Balboa Highlands

What do you envision when you think of a historic district? I know I think of grand, at least century-old houses. Balboa Highlands is a neighborhood in the San Fernando Valley near Los Angeles consisting of about 120 Modern tract houses  built from 1963 to 1964. Despite Balboa Highlands’ relative youth, many residents want Historic Preservation Overlay Zone protection for the neighborhood. And someday, they just might get it.

Balboa Highlands was created by Joseph Eichler, a San Francisco area developer of Modern neighborhoods.  The houses were inspired by the Case Study house program, which sought to offer affordable, Modern housing options after World War II. The about 2,000-square-foot houses in Balboa Highlands had plain facades yet inside featured open living areas with walls of windows. Unique architectural features in the houses included: exposed beams, mahogany paneling, fireplaces, and skylights. The houses cost $30,000 when they were new.

Over time, changes were made to many Balboa Highlands houses that were unsympathetic to their original designs.

In the mid-1990s, design professionals discovered the neighborhood’s treasures, and housing prices soared. Before the housing market collapse, some were selling for nearly $1 million. Today, architecture buffs tour the neighborhood, and production and photography crews put Balboa Highlands in homes across the world.

Right now, L.A. has 24 H.P.O.Z. areas, most of them full of bungalows or Victorian-era structures. Balboa is eighth on a list of 16 areas under consideration. There is only one postwar L.A. neighborhood with H.P.O.Z. status, Mar Vista, which features 52 houses designed by Case Study program architect Gregory Ain.

H.P.O.Z. status makes it difficult for homeowners to make changes to the exterior of buildings. Owners of renovated houses can receive tax breaks if they choose to return their properties to the original design.

With Balboa Highlands’ rebirth there has been a self-driven effort to help protect the neighborhood. Two-thirds of Balboa Highlands residents favored H.P.O.Z. status in 2005, but the lack of a survey delayed those plans.

The case of Balboa Highlands preservation demonstrates what a huge task preservationists have for the forseeable future. There are countless tract housing communities across the country built after World War II that have reached or will soon reach the 50-year-old threshold established by the National Register of Historic Places. Are many of them worthy of historic ordinance protection? Probably not. But they all deserve to be surveyed to find out if they’re worthy or not before they’re lost or, more likely, altered beyond repair. If Balboa Highlands is struggling to get protection despite so much support from within, a neighborhood in which the residents don’t care — or don’t know — what they have doesn’t stand a chance.

Balboa Highlands presents its case for H.P.O.Z. status on its Web site. L.A. needs to give it to them!

All photos courtesy of Flickr user teamperks.

And here’s why Balboa Highlands needs H.P.O.Z. status A.S.A.P.

Nokomis Beach Plaza

The Nokomis Beach Plaza, formerly known as the Nokomis Beach Pavilion, is a Sarasota School of Architecture preservation success story.

It is located on Casey Key south of Sarasota and just north of Venice. Sarasota County bought the beach on which the plaza stands in about 1950 and commissioned architect Jack West to build a structure for locker rooms, bathhouse, and restrooms. It was the first public commission for West, who had received his start working for pioneering Sarasota School architects Ralph Twitchell and Paul Rudolph. It was also the first Sarasota School public building.

Work began on the plaza in mid-1955, and it was dedicated the following February. Because of its location directly on the beach just feet from the Gulf of Mexico, maintenance was a recurring issue. Among the changes: the steel Lally columns were boxed in sometime in the 1970s, the Ocala blocks were painted over, and plantings overtook the site.

In 1991, a new facility was built a quarter-mile down the beach, and the plaza was slated for demolition. But about 100 residents came forward in favor of saving the plaza, and in 1993 county commissioners relented. They shelled out $80,000 to update the bathrooms and build a boardwalk connecting the 1991 structure with the 1955 plaza.

