Teardown Post

National Trust for Historic Preservation

The National Preservation Conference in Tulsa, Oklahoma, has concluded, though staff members from around the National Trust for Historic Preservation are still sending in field reports. Adrian Fine, director of the Northeast Field Office, looks at some of the conflict that surrounds architecture from the recent past.

The 1950s and 60s-era built environment evokes strong reactions… those that really love it and the rest that struggle with places that came at the expense of an earlier era of architecture, that represent something antithetical to smart growth ideals, and architecture that doesn’t always come in first place in a beauty pageant. The National Preservation Conference in Tulsa was a great lab for testing out this ongoing debate.

One of the homes visited on the Mid-Century Tulsa field session.

The Mid-Century Tulsa field session immersed conference-goers in the city’s Post-War neighborhoods like Lortondale and Ranch Acres, featuring tours of humble ranches to truly one-of-a-kind modernist icons that could easily pass for the I Dream of Jeannie bachelor pad. Deciding what to save and figuring out how to do it was also the theme of the educational session, Teardowns in Suburbia: Preserving 1950/60s Neighborhoods. Postwar residential housing is unfortunately rarely considered historic, much less protected or bestowed with any type of designation; and we’re losing some of the very best examples of our postwar era ranch houses, spilt levels, icons and entire neighborhoods to teardowns and the resulting over-scaled and out-of-character infill homes.

Field session participants enter a Mid-Century home.

In an already rabid private property rights environment, it’s a tough sell to put in place local historic or conservation district designation anywhere these days, let alone to do it for a 1950s ranch house neighborhood. A big part of the problem is us and our need to get over ourselves. The idea of saving places which are from the period of our living memory is affected by a number of prejudices, where taste all too often trumps judgment. History didn’t stop in 1945 or in 1975. We cannot pick and choose arbitrarily which era of our past to deem more important. In Tulsa and all over the country, we’re hearing about the need to identify this era’s resources and how to apply criteria to make good decisions about what to save.

Like a lot of others, my family grew up in the 1950s ranch, a 1960s raised ranch and a 1970s French Provincial catalog knock-off. While none of these houses are particularly noteworthy or significant, they represent something important to me. It’s the same for others who are drawn to this era for its design, but also for its story of innovation and experimentation. These places are symbols of a country that was all about growth, breaking down barriers and exploration. It is more than architecture alone but also Civil Rights struggles and advancements, the Sputnik race to space, and the misguided vision for Urban Renewal. Through a radical shift in our focus, we abandoned our cities or “modernized” them beyond recognition, pushed out our development, and defined suburbia as the goal for every American family.

Teardowns in Suburbia(click to enlarge)

History is not always supposed to be pretty or inspirational, but it should be honest. We cannot afford to erase our Post-War past or choose to only save the very best icons as if we’re in an architectural petting zoo. We’ve done that already and now know better. Tulsa is just now starting to have these discussions and, like a lot of places, will likely lose some landmarks before it gets a handle on this issue. A new online resource from the National Trust for Historic Preservation is on its way to help. Teardowns in Suburbia: Tools to Preserve 1950/60s Neighborhoods will soon be launched on PreservationNation. Email nefo@nthp.org to get on the list and be the first to receive this resource.

– Adrian Scott Fine

Popularity: 73% [?]

Kenilworth, Illinois is a lovely suburb on the North Shore of Chicago with the world’s largest collection of George Maher Prairie houses and a cornucopia of other architectural and planning delights. It also made the National Trust’s Most Endangered List because of teardowns. That is rare notoriety in a nation beset with teardowns. You gotta have something goin’ on to be one of the eleven most endangered sites in the United States.

So, the village came up with a clever plan: list the town on the National Register of Historic Places. This adds NO regulation to homeowners and provides NO protection against teardowns, but addresses the media embarassment. It also would allow ONLY THOSE HOMEOWNERS WHO WANT TO to take advantage of the Illinois Property Tax Assessment Freeze program. Upside without a downside.

A clever political solution, but it still encountered some of the most vociferous opposition ever. Why? Apparently they see the National Register as a first step toward local designation. While that could be true in Oak Park, it isn’t true on the North Shore. Wilmette listed two districts on the National Register and passed a law requiring a super majority of 75% of homeowners should Wilmette dare to try for local designation. Kenilworth has passed a similar law barring itself from pursuing local designation. Besides, it is a completely separate action requiring a completely separate political process. National Register designation offers NO SHORTCUTS to local designation. Getting local designation would still require the SAME political process it would without National Register designation.

