Hailed by many as the wave of the future in affordable dwellings, the gable-front bungalow was designed to fit the narrow, 30-foot wide lots sliced out in the newly developing suburban areas of Chicago and similar cities in the early part of this century. While small, these bungalows still provided living space for children’s play and vegetable gardens.

The gable-roof bungalow was characterized by a large front-facing gable that dominated the facade. Some models, such as the Lewis Cortez, sported a small triangular gable, a wall dormer, that often covered a bay window. Others, like the Lewis Moorland, had small dormers on the roof sides, while simpler versions used small windows in the front gable to light the attic floor, as in the Wards Venice model.

Due to its gable orientation and pitch, this bungalow type was usually only a single story in height, with the usual overhanging eaves, knee brackets and grouped windows. The shingled siding was laid in patterns, or in the more common overlapping style. Other combinations were also popular– such 9 as thin clapboards on the lower section, – with stucco in the gables.

Porches were sometimes integrated under the main body of the house, as on the Cortez, or could be attached, as on the Moorland and Venice. Most porches accommodated half-height columns that were heavy, stout and tapered at the top. The railing area was often filled with simple posts or enclosed with a solid wall.

Much of the popularity of these bungalows was due to their low cost, which was often less than renting. The smaller lots saved money, and practical plans made the houses less costly. Like most bungalows, entry halls were often absent and visitors stepped from the porch right into the living room. There was little or no hallway space. Dining areas and spacious living rooms were connected by a large archway which often contained built-in bookcases on one side and built-in china storage on the other.

If pattern books and magazines of the time are any indication, the low cost gable-front bungalow was one of the most popular styles of the early twentieth century, second only to the shed- roof style we discussed in our first issue. As suburban regions became connected with the interurban trolley and omnibus lines, taking people quickly into the center of the city, the gable-roof bungalow, with its low cost and many amenities, flourished.

By Rob Schweitzer

To many people the term “bungalow” simply means any small house, in particular any one-story house. But the word actually describes an entire family of house design—in fact an entire culture that began inAmerica in the early years of the 20th century, peaked in the Teens and Twenties, and lasted into the late Thirties. These we call “Bungalows” with a capital “B” to denote them as a style of architecture. In terms of modest Bungalows our research has discovered six distinctive types. Among those types are several styles such as Colonial, Tudor, and Arts & Crafts.

One of the most popular Bungalows is the Arts & Crafts Shed-Roof type. It is characterized by a side-gable plan with a sloping front roof. Above the porch is always a front roof dormer, sometimes it is small as small as pictured above but it can be large as on the “Marsden” plan.

This shed-roof Bungalow has rustic detailing: shingle, stucco or clapboard siding, cobblestone or brick chimney and porch piers, The roof has a wide overhang showing exposed rafter-ends; many times there are also brackets of simple stick like materials. All these reflect the influence of the Arts & Crafts spokesmen such as Gustav Stickley and the Green brothers who helped popularize the larger, more ornate versions of the style. But the more modest homes were designed for the “first time” buyer and were mass produced by ready-cut companies like Aladdin and Sears or by developers who purchased stock plans from Keith’s or Garlinghouse.

First in a series of guides to major Bungalow architectural types by former advisory board member Rob Schweitzer. Originally published in our debut Issue in Fall of 1990.

By Richard D. Mohr. Second of a two-part article on Arts & Crafts Tile. Original article can be found here.

In the previous issue of American Bungalow, author Richard Mohr wrote with passion about starting a tile collection—how to choose a theme, the relative importance of signatures and “top” potteries, and how to weigh overall quality. We invite you to enjoy more of his whimsical treatise, gleaned from a dozen years of tile collecting—an experience he calls “a great joy and adventure.”

In my earlier installment, I explained that at one time or another I’ve made every possible tile collector’s
mistake. Here are a few more suggestions on avoiding some of the pitfalls that make neophyte collectors grind their teeth at night.

A Contemporary Oak Frame makes possible the display of this vertical section from a fireplace surround by Newcomb College (1914)

Framed Tiles: Caveat Emptor
Don’t buy a framed tile unless you have first seen the tile out of the frame. A frame can easily hide a half-inch-wide chip, especially at a corner. Frames also make it hard to discern hairline cracks that would be obvious if the tile could be examined from the side. Some auction houses have become particularly bad
along these lines, framing their tiles in ways that positively discourage inspection. Don’t be an exploited yuppie; either be pushy and insist on seeing the tile in the buff or pass on it. And I can assure you this: If your auctioneer’s concept of “mint” is as wide as the Mississippi when it comes to vases, it will be as wide as the Pacific when it comes to tiles.

You shouldn’t be paralyzed by actual damage or by worry that a piece might be damaged, but you deserve to
know what you are buying—especially since the market has not yet properly calibrated price to damage and continues to treat tiles like vases, for which any damage automatically results in a discount of at least 50 percent.

Repairs

This Rookwood "Gothic Rose" Tile has a considerable amount of wear and damage, but none of it draws the eye. On Top, Muresque "Lake Scene" Tile Collection of Tim Hansen

If damage on a tile does draw your eye, have the tile repaired. The mend need not be a professional invisible repair of the sort favored for vases. Instead, consider simply having the tile touched up—repaired just to the point where the damage doesn’t “read.” Frequently this work can be done by having a chip or ding colored in without being filled in.

Displaying Tiles
Consider alternatives to the current trend of having even damage-free tiles framed for display. Tiles look great on plate stands. Play around—try stands of different styles, sizes and materials (wood, metal, Plexiglas,
plastic tubing). Plate stands are pretty much the only effective way to display round and hexagonal tiles.

With the exception of plaques by Low, Rookwood and Newcomb College, art tiles were not sold in frames—
nor with framing in mind. Tiles are architectural chunks, not pretty pictures. To frame a tile is to diminish its “tileness,” to push it in the direction of being something it is not. A tile, when framed, loses its three dimensionality and its architectural bearings.