However, the plaza’s structural problems persisted and came to a head in 2002 when a woman was hit by falling plaster. The plaza was shuttered. But thanks to the work of Dave Baber, the Sarasota County historic preservation officer at the time, and the county Parks and Recreation department, this historic building was never really at risk. West, the original architect, did a feasibility study and determined it was worth saving. He was later hired by the county to restore the plaza. Funding and permitting delays put the project on hold for five years. But work eventually got under way in late-2007, and the plaza was rededicated on Sept. 19, 2008.

Another early view. The mural was painted by artist Hilton Leech on plywood and only lasted about five years. Jack West always incorporated artwork into his designs. Courtesy of the Sarasota County History Center.

Here's what the plaza looked like after it was closed in 2002. Courtesy of the Sarasota Herald Tribune.

The plaza under restoration. Courtesy of Jack Clark of Howell Construction.

Everything except the concrete T-beam roofs were replaced. Courtesy of Jack Clark of Howell Construction.

The plaza today.

The south pavilion has educational panels instead of artwork.

The walkway connecting the two pavilions. Notice the return of the Lally columns.

A dune and plantings block the view of the beach.

The north pavilion has restrooms and a community meeting room.

Inside the meeting room, a good adaptive reuse example.

The Ocala block was replaced with a sand-colored concrete block.

Unfortunately, the restored fountain wasn't on the day I visited.

View from the lifeguard stand. Again, notice how much the site has changed in the past 50 years.

Gainesville’s Chert Houses

Sustainable construction is hardly a fresh concept. In Gainesville, Florida, there’s no better example than the structures made out of chert, a type of limestone quarried locally. Builders first turned to the material during the Florida land bust in the late-1920s and it saw widespread use during the Great Depression through World War II. Its use declined after the war, but by then it had already become a recognizable part of the city and builders still periodically use it as an architectural embellishment.

Today, some of best chert building examples are located in historic districts, but many others aren’t protected. Most were built near the University of Florida campus and were demolished in recent years as the neighborhoods surrounding UF experienced a housing boom. That has cooled off, but many of the cherts are still in need of protection because of their importance to Gainesville’s architectural heritage.

Since February, I’ve been putting together a chert thematic historic district nomination for the Gainesville historic preservation officer. Because the buildings are scattered throughout the city, I was lucky that there was already a list with their locations. My first step was to go the county property appraiser’s site and print out the information available on each building. Then I started filling out a Florida Master Site File form for each structure using the information from the property appraiser. Next was the tedious process of photographing every structure — there’s about 150 of them. I recently completed that, and now I’m completing all the Florida Master Site File forms before I enter the data electronically. I’ll need to do more research before the nomination will be ready to go through the government approval process. I hope I’m still in Gainesville to see all my work come to fruition.

Most of Gainesville's chert houses look something like this with red brick quioning, circular vents, a few front gables, and a prominent front chimney. Most are one story and about 1,000-1,500 square feet.

Here's a simpler example. Exposed eaves is another common feature.

Despite being a student rental, this good example is in fairly good shape.

This Craftsman is one of the best examples and probably my favorite. The brick addition to the right blends in well and the front yard is a well-kept garden.

Here's one without quoining.

Brittany cottage inspired.

Tudor Revival meets chert.

The largest and most unique example.

I believe this house from about 1925 is the earliest chert structure. Notice the rock is more square than the previous examples.

Not all the chert buildings are houses. Here's a Mission Style church.

There's even a chert motel.

The Golfview Estates gates.

Lido Shores

The Sarasota School of Architecture is a name given to a group of architects who adapted the International Style to Florida’s subtropical climate. From the 1940s through the 1960s about 300 houses, schools, beach pavilions, offices, government buildings, and businesses were built in a form of Mid-Century Modern.

Most of the Sarasota School houses were built on barrier islands near the Gulf of Mexico. Today, the land the houses sit on costs many times more than the structure itself, making demolition almost certain when these properties go on the market. Exhibit A. Exhibit B.

But it’s not all doom and gloom for Modernism in Sarasota. Lido Shores is a small neighborhood on the Gulf of Mexico. It’s located on Lido Key just north of St. Armand’s Circle and just south of the bridge that connects Lido to Longboat Key. The neighborhood of about 100 homes was developed in 1950 by Philip Hiss, a fascinating man who was an adventurer, anthropologist, writer, photographer, and architect. Hiss wanted his neighborhood to showcase the works of the Sarasota School architects, who were gaining international attention at the time.