But that wasn’t enough for the Kenilworth opposition who can see a slippery slope even on flat dry ground. (By the way, they need a cute name - when Winnetka went through this a generation ago, the opposition — funded by a major real estate developer — was called WHOA - Winnetka Homeowners Association, I think. Maybe they could be Kenilworth Opposition (KO), or Tenacious Kenilworth Opposition (TKO), or Kenilworth Protests Against Conservation (KPAC) or even Kenilworth Teardowns Embrace Liberty (K-Tel).)

So there was a League of Women Voters Forum with Wilmette preservation chair Kevin Kirkpatrick, architectural historian Susan Benjamin, myself, Village Clerk Bob Hastings and National Park Service jefe Paul Loethar to explain this. Kirkpatrick did the best, explaining that there is NO prohibition against demolition or alteration caused by National Register designation and NO cause-and-effect with local designation. He had a good analogy: Just because you go to high school doesn’t mean you need to go to college. And just because you want to avoid college, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t graduate from high school.

When I was asked why we didn’t talk about the downside of National Register designation I offered the only downside I could think of: “It would make it more difficult for the federal government to put an airport in the middle of town.” And that is true - it wouldn’t be impossible, but more difficult (and expensive). Upon reflection, I thought of some more examples. Remember, ONLY FEDERAL GOVERNMENT PROJECTS can be reviewed under National Register listing.

National Register designation will make it more difficult for the Federal Government to put any of the following uses in the Kenilworth Historic District:

Public housing project
Urban renewal (requires slum and blighted designation)
New subsidized housing projects
Interstate highway
Federal prison
Military base or munitions plant
Harbor or canal project
FBI training facility/shooting range
Federal office building
Construction of FEMA trailer encampment for flood victims

Is KPAC pursuing any of these for their homes? If so, that would explain their opposition. Otherwise, their logic is whack.

Popularity: 86% [?]

Just saw this really interesting article in the New York Times. Wouldn’t it be great if all people in the construction industry were this conscientious? What I really like is that Brad Guy is using his experience to generate statistics that will be of use to others, and is also investigating how this type of endeavor could provide jobs for those who need them. What he’s doing is also a much-needed smackdown to the wasteful machine-based demolition that is so emblematic of the teardown phenomenon.

I hate teardowns, as do most preservationists. I hate them because they are shortsighted and wasteful. I hate them because they destroy history and a sense of place. I hate them because they represent the worst aspects of the all-American need for everything to be shiny and modern and huge and up to date. I hate them because the buildings constructed to replace the demolished structures are often not only completely out-of-scale and out-of-style for the neighborhood environment, but of significantly inferior construction. I hate them because they signify another victory and a big cash prize for some vulture developer, giving him the means to begin the process anew on yet another property.

I hate teardowns (on a deep-personal-bias level) because my childhood home is in a landfill, and one by one, the houses of our neighbors are joining it, recreating the neighborhood in the sense that they are all ending up commingled as useless rubble, detritus of the ridiculously high land values in my hometown. My high school is also in the landfill, along with the childhood homes of at least three of my friends. The town library may be joining them next year. If the permits section of the town paper is any indication, the tanking economy has done nothing to stop the bulldozers.

The end result of this is that when I go home, there is less and less of my past to show my children. Even the much-beloved woods behind our house is gone, because the McMansion they built on our old foundation extends so far back that the back yard disappeared completely. So not only was the house destroyed, but dozens of mature trees too.

My old house was a well-built 1955 Cape Cod, on a loop street of almost-one-acre lots containing a mixture of Cape Cods and “Colonials.” Each house was based on one of five models but customized so that no two were alike. They were beautifully proportioned to the size of each property, and nestled charmingly on their wooded, hillside lots. The smallest houses were small, don’t get me wrong, and even the biggest ones were not palatial, but they were pleasant and adequate and easily expanded if more space was needed. Our house started out with six rooms and ended with ten.