That said, sometimes tiles have to be framed in order to be displayed at all. I own a two-tile vertical section of a Newcomb College fireplace surround. There’s no way to display these tiles together on plate stands or indeed in any other way than by framing them. And they look great in their custom-built quartersawn oak frame. Folks with children careening through the house will also take comfort if their tiles are framed and hanging high on a wall.

Size

Lending itself to framing, a Rookwood incised tile by Cecil A Duel (1907)

It matters—a lot. In pricing, a tile is like a Persian carpet. Price rises exponentially with dimension. The larger the tile, the more expensive it is per square inch. A single eight-inch square tile is worth many times more than four four-inch tiles of the same quality, and is worth about two and a half to three times as much as a single tile of six inches—the standard size for art tiles. Ten- and 12-inch tiles carry even higher premiums and are so rare that there isn’t anything approaching a “book” price for them. This escalating price framework is not just a whim of the antiques market; as the size of a tile increases, it becomes harder and harder to make. Large tiles are unwieldy when wet and prone to warp, crack or explode in the kiln.

Prices: Too High
The most overpriced tiles now (As of Spring 1999) are Grueby. This may sound odd, for Grueby is probably the greatest American art tile company. But take an especially fine example of Grueby’s six-inch molded landscape tile called “The Pines”—the ultimate Arts and Crafts tile. For its going price—about $3,000—you could buy a nice one-of-a-kind, hand-carved Newcomb College vase. You decide.

The second most overpriced tiles in America are Catalina. They aren’t even that good—either in technique
or design, especially when compared to Catalina’s chief competitor, Malibu. And they aren’t that rare, so I’m
stumped. Perhaps it’s just the cachet of the name.

Prices: Very Nice
Currently underrated companies include Flint, Franklin, Malibu, American Encaustic, Mosaic and Pewabic, especially the cathedral-quality tiles. All these companies were quite varied in their production and offer great value for money.

An unmarked "Student" tile offers a great design at a great price

Prices: Go For It
Consider tiles by unknown studio artists and by students (so-called “high school” pottery). From roughly 1905 to 1945, tiles were made by the gazillions in schools all over America. These tiles frequently have striking designs. And by the 1920s, art-supply companies like Prang in New York and the American Art Clay Company (AMACO) in Indianapolis were targeting the vast school market with high-quality, ready-mixed glazes. There was a lot of naive genius at work and play out there among the students. Tap into it. Current prices for high school and studio tiles are very reasonable. Use your eye; unleash your instincts. Brave something funky or weird. Here’s an area where your passions are not likely to get you badly burned.

Reproductions and Fakes
It’s a jungle out there. Some of the reproductions and fakes that have been flooding the antique market in the last couple of years are laughably bad; others trip up even the most knowledgeable experts. Companies that are being faked include Grueby, Catalina, Malibu and even Mosaic.

Since 1993, Van Briggle Pottery has been bringing out reproductions of its own circa-1908 tiles, and because
these repros are not dated, they have been popping up in the antique world at antique-world prices. The Pewabic and Moravian tile works have had no problems since they date their new reproductions and reissues.

Keep track of tiles at high-end contemporary tile showrooms; they occasionally carry repros—at repro prices. Unscrupulous people sometimes rough up these tiles a bit and then recycle them into the antique world as
though they were old.

Trust dealers who have had a lot of experience with tiles. As with all antiques, beware the deal that looks too
good to be true. The tile that seems out of place—the only tile in the mall, a California tile table with a show dealer who otherwise carries only British dishes—is doubtless a planted “find.”

The fake Grueby, left, wouldn't take in anyone who had seen the real thing. But the more accomplished pseudo-Grueby, center, almost works- until you flip it over and see the back. Both the signature and the clay body are way off.

The Care and Feeding of Tiles
In general, less is more. Don’t be afraid of a little grime or a bit of grout clinging to your tile. Still, don’t needlessly besmirch your tiles by letting dealers wrap them in newsprint. Ink and graphite are hell—or impossible—to get out of matte surfaces.

You can safely clean most tiles with plain soap and water (though some Muresque tiles have glazes so delicate that they will dissolve in water). To loosen grout and cement, first try soaking your tile in vinegar. It is safe, but frequently not very effective. Beyond this treatment, enter at your own risk. Long baths in a one-third solution of muriatic acid will gradually remove cement, but muriatic acid will also discolor some glazes. If possible, test a broken tile first. Avoid using paint removers. Along with the paint, they will remove the glaze from many California tiles (Batchelder, California Art Tile, Claycraft, Muresque).

Resist the temptation to whack away at cement and grout with metal instruments—hammers, chisels, table knives. On at least one swing, you will miss the cement and kill the tile. Large encrustations of cement can be hewn off the backs of tiles with the right sort of diamond-blade circular saw. And very fine motorized orbital sanders can be used for detail work. Practice on shards first. If you need to scrape grout or gunk off the surface of your tile, use wooden, not metal, instruments. Use chopsticks, popsicle sticks or tongue depressors, not knives, screwdrivers and files. For consultation and restoration work, contact the Tile Restoration Center in Seattle.

A stellar example of "The Pines" by Grueby (1908) can sell upwards of $3,000

In general, tiles are sturdier than vases. Still, special precautions are required for storage and transport. Stack tiles vertically, not horizontally. Compression can trigger hairlines or worse. The main thing, though, is to keep tiles from clanging against each other. Let houseguests handle only one tile at a time. If a guest gets a tile in each hand, he’ll start flipping them about fan fashion to examine their various facets, and before you know it—wham-mo—you’ve got two tiles with damage that could easily have been avoided. “One tile at a time” is probably a good rule for you, the owner, to follow as well when rearranging, photographing or preparing to pack your tiles. Avoid the temptation to stack two or three tiles between the fingers of one hand as though they were dishes and you were emptying the dishwasher quickly.