Before visiting, I had read about Lido Shores’ exorbitant land values and expected the worst. But when I walked around the neighborhood earlier this month I was encouraged by the number of original houses still standing. Also, many newer houses have kept Lido Shores’ Modernism spirit alive, though they’re much larger than the originals. Still, it’s hard to imagine Hiss’ vision with all the mega mansions lining the waterfront.

Please note: Much of the following information was taken from “Tour Sarasota Architecture,” a 2009 guide put out by the Sarasota Convention and Visitors Bureau. It was done by the county, the Sarasota Architectural Foundation, and the Ringling School of Art and Design. And if you happen to visit Lido Shores, be respectful and remember people actually live in these homes.

The Umbrella House (1953) designed by Paul Rudolph is the most famous house in the neighborhood, and possibly the most famous Sarasota School of Architecture building. It got its name from the second roof, or umbrella, that covered the house and pool. It blew off in a storm decades ago , but there are plans to rebuild it. The house has been meticulously restored and includes period furnishings.

Here it is shortly after construction. Courtesy of Paul Rudolph Foundation.

Next door to the Umbrella House is in the Hiss Studio (1953) designed by Tim Seibert. It was built to house Phillip Hiss' books and was one of the first air-conditioned buildings in Sarasota.

Across the street from the studio stood the Philip Hiss Home, but it was knocked down to make way for this. It sold for $7.4 million this summer.

Here's what used to stand there, the Philip Hiss Home built in 1950. Courtesy of Florida Photographic Collection.

A newer addition to the neighborhood.

The William Ingler House (1952) was one of the first houses built in the development.

Typical Mid-Century Florida house: flat roof, light color, carport, thin columns, clerestory windows.

Typical 2000s Florida waterfront home.

The Mrs. Gloria Kirsch House (1957) was renovated two years ago.

I liked it so much, I'm posting another picture. I'm not a fan of the untreated wood, but I like everything else about it.

The Mrs. Adelia Dolan House (1959).

This house was so huge, I couldn't photo it all.

This unique house was designed by Carl Abbott, a third generation Sarasota School of Architecture architect.

The Joseph Gold House (1955) was remodeled in 1994 when the colorful walls were added.

The Harkavy House (1957) is another Rudolph design in the neighborhood. It's a lot different from Rudolph's other Sarasota houses and marks a transition to his later work (looks like a house version of Sarasota High School). I didn't like this house when I saw pictures, but my opinion changed in person. A compatible addition was put on in 2006.

The addition to the Craig Residence -- done by Guy Peterson -- is very sympathetic to the size and scale of Harkavy.

The Don Chappell House (2000).

The Putterman Residence (1986), another Abbott project. In contrast, the opposite side is a wall of windows.

Fernandina Beach House Investigation

Fernandina Beach is on Amelia Island, the southernmost of the Sea Islands and at the northernmost point of Florida’s Atlantic coast.  Once a bustling 19th century port, today it’s a quaint town with small shops and Victorian-era houses. Just north of Fernandina Beach lies Old Town, the town’s original site before it was moved in 1853. It was here a few of my classmates and I spent a February day investigating the age of an old house slated for demolition.

Old Town was platted in 1811 according to the Law of the Indies, an urban plan used by Spain for its colonial towns. According to a windshield survey in the 1980s, this house may have dated to the island’s Spanish rule, which ended in 1821. Thus, it was referred to as “The Oldest House in Fernandina.” A man bought the property in 2002 for $150,000 and planned to raze the dilapidated house to build a new one. In 2005, the house was found to be the former home of key figures in the black community in the early 1900s, and there were cries to restore it for use as a Gullah history museum. The owner was patient and agreed to give time so funding could be found to move the house.

But all the talk to preserve the house was just that — talk. In January, the demolition permit was issued and the University of Florida was allowed to come in and determine once and for all if 801 Somerulus was as old as advertised.