I knew the house was coming down as soon as my parents said the winning bid was from a builder who wanted to “remodel” it. The guy gushed about how great the house was and how he wanted to make it better than ever, and offered them $20,000 more than the family from across town who wanted it. How do you say no to a buyer who outbids others by that much? If my parents were willing to take that bait, how much more willing would you be if you were, say, the executor of some old person who’d finally died and you needed to pay off some big debts or wanted to cash in to the utmost possible extent?

When we learned the guy was definitely not “remodeling,” I called him. He had sent out a letter to all the neighbors indicating his plans, and including his cell phone number if anyone had questions. I’m not sure what I hoped to accomplish with this, other than maybe inflicting some guilt, or maybe salvaging stuff. Mostly I wanted to get inside the vulture’s head and know why. Why couldn’t they retain at least part of it? What was so wrong with it that the entire thing needed to come down?

The guy was civil but terse. He had “hoped to renovate” (not!) but then decided there was really nothing he could do with the house to make it the way he wanted. It didn’t have central air. The front bedrooms had low ceilings (well, duh. It’s a Cape Cod!). The bedrooms were too small (compared to a McMansion). The master bathroom was too small (i.e. it didn’t have room for double sinks and a soaking tub and a shower you could wash your car in). In short, “Nobody wants to live in a house like this any more.”

On and on, he ranted about all of its faults, and I’m thinking, if it sucks that much, why did WE ever want to live there? What does it say about us that our house, which we thought was an attractive, updated, spacious place to live, was apparently worthless crap? What does it say about our 28 neighbors, who are getting along just fine living in similar houses?

My parents had the foresight to offload some of the more movable and valuable house parts before they left, just in case. They sold the Vermont Castings woodstove to one friend, and the kitchen appliances to someone else. But everything else: the almost-new green marble bathroom floor, the woodwork my dad had carefully repainted before they listed the house, the kitchen closet door inscribed with 26 years’ worth of our height measurements, the Craftsman-style oak banister in the family room that we all helped sand and finish when we added on, a whole house’s worth of hardwood floors, joists, studs, built-in bookshelves, good-quality doors and sash windows that nobody makes anymore - gone.

They did at least reuse the foundation, reportedly now plagued by frequent flooding due to all the trees in back being ripped out. My initials are carved in the concrete basement floor, so I guess part of me still haunts the site. But there’s nothing left otherwise.

(And there’s an irony in the fact that the one house on the street that produced a historic preservationist was the first to fall, and initiated the neighborhood’s irreversible plunge into teardown bait: of 29 houses, 4 have now been forcibly removed and replaced by towering monsters. Our former neighbors now have this gallows humor of “why bother fixing [fill in the blank] - when we sell, they’re just going to tear the house down anyway!”)

So I have to give major props to Brad Guy. He is raising awareness in such a valuable way, and I’m glad the Times has publicized what he’s doing. Salvage on that level is perhaps the best possible outcome for a teardown situation, ascribing worth even to a house that is too decrepit for any other outcome, and making the best of the many undeserving victims of the trend. Even if our house couldn’t be saved, I would feel infinitely better knowing that parts of it had gone on to productive second lives. If I knew some other kid was watching the world through our windows, or slamming my old bedroom door in a huff, I’d be more thrilled than words can express.

Popularity: 62% [?]

Borough of Cape May Point weighs possiblity of seeking a place on the National Register of Historic Places. Photo by Jack Fichter

CAPE MAY POINT — Professor David Ames of the University of Delaware’s Center for History, Architecture and Design presented the results of his survey of historic buildings in the borough Aug. 23 to a moderate-sized audience at the fire hall meeting room.

A question for residents to decide: Would it be possible to nominate the entire borough to the National Register of Historic Places?

Another question is how to protect the vernacular beach cottages (everyday homes of no particular architectural style) from “unsympathetic rehabilitation and demolition.”
The borough has many non-descript cottages.

Ames said 298 buildings were constructed in the borough between 1860 and 1960 with 75 percent built in the 20th Century and 25 percent constructed in the 19th Century.

Ames said 95 homes or 32 percent are recognizable architectural styles such as Queen Anne or Gothic, but 190 or 64 percent are the “ the no-style, style” vernacular beach cottages.

He said in 1986, an earlier historic home survey was undertaken by George Thomas, who recommended against a borough-wide historic district. Since that time, a number of buildings have reached 50 years old possibly making them of historic value, he said.