When transporting or shipping tiles, many experienced tile dealers simply interleaf a square of corrugated
cardboard between tiles, a treatment that is sufficient if the tiles fit snugly in their container and can’t shift about and elude the cardboard buffers. This method is considerably easier than wrapping tiles individually and also gives much quicker access to particular tiles, since once a couple are removed from the box, you can finger through the rest as though they were index cards in a library’s card catalog.

More Information

A Rookwood experimental plaque by Carl Schmitt (1904) framed by Charles Summer Greene for the entryway of the Gamble House

You’ll appreciate your tiles more if you know something about their history and about how they were made. The newsletter and magazine of the Tile Heritage Foundation—Flash Point and Tile Heritage—are’ good places to start. The Tile Heritage Foundation has also produced inexpensive facsimiles of catalogs from approximately 40 turn-of-the-century tile companies. These catalogs are invaluable for identifying unmarked tiles. Know, though, that several major tile companies never produced any catalogs (notably Pewabic, Van Briggle and Marblehead). Michael Padwee’s A Guide to the Patterns and Markings on the
Backs of United States Ceramic Tiles, 1870s—193Os (Tile Heritage Foundation, 1997) is an additional useful tool for identifying tile makers, and serves nicely as a checklist of American tile companies in general.

A good general history of tiles is Hans van Lemmen’s Tiles: 1000 Years of Architectural Decoration (New York: Abrams, 1993). It contains an excellent chapter on American tiles by Susan Tunick, who is the president of Friends of Terra Cotta. A good way to learn about how tiles are made is to make some yourself. For an excellent introduction to tile making, read Frank Giorgini’s Handmade Tiles (Asheville, N.C.: Lark Books, 1994, also available as a video).

A final pitch: Don’t be scared. Jump in. Buy a tile. It’ll change your life.

For more pictures and resources, you may purchase the original article in Issue 21 here.

Tiles are hot and getting hotter—especially those from the American Arts and Crafts movement. In June 1998, tile collecting got an enormous boost from the publication of Norman Karison ‘s long-awaited book, American Art Tile (Rizzoli International). Already the world of antiques has given tile collecting its highest left-handed compliment: fakes and reproductions that are hawked as old.

Here, gleaned from a dozen years’ experience in collecting and selling tiles, are some tips that I hope will help would- be collectors navigate the minefields. Tile collecting can be a great joy and adventure; it has been for me. I’ve also, at one time or another, made every possible tile collector’s mistake without actually destroying a tile outright. Hopefully, these suggestions will spare those starting out at least one misstep.

Jumping In

Pick a theme. There are so many different tile companies and different types of tiles out there, it’s easy to get confused, even paralyzed, by the welter of possibilities. You might want to focus, at least initially, on a single dimension of tiles— a company, a subject or a look. If you are already collecting vases, consider buying a tile or two by your favorite vase maker (Grueby, Van Briggle, Pewabic, Rookwood).

The first piece of art pottery I ever bought was a squat little undecorated Grueby pot; the next was a Grueby “Sea Birds” tile to keep it company. They’ve been happy together ever since. A friend in Los Angeles collects only Malibu tiles. These tiles are of very high quality. They are relatively plentiful—at least in California—and are varied enough in type and style so that concentrating on this company makes excellent sense. But if one were to focus exclusively on a company with a limited product ion (say, Matawan, D&M or Spartan), one would end up with a frustrated collection, even when the tiles themselves are of the finest quality, like Hartford Faience or California China Products.

California Faience (1915-1933)

A Bay Area friend collects only tiles that depict ships. This choice also makes good sense. Virtually every tile company in the Arts and Crafts tradition made tiles of ships. Frequently companies would offer several different ship
designs. So again, the possibilit ies for collecting here are rich and varied, even if focused on just one subject.

By contrast, collecting only tiles of horses would not make good sense. Even though there are some fine tiles out there (Grueby, Weller Art Tiles), there aren’t enough of them to fill out a collection. Lions make a better four-legged choice, since heraldic and other emblematic imagery was a favorite of nearly all the tile companies. Just for starters, there will be a lion in every set of zodiac tiles—Leo—— and in every set of evangelist tiles—Saint Mark.

Many art tiles were originally made for churches and cathedrals, so religious motifs are good themes as well. And Americans’ seemingly insatiable appetite for anything floral did not go unnoticed by tile companies. Somewhat more pricey but still varied and available are tiles of birds. Favored species are eagles, owls, rooks, geese, swans and peacocks. For wealthy collectors, Grueby, Van Briggle and Volkmar landscapes are a good choice.

By contrast, my own collection focuses not on a particular subject or company, but on a “look”: the murky, weird and cute. Give me a Van Briggle tile of black poppies and I get happy fast. Ditto for an Owens flambé rose.

Signatures

Don’t get hung up on them. Only a few companies signed virtually all their tiles (Rookwood, Batchelder, California Faience). Some important companies didn’t sign any of their tiles (Calco) or signed only a small number (Malibu). The majority of companies have a substantial proportion of both signed and unsigned tiles. Frequently, whether a company (e.g., Wheatley, Mosaic or Walrich) signed a particular tile or not has nothing to do with the quality of the tile, but seems to be the product of chance or whimsy. Only about half of Grueby tiles are signed. And running against
expectation, the larger and finer a Grueby tile is, the less likely it is to be signed. Ditto for Pewabic. That company signed tiles that it sold as trinkets, but left tiles made for major architectural projects unsigned. So if possessing a nice signature is a prime consideration for you, you’ll be passing up tons of great stuff and picking up lots of junk.

Sometimes one finds a design or stock number on a tile, and these frequently help in identification. But design numbers and signatures aside, tiles usually bear no other informative markings. So if you think that for a piece of pottery to be good, it needs to have as much information on it as can be found on a typical artist- signed Rookwood vase or on a 1901 Newcomb College plate, then I suggest that you collect something other than tiles.