Here’s a news article.

Isn't it great looking? To be fair, it had not be occupied since at least the mid-1980s.

The house was situated on the Plaza San Marcos, the open land the town was formed around in 1811. Its location was one of the reasons it was believed to have been so old. However, the house was situated facing away from the plaza, indicating a later construction date.

Here's the orginal map with a yellow dot showing where the house was located. Photo courtesy of www.oldtownfernandina.org.

The corner posts had mortise and tenon joints.

The wood block piers had been squared by hand. Apparently a large snake called this area home.

More timber framing with carpenter's marks were found in the upper story.

The fireplace bricks were kilned by hand and held together with lime mortar. Notice the bead board to the right.

Machine-cut lumber and cut nails.

To sum up, the house was believed to be from the early 1800s because:

• it was located along the plaza;
• hand-sawn wood blocks were found in its foundation;
• it had mortise and tenon posts;
• it had mortise and tenon framing in the attic;
• and it had hand-kilned bricks in its fireplace held together with lime mortar.

It may not have been the oldest because:

• it was situated facing away from the plaza, not toward it;
• the foundation blocks could’ve been reused;
• the mortise and tenon posts could’ve been reused;
• the mortise and tenon rafters weren’t situated in the order of their numbers, indicating they had been reused;
• the bricks could’ve been reused;
• the house had some balloon framing, a popular post Civil War construction technique;
• it was full of cut nails, another post Civil War development;
• and most of it consisted of 20th century construction materials such as beadboard.

But the clincher for it being a later construction date was when we found out a powerful hurricane in 1898 did a lot of damage in Fernandina and leveled many houses. Fernandina being on an island, the residents no doubt would have reused materials when rebuilding. Armed with this knowledge, we were confident that while the house  had parts that could’ve dated to the Spanish period, it was probably built around 1900.

Bonus: When putting this entry together, I found photos of the house being deconstructed. It’s good to know that despite the house’s awful condition, a lot of the materials were salvaged.

Courtesy of SJ Mowery.

Who knew there was such an amazing frame underneath? Courtesy of SJ Mowery.

Going. Courtesy of SJ Mowery.

Going. Courtesy of SJ Mowery.

Gone. Courtesy of SJ Mowery.

“Flag Wars”

Watching a movie at 9:30 on a Monday morning isn’t something I would choose to do, but that’s what we did in my Urban Planning History and Theory class last week — and I’m glad we did.

The movie was “Flag Wars,” a documentary about Olde Towne East in Columbus, Ohio, a predominately black neighborhood undergoing gentrification. I heard the theory before that same-sex couples are often gentrification crusaders, the reason being they usually don’t have children whose safety and schooling they have to worry about. Also, with two incomes they’re likely to have the extra money required for renovations. That was the case in Olde Towne East, which had originally been home to some of Columbus’ most prominent residents. Once the gay community started moving in and rehabilitating the grand old homes, historic district code enforcement began cracking down on the poorer residents. A tension arose between the blacks and gays. The black people had lived in the neighborhood for years and while they knew it had problems, it was their home and they didn’t like another traditionally oppressed group nudging them out. The gay people saw excellent architecture in disrepair and wanted to bring it back to its original splendor. In turn, they wanted a community of like-minded people to call home, even if it meant forcing out the black people.

Gentrification gets a bad rap, but it has some positives — historic homes get restored, it brings a more stable population, crime shrinks, and it cuts down on the number of long-distance commuters, to name a few. However, displacing lower income residents is never a good thing. For at least 40 years, preservationists have been faced with the issue of how to revitalize historic neighborhoods while keeping the current residents intact. Rent control, zoning, and community redevelopment departments have been used to fend off gentrification. So have private organizations. And I can think of one instance — Savannah’s Victorian Historic District — where there was a concerted, large-scale effort to revitalize the neighborhood through historic preservation and keep the residents intact. However, I wonder how successful these efforts have really been. The only thing I know for sure is that efforts to gentrify aren’t going away.