“Vernacular architecture itself has become more recognized,” said Ames.

The vernacular cottages are most vulnerable to sales and tear downs, said Ames. He said good records have not been kept as to when they were built.

The vernacular cottages have challenges to their future existence:

* Rising land value, that makes the land worth more than the house.

* Population changes from aging owners and incoming baby boomer property owners.

Ames said many of the vernacular cottages were “lightly built, small for contemporary needs and probably nearing the end of their physical life.”

Ames suggested conducting an oral history to find out more information on them. The vernacular cottages represent the change in American architecture from Victorian cottages to a more open plan, Craftsman style architecture, he said.

Thomas had recommended creating three historic districts: the Sea Grove district along Cape Avenue extending west along Emerald Avenue, the Shoreham (Hotel) district and the camp meeting district.

Ames said a question is how unique is Cape May Point on the Jersey coast in terms of being a middle income resort area compared to other towns. He said residents should ask what is Cape May Point and what are they preserving.

Ames suggested the borough prepare a preservation plan and forecast how the town will look five or 10 years.

Ames said rather than creating an historic district in the borough, it could map the preservation potential of the land and come up with strategies for each area. He said applying for National Register status may help the borough develop a preservation plan.

“We’d have to build a case for the significance of the bungalows, I’m not worried about the high end stuff,” said Ames.

He said in order to qualify for the state or National Register of Historic Places a building must be over 50 years old, retain its physical integrity and look like it did when it was built or doing its period of significance. It must meet one of these four criteria for the register:

* Association with events that have made significant contribution to the broad patterns of history such as the religious camp meetings in the Point.

* Association with persons significant with the past such as President Benjamin Harrison and John Wanamaker’s ties to the Point.

* Design and construction embodies significant characteristics of a type, period, or method of construction that represents the work of a master, such as the Cape May Point’s Victorian beach houses.

* Represents significant and distinguishable entity whose components may lack individual distinction such as the borough’s vernacular cottages/bungalows.

Ames said he would not make a recommendation of whether the borough should seek National Register nomination or not.

“My conclusion is it is feasible to do a nomination and that you qualify for a nomination with the caveats that I mentioned,” he said.

Commissioner Anita Van Heeswyk asked residents to tell the commissioners their thoughts on National Register nomination. She said the borough’s planning board would discuss the historic home survey.

Ames said the borough’s current master plan was influenced by an 1875 plan for Sea Grove that laid out narrow streets in a grid emanating from Pavilion circle.” Ames called that plan “the fabric that holds the community together.”

Reprinted from Cape May County Herald

Popularity: 40% [?]

In my neighborhood, I’ve recently watched at least five run-down, but decent homes be torn down and replaced with large new houses that dwarf the small Craftsman homes that surround them. And I’m certainly not alone: This “teardown” phenomenon is increasing across the country.

Wherever you stand on this contentious issue, there are specific reasons why it’s becoming more popular to tear down and rebuild than to buy an already built home. As Real Estate Guide contributor Cher Wyskielof Teardowns.com noted in her article, The Teardown Page, there are two main reasons for this phenomenon:

1. The desire to live in well-established communities is increasing.In coveted communities, homes for sale and vacant lots can be hard to come by. With more people clamoring to move to these communities, and looking for newer and larger homes, more of them are turning to teardowns.

2. Many older houses do not meet today’s standards for the modern home. Fueled by demand from homeowners, the size of the average newly built home has increased 53% since 1970. These new, bigger homes also have different amenities than the homes of old: great rooms, spa bathrooms, multi-car garages. 

Yes, but are teardowns good for the community? Well, this is up for debate. The articleargues that teardowns are good: They frequently breathe new life into old neighborhoods and discourage suburban sprawl. But shouldn’t these old homes be preserved? In her own words, Cher says, “Local government, residents and other non-profit organizations are working closely together to ensure that truly historic homes are preserved and maintained and that zoning regulations guarantee the scale compatibility of new construction to the existing historic neighborhood.”

Yet skeptics, such as the National Trust for Historic Preservation, say that teardowns decrease livability and destroy the historic character of old neighborhoods.

It’s an argument that can be fought from both sides with passion. It just all depends which side you’re on.

Reprinted with permission from Zillow.com

Popularity: 38% [?]