Experienced tile dealers do not take optimistic stabs at identifying unmarked tiles; even the most reputable and experienced dealer will sometimes make mistakes. In the early l920s, there were some 50 companies making art tiles in the Los Angeles area alone—many in the same general styles and with closely related designs. Yet most of these tiles are unsigned. No wonder there is confusion. If you start collecting tiles, I advise cultivating a love of the mysterious and unknown.

Firing Cracks Electrify This Marblehead Tile (C. 1920)

Tile Backs and Clay Bodies

Pay attention to and learn from the backs of tiles and the clay from which they are made—their “clay bodies.” Clay has much more of a presence in tiles than in vases, in large part because usually more than half of a tile’s clay body is left unglazed, but also because a number of tile decorating techniques expose or profile the clay body.

The back of a tile will tell you a lot even if not in the form of a signature or date. Several companies had very dist inctive clay bodies that can help in identifying unsigned tiles. For example, Mosaic and Mueller tiles contain a lot of coarse white clay granules called “grog” within their red clay matrices. These granules of prefired clay help prevent cracking and warping, but they also flag a tile as being by one of these two companies. Most Pewabic tiles have distinctive white clay bodies that make unsigned examples fairly easy to identify. Some companies, such as Calco and California Art Tile, have distinctive impress marks resulting from the way their clay was pressed into molds. When you see a signed tile, try to imprint in memo ry the look of its clay for purposes of making future

Quality

Don’t be uncritically wowed by a company’s name. Great companies sometimes made lousy tiles. If the left side of a tile is burnt to a crisp due to poor placement in the kiln, you don’t want it even if it is a Marblehead landscape. Indeed, the
greater the company, the wider the variation in quality among its tiles of the same design. Not all Grueby “Galleons” are created equal. If someone describes one to you over the Internet, be sure you see it firsthand before you commit to buying. There are some bad examples out there of Grueby’s and Van Briggle’s best designs. The reason for this is that these companies intentionally took great risks in their glazing and tiring techniques in order to produce a few truly great examples.

Excised Tile By Mary Frances Overbeck

They recognized that along the way some mediocre, even poor examples would result. It was larger companies one tier down in quality (like American Encaustic and Mosaic) that had to depend upon the dependable, upon routine, in order to turn a profit, and so aimed at producing tiles of uniform if not dazzling quality.

Auction catalogs frequently try to enhance the perceived quality of a tile by describing it as carved, sculpted, modeled, excised or incised, implying that the tile’s clay design is unique, the product of indiv
idualized handwork. Perhaps such descriptions flow from a blend of ignorance and wishful thinking, but they are almost never true. American tileworks employed craftsmen designers who could cleverly effect a handwrought look through the use of plaster molds. Any uniqueness that a tile has usually comes from hand glazing.

There are a few exceptions to the no-sculpting rule: Overbeck and Newcomb College tiles are hand carved, as are some North Dakota School of Mines, Pewabic and a tiny number of Volkmar and Rookwood tiles. The latter are usually artist signed by Duell, Toohey or Wareharn.

For High-end Collectors, These Landscapes May Be The Ticket: A Van Briggle Landscape (1908), Left, From the Collection of Norman Karlson, and a Rare Los Angeles Pressed Brick Company Tile By Fred Robertson (1913)

Firing Checks

JB Owen's Flambe Rose From the 1920s Is A Perfect Starter Tile

Fissures that develop when the raw clay body is fired prior to being glazed and then refired are called firing checks. Usually they cut right through the whole depth of the tile. Firing checks are not damage and should not be
confused with hairlines or other cracks that result from tile abuse. By looking closely you can tell which came first—the fissure or the glaze. If the glaze was applied after the fissure formed, then it’s a firing check; if before, that’s damage.

Sometimes firing checks are a plus; Marblehead and Moravian adapted firing checks into their designs to great dramatic effect. But other times, checks are visually distracting and unpleasantly weird—just use your judgment. My advice is, don’t automatically pass on a tile just because it has a heat check.

Condition

You deserve to know when a tile is damaged, but don’t get overly hung up on damage. When contemplating a tile’s condition, think of it not as a flattened-out vase, but as a piece of furniture or a rug—something that was intended to be used and for which the category “mint” is not particularly helpful. The most important question to ask yourself is whether the wear or damage on a tile draws the eye. If the first thing you see when you look at a tile is a ding or a chip—say, a patch of shockingly white clay shining through a field of mottled matte-green glaze—then that’s a problem. But otherwise don’t worry too much about damage. Some of the California tile companies, notably Claycraft, intended their low-fired, oxide-based glaze treatments to wear oi even flake off with age. They announced in their catalogs that the buyer should expect such a “patina” of use.

Antique tile dealers do not even consider dings and chips off the back of tiles as damage that needs to be flagged to the attention of a potential buyer. If purity and perfection are your primary values, again, I suggest coll ecting something other than tiles.

ART TILE RESOURCES

ENTHUSIASTS

Tile Heritage Foundation
P.O. Box 1850
Healdsburg, CA 95448
(707) 431-8453
(707) 431-8455 fax

Friends of Terra Cotta
771 West End Avenue #IOE
NewYork,NY 10025

REPAIRS AND REPRODUCTIONS

Alchemie Ceramics Studio
C/O Walker Zanger Outlets
8901 Bradley Avenue
Sun Valley, CA 91 352
(818) 504-0235

Designs in Tile
P.O. Box 358
Mount Shasta, CA 96067
(530) 926-2629

Fulper Tile
34W. Ferry Street
New Hope,PA 18938
(215) 862-3358

Motawi Tileworks
33 North Staebler #2
Ann Arbor, Ml 48103
(734) 213-0017

Stone Hollow Tile Pottery
2115 Gordon Avenue
St. Paul, MN 55108
(651) 646-5970

Tile Restoration Center
35 II Interlake Avenue North
Seattle, WA 98103
(206) 633-4866

BOOKS

To learn more about decorat ive tiles and art pottery, American Bungalow recommends American Art Pottery, From Our Native Clay, Art Pottery of America, California Potteries: The Complete Book and other volumes available in The Bungalow Bookstore.