National Trust for Historic Preservation Conference

I was lucky enough to represent the University of Florida at the National Trust for Historic Preservation Conference last week in Nashville. (Thanks, Florida taxpayers!)

The conference consisted of preservation lectures, trips, meals, and booths with an estimated 2,000 students and professionals attending. From Civil War battlefield tours to sustainability lectures to Jack Daniels distillery tours to a lunch with Laura Bush, there was something for everyone.

After driving into rainy and cool Nashville on Tuesday evening, my conference kicked off Wednesday morning when I took a bus tour titled “Footsteps of Andrew Jackson: Case Studies in Preservation Leadership.” We visited the Hermitage, Jackson’s plantation, along with Stone Hall and Two Rivers Mansion.

I didn’t know much about the Hermitage beforehand, and I came away impressed. I just wish the tour had more time to see everything. First, I was surprised by the site’s size — the property is more than 1,000 acres. There’s also a number of outbuildings, many added after the Hermitage became a museum in 1889. There’s also a lot of original artifacts inside — the workers boast they have more than Mount Vernon and Monticello combined. The curatorial staff take incredible pains to add missing objects. For example, extensive research and discussion went into the dining room chairs and carpeting — they didn’t just throw out any antique.

As you can see, the Hermitage is currently undergoing a restoration.

It looks a little nicer from the back. The house was commissioned by Jackson in 1819. He lived there until his death in 1845.

The graves of Jackson and his (legal?) wife, Rachel.

Alfred's Cabin, also undergoing restoration, is a former slave cabin that dates to 1841.

Stone Hall was built in 1918 out of local limestone. Now it's owned by the city and part of a greenway.

A cabin on the property, Eversong, overlooks the Stones River and is believed to date to the Civil War.

It literally hangs over the edge.

Two Rivers Mansion was built in 1859. Here's what it looks like from behind. It too is owned by the city and is used for weddings. However, it's not in the best shape and needs funding for some work.

Sideview of the front porch. It just looks like it should be a haunted house.

Afterward, I attended the Save America’s Treasures luncheon. SAT is a public-private partnership that awards grants to preservation projects. Bowling Green, Ky., Mayor Elaine Walker and her husband, Dorian Walker, gave an excellent presentation on their efforts to restore neglected circa 1900 houses in their hometown. Another speaker talked about grants, not my cup of tea but important nevertheless. Before the lunch ended, Richard Moe, the president of the National Trust and everyone’s favorite preservationist, made a surprise appearance. That night, I missed the Opening Plenary, but I attended the Opening Reception at Frist Center for the Visual Center, which used to be a Post Office. Wow.

Thursday morning, I boarded another bus again for “Nashville Overview.” It was a superb way to get a quick lesson on the city’s history and preservation efforts. We stopped at Fisk University, a historically black school, and the Parthenon, a scale reconstruction of the original in Greece. However, it was difficult to see everything in downtown simply because there was so much in such a condensed area. Areas of note:

• East Nashville, a once blighted area now has pricey restored homes and is a trendy part of town;
• Music Row, the business side of Nashville’s music industry has recording studios, law firms, and other offices in former single-family homes;
• The Gulch used to a be an industrial area now it’s the site of incredible Modernist condos;
• and the Second Avenue North clubs and bars that used to be warehouses on the riverfront wharf — great adaptive uses.

The Parthenon was finished in 1931 after 11 years of construction. That's a lot of concrete.

The Athena Parthenos statue on the inside.

I didn't like the Parthenon probably because as preservationists, we're taught to avoid reconstructions.

Thursday afternoon, I attended the lecture “Extreme Makeover: Transform Yourself Into an Effective Advocate for 1950-70s Landmarks.” Preserving post World War II housing is big in preservation now and it’s only going to get bigger. The lecturers suggested ways preservationists can improve advocacy for these often overlooked structures. Thursday evening was the University of Florida and friends gathering.

