probably the best known are Lifetime Gallery (7506 Santa Monica Boulevard), the Detelich Gallery (1654 Ocean Ave, Santa Monica), and the Pasadena crowd, chiefly centered around the Fair Oaks antique malls, including Revival Antiques (527 S. Fair Oaks) . My favorite LA area store however is Old Friends, located in uninspiring Canoga Park, at 21517 Sherman Way.

While it's nice to buy pieces by known makers like the Stickleys, Roycroft, Brooks, etc ("signed pieces"), I've generally been content to buy strong "generics", unattributed furniture. While signed pieces are more collectible, I've never had trouble recouping--or enjoying--monies spent on smart-looking, well-built stuff.



Pieces with their "original finish" are also more valuable, though I'm frequently dubious of such claims. Very few pieces, particularly those with a work surface like a table or desk, survive 100 years with their original finish. If so, the finish will likely be uneven, with stains, and worn areas like the side of this bookcase.

Master Bedroom

Recently I completed the sale of 1522 S. Hobart Blvd, the magnificent Mission revival in Harvard Heights. Amongst its many fabulous features: a master bedroom (or master's bedroom, or, in the interest of non-discriminatory language,"owner's retreat") that conforms to today's standard--that is, large, multi-closeted, physically separate from the other bedrooms, and with a full bath attached. Such a thing, uncommon amongst my inventories of Pre War housing, seems increasingly desirable.

In the early 1800's the average American home was about 600 square feet, and children often slept 2 - 3 in a bed. Task separation dictated layout, as cooking and household tasks were divided, usually by a ground floor hall. An adjacent parlor, which sometimes doubled as the parent's bedroom, served as the space for dining and receiving guests.

Health-based concerns, but also just plain ol' affluence [insert five pages here on the connection between cultural values, morality, and consumer trends] contributed to the move to separate sleepers, and the trend continues still, with today's adult-focused sybaritic sensibility. Between 1970 - 2002 (according to the US census and the NAHB), the average household size decreased from 3.1 to 2.6 persons, yet the average new home size increased from 1,500 to 2,300 sq. ft. Privacy and separation are equated to status. Master suites today, multi-suites tomorrow.

"Where is the master?" impatient consumers would ask, whilst touring the grand Emard House (see earlier posts) on Oxford.
"The principal bedroom," I would answer, "is this one", showcasing the largest of the four second-floor bedrooms.
"But it hasn't an attached bath", they'd complain.
"Few did in 1904", I'd continue, "it wasn't then a consumer expectation. However, let me show the attic."

The attic, over 500 square feet, connected to a full bath. Most were satisfied, and most imagined the attic as owner's retreat. I was surprised really, because I prefer to sleep in the smallest rooms, so that I might spend my day in different, larger spaces. I also don't feel like banishing my kid to the houses' hinterlands.

I guess I'm in the minority. Again.

New Listing

West Park Craftsman Duplex

I'm about a week away from sticking this in the multiples. If anyone has the slightest interest, flag me down. As usual, I will deal for clients.



The property is a duplex, though potentially convertible to a single family. The two units are side-by-side, and entirely different. The smaller unit (around 900 square feet) is Shotgun style, square rooms, stacked one after another: living room, bedroom, bedroom/dining room, kitchen/utility. (A bathroom is sandwiched between the two bedrooms.) The larger unit (1200 plus square feet, 2 bedrooms, 1 bath) boasts the look and feel of a mid-sized bungalow, chocked full of Craftsman doo-das: board-and-batten wainscot, window seats, column topped room dividers, and more.



The property is located near the corner of Walton and 40th Place (1114 & 1116 W. 40th Place), roughly a block South of King and a block West of Vermont, alluringly close to Exposition Park (the best urban park in Los Angeles!) and USC. Manual Arts high school is close by, but doesn't have nearly as much presence as one would expect, except on the Vermont side.

The smaller unit is already vacant, and rented recently for $1100 a month. A wonderful early garage, in usable condition, also sits on the lot. The price is $585,000.00.

I have more photos which I'll feature soon.

Milkglass

Milkglass, a white, opaque variety of glass first appeared in 16th century Venice. Frequently a cheap substitute for porcelain, molded milk glass has been used to create products as wide ranging as light fixtures, figurines, and costume jewelry.



In pre World War II housing, milk glass kitchen and bathroom lighting fixtures are common. The schoolhouse fixture is omnipresent.

Above: the classic "tear drop" shape.


The majority of common glass is composed of silica, soda, and lime. The silica typically makes up 60 - 80% of the glass, and is generally derived from sand. The final color of glass is both a matter of controlling off-coloring impurities and adding compounds (like tin oxide in the case of milk glass).