Richard D. Mohr is a professor of philosophy at the University of Illinois, Urbana.
Mohr’s informative journey into the world of tile collecting concludes in Issue No. 21. Join us then for the pros and cons of framing, tips on caring for and cleaning tiles, comments on prices and how to watch outforfakes.

“The recipe for this meat loaf originally came from my mom, Margaret Newport,” Sally says. “She was a wonderful cook who could make a cheap cut of meat taste like filet mignon.”

Otis adds. “It was a good basic recipe that Sally refined with the addition of the bacon and the barb ecue sauce.” Like other hand-me- down recipes from the past, Otis put his own touch on the finished product. adding olives and carrots to give it even more flavor and text ure. This self-taught chef suggests adding chipotle peppers to the extra barbecue sauce if you’re in a spicy mood.

Assemble:

3 pounds ground beef
1 large red onion, chopped fine
1 large red pepper, chopped fine
1/2 cup finely chopped celery
1/2 cup finely chopped carrots
2 cloves garlic, chopped fine
1/2 cup chopped black olives
1/2 cup dry bread crumbs
2 eggs, beaten
3/4 cup barbecue sauce
4 Tbsp.Worcestershire sauce
salt and pepper to taste
4 strips bacon

Lightly sauté the onion, red pepper, celery, carrots and garlic; mix with remaining ingredients. except bacon. Form into a small loaf in a 9-by-1 3-inch baking dish and drape bacon over top. Bake for 1 hour at 350°F.

Mix extra barbecue sauce with a little catsup and heat to serve with the meat loaf and mashed potatoes and fresh spinach. Also great served as a sandwich on homemade bread.

Test kitchen note: If you like a bit of crunch in your meat loaf, just briefly sauté the vegetables, or if you prefer a softer texture, cook a few minutes longer.

Serves 4-6

MARSTON’S RESTAURANT
151 E.WalnutAve.
Pasadena. Calif.
(626) 796-2459

Researching the History of Your Home

Design With Color

Exterior Paint Colors

Exterior Paint Colors – Part Two

The Bungalow Garage

Bungalow Recipes: Old-Fashioned Pound Cake

Bungalow Recipes: Otis’ Meat Loaf

Tips For Tile Collecting

Tips For Tile Collecting – Episode Two

Buying Arts & Crafts Furniture

Architectural Styles: The Shed-Roof Bungalow

Architectural Styles: The Gable Front Bungalow

Our first guest chef is Suzanne Bourg-Burlingham, the guiding force behind The Raymond Restaurant in Pasadena, Calif. The restaurant fills the cozy rooms for a small bungalow-the former caretaker’s home on the grounds of the long-gone Raymond Hotel – and spills out into their charming cottage garden. Suzanne was named a Great American Chef by Grand Master Chefs of America, and she cooks like one.

“This recipe is from the grandmother of a good friend, who said she never baked the whole cake because she couldn’t keep her fingers out of the batter,” says Suzanne. “I’ve added a bit here and there over the years, but this truly is the best pound cake in the world. With a hot cup of coffee or tea, it is very plain and very perfect.”

Assemble:

3 cups + 2 Tbls unsifted bleached all-purpose flour
1/2 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
2 sticks (1 cup) butter, room temperature
1/2 cup shortening, room temperature
3 cups of sugar
6 large eggs
1 tsp. each vanilla and lemon extract
2 Tbls. lemon juice
Zest of 1 lemon
1 cup whole milk
Powdered Sugar, Optional

Preheat oven to 325F. Lightly butter an angel food tube pan on all inside surfaces, and cut a circle of waxed paper to fit the bottom. Stir dry ingredients together, then sift together 3 times to blend. Set aside.

In a large bowl, beat the butter and shortening with electric mixer until mixture is fluffy, 3-4 minutes. Add sugar gradually, beating for 3 additional minutes. Add the eggs, 1 at a time, beating approximately 4-5 minutes more. Beat in vanilla and lemon extracts, lemon juice and zest. Next, add flour mixture and milk alternately in 4 portions, beating well after each addition.

Pour into prepared pan and bake for 90 minutes, or until toothpick inserted in center comes out completely clean. When cake tests done, bake 5 minutes more.

When cool, run thin knife around sides and center pan, place serving plate over pan and invert cake onto plate. Dust with powdered sugar if desired. This cake also freezes beautifully, and leftovers are delicious toasted in a little butter in a slow skillet.

From Issue 28, Winter 2000

When Henry Ford introduced his Model T in 1907, garages as we know them hadn’t been invented. What did exist were carriage houses, barns, stables and other outbuildings, often large enough to hold an automobile—sometimes next to livestock—for those wealthy or progressive enough to own one. A 1909 issue of American Builder and Carpenter magazine makes no mention of garages—in either articles or advertisements—even though it contains a 10-page spread featuring the winning designs of a bungalow contest.

A decade later, the American landscape had changed significantly. The swelling middle class had cities bursting at their seams, Ford had perfected the assembly line and the automobile was omnipresent. “Seven million automobiles!” trumpeted an article about garage doors in a 1920 issue of American Builder. “Such a large family suggests a housing proposition of enormous proportions—garages here, there, everywhere.”

THEN AND NOW
So, what did bungalow garages look like? And more importantly, why should you care?