Friday morning I attended the “Considering a Preservation Career?” lecture in the morning. In the afternoon, I took another bus tour, “Keep it Country: Rural Preservation in Nashville’s Bells Bend.” Bells Bend is a rural area very close to Nashville, and the residents there are fighting off developers to retain their laid back way of life. We visited two recently created nature parks and met with activists who helped fend off a recent effort to plop a new urbanism community out there. It was nice to get a perspective on preservation that doesn’t include just buildings.

The conference rivals Preservation Institute: Nantucket for the best preservation experience I’ve had. Just meeting and talking with students from other schools made it worthwhile. And getting to talk to working professionals about what they face day to day was icing on the cake. I can’t wait for Austin next year!

Michael Reese Hospital

There’s an uphill battle to preserve Modernist buildings. First of all, most of the examples in the U.S. were built after World War II so non-preservationists often don’t see the point of saving them. And many people don’t like Modernist architecture because can seem cold with with the industrial materials and straight lines. The sustainability argument can only get you so far if people don’t like the architecture and adapting for a new use isn’t cost feasible. Invoking the importance of saving works by famous architects is a challenge, even if the architect’s name is Frank Lloyd Wright. But if preservationists concentrate on the human connections to Modernist buildings, they’re destined to be more successful. Oh, and having a viable preservation plan helps, too.

The recently shuttered Michael Reese Hospital campus in Chicago consists of 29 structures. Walter Gropius, the father of Modernist architecture, was the consulting architect and planner for eight of those buildings in the 1940s and 50s. The hospital’s 37 acres were to be the site of the Olympic Village had Chicago won the 2016 Games with all but one of the structures, the Prairie Style main hospital built in 1905, destined to meet the wrecking ball. The city bought the property for $80 million in preparation. Even though Chicago didn’t get the Olympics, the city plans to clear the land anyway and have it redeveloped as a residential area. A contractor was hired to demolish the buildings in the summer, and some work has already started.

The Gropius in Chicago Coalition is fighting to save the buildings overseen by Gropius. The eight structures are the only in Illinois to have ties to Gropius because he was based in Boston after leaving Germany during the rise of Hitler. With Michael Reese Hospital’s proximity to the Illinois Institute of Technology and its Mies van der Rohe designed campus, GCC wants a “Bauhaus Historic District” (Gropius and van der Rohe were the first two heads of the influential Bauhaus architecture school in Germany).

I applaud the GCC for calling attention to Gropius’ little known work in Chicago, but I think they need to alter their approach. Invoking Gropius is sure to get the attention of the design community, but outside of that tiny segment of the population how many people are aware of Walter Gropius? Plus, it’s easy to dismiss ties to him because he merely consulted on the project.

What the GCC needs to do is get the community members involved who couldn’t care less about Gropius. People should be reminded why the hospital was so important to the people it served, whether they worked or visited there. Maybe then they’ll be interested in keeping it around. GCC does a good job of quickly summing up the non-Gropius importance of Michael Reese Hospital in its flier, but the ideas aren’t fleshed out on their site.

If there’s enough support for preservation, GCC first needs to figure out how it’s going to be paid for. Next, a charrette or design competition should be held to come up with a plan for adaptive reuse of the buildings. I’m guessing there’s a reason it’s no longer seeing use as hospital. What about the non-Gropius buildings? Are they not worthy of preservation just because Gropius didn’t have a hand in them? The GCC needs to at least consider their preservation. They wouldn’t be responsible preservationists if they didn’t. And maybe if GCC lowers their expectations and just concentrate on saving the most architecturally important structures or the most adaptable for new use, they will find success. Something is better than nothing.

Here are Michael Reese Hospital buildings with all photos courtesy of savemrh.com.

The main building from 1905 is the only structure being considered for preservation.

The Laundry Building, 1949.

The Singer Pavilion, 1950.

The Power Plant, 1953.

The Private Pavilion, 1955.

The Serum Center, 1956.

The Convalescent Home, 1957.

The Cummings Pavilion, 1958.

The Linear Accelerator, 1967.

American College of the Building Arts

During my visit to Charleston last month, I took a tour of the American College of the Building Arts (featured in the latest issue of Preservation magazine).