A garage may not be the first item on your restorationlist, but an appropriately detailed building can add a great deal of historic ambiance to your bungalow’s environs, much as a pergola over a terrace or a stand of old-fashioned hollyhocks might. Having completed restoration of their houses, more than a few bungalow owners have cast a restless, nostalgic eye around the rest of the property. “Does anyone know what a bungalow garage should look like?” is a plaintive plea appearing on electronic bulletin boards at old-house websites.

The easiest way to determine the original state of your garage may be to simply look at it critically. Being a utilitarian building, there may not have been many changes if it has continued to perform its job reasonably well. But many garages, like bungalows themselves, have been altered or torn down. Perhaps you have an original, but tiny, one-car garage that just won’t contain both the SUV and the convertible. Or, if you live in a temperate climate, the home builder may not have bothered with a garage at all. If you’re planning on restoring, enlarging or replicating a bungalow garage, there are characteristics they shared that are worth keeping in mind.

LOOK TO THE HOUSE

Many bungalow garages, particularly those that were a part of more upscale properties, looked like smaller, simplified versions of the house they accompanied—themselves minor architectural statements. In the letters to the editor section of 1920s construction magazines, builders would proudly offer photographs of stylish garages they had just constructed from materials left over from the house. In other instances, a substantial garage was actually the first building to go up on a lot, where it served as a compact family home while the main house was erected. There were also combination garage/bungalows—garlows—but that’s another subject altogether.

Garages often had the same roofline as the house, whether front gable, side gable, jerkin-head (clipped gable), hipped or flat. Rafter tails were exposed, and brackets sometimes supported the overhang if it was especially deep. The building’s exterior walls were typically clad in the same material as the house—wood clapboard, stucco, brick, or some combination thereof. Costlier models might even have small, windowed dormers on the roof that were mostly ornamental, but, according to a 1923 publication, “also aid in ventilation, permitting smoke and gases, which are often troublesome in a garage, to escape more easily.”

The roof was sheathed in material matching that of the main house as well—usually wood or asphalt shingles, or sometimes clay tile. The paint scheme also took its cues from the house.

MAIL-ORDER AND KIT GARAGES

Other bungalow garages, perhaps even the majority of them, were much simpler structures. According to Designer Doors, a contemporary company that constructs modern garage doors in historic designs, some builders “saw the garage as an unrelated place to stow the car; the functional garage was often a small, partially prefabricated structure … that could be ordered and constructed quickly and inexpensively.”

It’s easy to see how widespread this practice was by looking at old mail-order house catalogs from companies such as Aladdin or Sears Roebuck. Inevitably, a few pages in the back contain illustrations of basic garages that could be ordered separately if desired.

Perhaps the most basic garage—and probably one of the first—was known as the “Ford Favorite.” This 10-by- 16-foot box featured simple hinged doors, a front-gable roof, some white paint and little else. “In design and construction it is the simplest and most economical that it is possible to make,” explained a booklet of garage plans published by the Southern Pine Association, “and its size is recommended by the Ford Motor Company as being the best and most suitable for owners of their cars.” The booklet contained plans for garages that range from the Ford Favorite to a three-car monster, demonstrating that the American propensity for acquiring automobiles is not necessarily new.

DOORS

Probably the most distinctive feature of a vintage bungalow garage is its doors. “They are the seasoning to a delectable dish which otherwise might prove a flat morsel,” enthused the long-ago author of the aforementioned garage-door article. The earliest garage doors opened outward on large strap hinges. “There was a time when all doors swung on hinges,” the same article informed readers. “It was the only type available.” As cities grew and more auto traffic filled the streets, city ordinances began to influence construction. “As a result,” explains the writer, “in many localities doors which swing out on a public highway are prohibited.”

The next evolutionary step in garage door design allowed for sideways sliding, rolling or folding doors. (Doors that opened overhead appeared in the late ‘20s, but didn’t gain in popularity until well after the bungalow era.) All these
arrangements featured a series of two or more door panels hinged together and hung by small wheel assemblies on an overhead rail. The panels accordion-folded to one or both edges of the portal, or rolled on a curved track to the
inside wall of the garage. The American Builder article contained a blueprint page that illustrated no fewer than 10 different door- opening systems.

Manufacturers touted the ease of operating a door outfitted with their particular brand of hardware. Ads frequently pictured a petite female or a child pushing the doors aside while the man of the house sat waiting behind the auto’s wheel. “Don’t Forget the Women” implored one advertisement. Amazingly, 70 or 80 years later, it’s possible to find such hardware still in use, especially on garages that see only occasional use, such as those at a cabin or in a farmyard.

WINDOWS
Garage doors virtually always had windows, which filled the upper third of each panel. They were divided by muntins into individual panes, or lights. Similar to house windows, the muntin pattern might be a simple cross, three evenly divided vertical lights, a three-over-three or four-over-four pattern, or even a diamond arrangement recalling an English cottage.

In addition to windows on the doors, there were usually several other windows, one or two on each wall of the building. Since light bulbs of the time cast a comparatively feeble glow (and many garages weren’t electrified at all), plenty of natural light was important. A 1923 publication called The Home, in describing the attributes of a desirable garage, explains:
“Two windows in each side wall and a window in the rear add to the light and possibility of ventilat ion. permitting its comf ortable and safe use all the year round for making repairs and trying out the engines of the autos.”

PUTTING IT BACK TOGETHER
If you want to restore your garage to its original state or build a new one are likely still plenty of examples nearby to use as a guide. If, however, your neighborhood has remained prosperous throughout the decades or has been gentrified, most of the original garages may have been torn down, as old structures are often the victims of “home improvement.” If so, grab a camera and seek out intact bungalow neighborhoods.

The portion of your old garage most likely to be missing is its main door or doors. A skilled carpenter could construct new ones similar to the originals, and perhaps you could find hardware in usable condition at a salvage yard. But let’s face it—even if you could have the rolling doors back, would you want them? Automatic garage door openers are, after all, one of the great pleasures of modern life.

Fortunately, you can have an old-door look and open it remotely, too. Several companies make motorized, overhead garage doors that, when closed, look startlingly like the old variety. Some are assembled in panels just as the old doors were, then cut into horizontal sections and re-joined with hidden hinges. The result? Doors that appear as if they would swing outward or slide, but instead lift up and away with the touch of a button. Now that’s progress, the old-fashioned way.

In our last installment, we followed our publisher’s adventures in choosing exterior point colors and preparing American Bungalow’s publishing office, the Twycross House, for a new paint job. In this episode, we ask the rhetorical question, What could go wrong?

John Brinkmann received four bids from painters on the exterior paint job. Several professionals suggested prepping the peeling portions, applying heavy primer to help camouflage the cracks and uneven surfaces, and spraying on a new top coat. But he was reluctant to go the standard route, feeling that the texture of the cross-cut shingles and beams would be further lost under more gloppy paint.

Brinkmann decided to use CDS, Inc. in nearby Alhambra. Calif., whose coowner, Dean Tweedy, suggested attractive alternatives—although he came in with the highest bid. After calculating the countless man-hours that would be required to take the whole house down to bare wood, they compromised by deciding to strip the bungalow’s street facade and two sections near the back porch, along with the south wall of the garage—the areas in the worst condition.

Tweedy specializes in restoration and specialty coatings. He recommended a special abrasive wheel that he felt would remove the paint without damaging the wood. The paint laughed. A test section proved that the half-dozen paint layers were more tenacious than that. Next up was a peel-away stripper that promised to remove all of the paint layers in one fell swoop.

Tweedy had used this product on other old homes with good results. But Mrs. Twycross’ old-formula paint was unimpressed. Some portions stripped away neatly as advertised, while in other areas, the product only worked spottily. And it wasn’t inexpensive by any measure: just the stripping product for the areas where the peeling was the worst cost more than $1,000, without any labor. Ultimately, about 20 percent of the bungalow was down to raw wood.

Tweedy contacted the manufacturer about the stripping difficulties. They sent out a customer service rep albeit several months later. delaying the job further. Their product comes in several different versions, and they presumed that the wrong formula being applied. However, testing sample sections soon showed that right product was in use—it just took multiple applications to remove paint.

Prep. Prep and More Prep
As a result of using the chemical stripper, the shingles needed to be neutralized with water before applying any paint products. The foundation plants that were the recipients of this runoff took a dim view of the proceedings, although
the product—which was sold as non-toxic—wasn’t supposed to harm plants. Many turned up their toes and died. To add insult to injury, other plants were damaged when the chimney, porch, and stone foundation were sandblasted.

Tweedy’s crew took great pains to prep the wooden screens and windows. An early plan to remove the windows
and run them through a planer proved unworkable, so disk and belt sanders came into play. Corner gaps between the rough-sawn shingles were caulked and a tinted primer coat applied to the body. Then the real fun began.
“When all of the body had been painted, blotches appeared in several areas,” Brinkmann remembers. “And then the touch-up wall color was different. Eventually the Dunn- Edwards paint rep came out to see what the problem was. They had done a great job matching the color samples I’d given them initially, but now there seemed to be a variation between the batches.” The upshot was that Dunn-Edwards paid CDS to repaint the whole body during the Christmas holidays of 1998.

What Schedule?
The remainder of the job proceeded with only minor mishaps, although CDS undoubtedly took a bath on what was turning out to be a year-long project. To Tweedy’s credit, he never raised the price, but not surprisingly enthusiasm for completion was in short supply.

Brinkmann had planned to use high- or semi-gloss paint on the trim, but a test window showed that the uneven, feathered-paint surfaces were even more obvious with a glossy coat. “That caused us to go with flat paint on all of the surf aces—something I’d never do again” he says now. “Somehow, the flat on the window sills really shows the dust and it constantly looks dirty.”

And the paint job is still presenting challenges: The body color is mottled in many areas, with what looks like chemical reactions taking place—not unlike a watercolor wash. “Within 14 months, we were looking at heavy touchups to the body. if not repainting,” Brinkmann says. “And portions of the front porch are peeling—I’m not sure why.” Dunn-Edwards responded to the ongoing problems by offering to repaint with a new contractor. At press time. sections were still being tested in an effort to find suitable solutions to the peeling and color problems.

Challenges, struggles and teeth grinding aside, the house looks great—particularly from the vantage point of passersby. “The color scheme really changed the way the house looks on the lot,” Brinkmann says. “Removing some of the foundation plantings was actually beneficial. It lets you see the bones of the house more, and the dark eaves and window accents make the details come alive.”

Still to Come
Brinkmann lists refinishing the front door, installing Chris Ether light fixtures and a handsome mailbox, along with hardware restoration as still- pending items on the exterior redo. Major landscaping plans for the triple-wide lot are in the offing, and perhaps a wrap-around extension of the porch that would mimic its 1914 design. And what about the gutters that were recommended in our first installment? Should he re-engineer the original built-in system? Would copper gutters and downspouts be an overstatement on this modest builder- designed house? Lots to ponder.

And then there’s the interior. Brinkmann would love to take the plaster arch between the living room and dining room back to its original conformation, and maybe install French doors in one of the former bedrooms that would open out onto a shady, wisteria-draped seating area.

Isn’t nice to know that our American bungalow is just like yours? A place of comfort and great joy, while a never-ending source of projects and potential.

More Bungalow Paint Palettes
Benjamin Moore & Co. has several color brochures that would be helpful for bungalow owners. Colors from nature are grouped in pleasing combinations—especially the Mountain. Prairie and Desert combos—in their txterior Inspiration brochure, as well as their Historical Color Collection. See your local point store for copies, or visit their website, www.benjaminmoore.com.