One of the reasons I returned to school to study historic preservation was so I could have a career that didn’t require me to spend eight hours a day at a desk staring at a computer screen. I’ve learned a lot during my second stint here at the University of Florida, but it’s mostly been preservation theory — not much technical. Ever since Rudy Christian, a timber framer and  president of the Preservation Trades Network, spoke to us at Preservation Institute: Nantucket this summer, I’ve had this romantic plan of becoming a preservation carpenter despite my limited experience in the field. I sent away for materials from ACBA, liked what I saw, and arranged a tour for when I was in town.

The school is housed in the very imposing Old Charleston Jail, built in 1802 and undergoing a renovation some of which is being done by students. They have ghost tours there at night, and I’ve always wanted to  do one just to see what the jail looked like on the inside. Large cells serve as classrooms and workshops. Smaller ones are offices. Part of the old caretaker’s quarters is a library. Just an excellent example of adaptive use. Rosie Such, who is in charge of admissions, also drove me out to the school’s workshop on nearby James Island. This was where the timber framers and carpenters have their hands-on classes.

The school offers degrees in six areas: architectural stone, timber framing, carpentry, ironwork, plaster work, and masonry. ACBA awards bachelor’s and associate’s degrees as well as a one-year post-graduate certificate, which I would like to do. The school is relatively new; the first bachelor’s degrees were awarded in the spring.

I didn’t get the impression the recent graduates are faring too well in the job market. But that’s certainly not because there’s not a need for quality preservation craftspeople. In many cultures, passing down the intangible building techniques take precedence over preserving the physical object. There are signs Americans are capable of supporting quality craftsmanship with the current emphasis on sustainability. Of course, the greenest building is the one that’s already built. But when building new, why not build something that’s going to survive more than 50 years? There’s a reason timber-framed buildings hundreds of years old are still standing. There’s a reason lime mortar performs better than Portland cement on chimneys. There’s a reason plaster trumps drywall. ACBA and other schools like it are filling a sorely needed area in preservation and the building trades. Let’s hope their message catches on.

The Old Charleston Jail in 2007. It's now home to the American College of the Building Arts.

Charleston

After spending the summer among the gray and white houses on Nantucket, visiting Charleston, South Carolina, last month was like watching a color TV for the first time.

My sister moved to that area three years, and I’ve visited the city six times since. It never gets old (no pun intended). I can’t imagine a larger collection of historic architecture and craftsmanship in the U.S. You almost feel like you’re in a giant museum when you walk the streets south of Broad because everything is so perfectly restored.

But Charleston wasn’t always a booming, picturesque city. From the 1840s until almost a hundred years later it was mired in an economic slump hammered home by the Civil War. Many of the homes that now fetch millions were divided into tenements for the low income. Tradd Street was known for its brothels. In the 1920s, the Charleston Renaissance brought hordes of collectors to the city to buy up architectural details. Entire rooms were shipped out of the city and reassembled in wealthy Northerners’ homes. Also, old buildings were being knocked down to make way for gas stations as the automobile gained in popularity.

Women of old-guard families united to prevent further destruction to the city of their ancestors and sought to return Charleston to its antebellum appearance. In other words, Stephanie E. Yuhl says in “A Golden Haze of Memory: The Making of Historic Charleston,” they wanted to push out the blacks living among them. She tells the story of a black neighborhood near downtown razed to make way for low-income housing for whites.

The turning point in the historic preservation movement was the creation of the first historic district in the U.S. in 1931. This gave the city’s architectural review board say over changes to the oldest structures in the district. Preservation efforts spread up the peninsula, again pushing out low-income residents in the process. It’s well chronicled in Robert Weyeneth’s “Historic Preservation for a Living City: Historic Charleston Foundation, 1947-1997.”

The Charleston of today sure is beautiful. But it’s a shame what had to be done to get it that way.

The often photographed Rainbow Row.

The Sword Gate.

The College of Charleston adds vibrancy to the city.

I was really interested in the ironwork this time.