Dunn-Edwards did custom-color matching for this story’s exterior point scheme. but many of their existing hues would be appropriate for period homes. Their distributors are located in the Southwest, to find a supplier near you, visit www.dunnedwards.com.

The Glidden Co. also has great colors for bungolows. Ask to see the historical section of their Master Palette, or log onto www.glidden.com. Call l-800-GLIDDEN for a supplier in your area.

It seemed like a simple paint job. The bungalow that houses our magazine publishing offices had been painted a traditional gray body color with light trim for the past 15 years or so. Pleasant enough, but a bit ho-hum. Its colors didn’t really reflect the Arts and Crafts era, or capitalize on the potential beauty of the airplane bungalow’s architecture. Plus, the paint was virtually jumping off the house in some places, and looked chalky and tired overall.
The question seemed to be, What colors should it next be painted?

Should we conduct research and repaint in the original color scheme? Choose shades from some contemporary Arts and Crafts palettes? Or simply select colors we liked? In reality, the question before us was. What kind of restoration and prep work should be done before applying a single brush-full of new paint? And so the saga began.

Assessing the Condition
Publisher John Brinkmann tapped the resources of local preservation group Pasadena Heritage to try to find the right consultants for the job. Some of the timbers on the front porch were sagging, and sun and rain had done a job on the most exposed sides of the house and garage. The surfaces of many of the window sills were in poor condition, and multiple layers of paint were hiding the distinctive saw pattern on the shingles. Missing rain gutters were also noted as condition problems.

One consultant recommended the extensive use of Abatron, a resin compound, to fill in rot and insect damage to the wooden porch members. He removed some of the worst sections to work on them off-site, but months went by with little progress. A second restoration expert, Mike Hahn, stepped in. He advised filling some of the damaged areas, but suggested replacing other areas with new wood. Since the existing 1914 timber dimensions couldn’t be matched with today’s standard sizes, a circular-saw-cut, custom Douglas fir beam was attached with a straightforward scarf joint. Hahn also tracked down a resource for barn shingles that closely matched the originals, and replaced some rotted and missing areas.

Reading the History
Brinkmann also turned to existing blueprints and John Snyder, a historical preservationist with the state of California, for clues to the bungalow’s history. “The house was in good condition overall,” Brinkmann says. “It belonged to just one family before I bought it in 1987, and the owner, Mrs. Twycross, invested in high-quality maintenance over the years. I don’t think she considered it to be a classic Craftsman—it was just her home—but she had the foresight to keep the original gravel roof, and much of the interior was nearly untouched. It had original hardware and lighting, and unpainted woodwork in the living and dining rooms.”

Snyder immediately dated the house to 1914, based in part on the alternating long/short pattern of the cross- sawn shingles, a style that he said was popular from 1914—15. “The blueprints we have are from a 1930 remodel,” Brinkmann explains, “but we also have several earlier photos of the house. John Snyder looked them over and pointed out where the south wall had been pushed out about 10 feet—including the fireplace— which eliminated part of the original wraparound porch.

There were also modest expansions to the back-porch area, and a second downstairs bath as added during this same “period.”

Snyder helped answer the question of the original colors. using automotive sandpaper, Le sanded two sections, one on the original portion of the bungalow and one on the ‘30s addition. Feathering the edges to show the triated layers of each coat of paint, the original colors were revealed to be cream with a lighter trim. Not exactly what Brinkmann had in mind.

“Bringing the house back to its fresh, original statement meant more than just a new paint job,” he says. The texture and saw marks on the redwood shingles were so organic I knew they should be liberated from the coats of paint that had built up. And it was apparent from what John Snyder showed me that they had always been painted.”

So our publisher-cum-graphic designer repaired to his computer.

Color Cues
Instead of caging swatches from his local paint store, Brinkmann turned to a designer’s best friend, his Pantone color book, and a careful scrutiny of the house exterior.

“The front of the bungalow has a lot of gray, green and blue in the stone foundation and the cement walkways and porch,” he explains. “The house has a kind of New England sensibility to its landscaping, but it’s in a desert atmosphere. Plus, the light-color gravel roof made me think of muted sage colors. All of these elements led to an Arts and Crafts—like gray-green body color.”

Brinkmann’s approach has a historical precedent, as explained by author Timothy Hansen in “Color and Light from Nature” in Issue No. 6: “Color schemes from nature were one of the most popular Arts and Crafts methods.

First, find something with a color you like—a leaf, a butterfly, a tree fungus, a stone—and analyze its colors. Figure out the proportions of the different colors used, and then apply those colors and proport ions to the object being decorated.”

The oak front door and porch ceiling were warm, varnished natural wood, leading him to search for a complementary brown shade for the window trim. Nothing doing. During his computer color studies, and in actual swatch tests on the house, all of the brown tones Brinkmann tried just didn’t work with the body color he’d chosen. Later, the painter sugg ested a rusty red, and fortunately, that clicked with the rest of the palette.

Bargeboards, knee braces, porch beams and pillars were all lighter versions of the body color for emphasis. And perhaps the boldest, and most successful leap was choosing a deep charcoal for the eaves and the lower portion of the window frames. The dark color emphasizes the 3-D qualities of the architecture, casting what looks like shadows, whether the house is in full sun or shade.

With the colors selected, and the repairs underway, all that remained was to find a painter who understood the nuances of a project of this scope. Someone who knew and loved old houses, who could recommend products and techniques that would allow the 80-plus-year-old bungalow to emerge from behind its innocuous overcoat. A relatively simple task, right? Aah.. . stay tuned for our next installment to see what challenges our noble painter faces.

RESOURCES
John Snyder
RS. Preservation
Service
Sacramento, CA
(916) 488-7641
Consults on period color, National Registry nominations, and other architectural preservation concerns.

Michael Hahn
General contractor
Covina, CA
(909) 595-5574
Renovation, remodels,  new construction.

This article was featured in Issue 27, which can be purchased here for more photos and resources.