Two Churches, One Town

Today I discovered just by chance this mini-documentary of two beautiful 900-year-old churches in a lovely little English town - and the struggle to keep them from falling into ruin.  The high-definition videography is wonderful.  

You can learn more at the website Two Churches, One Town.

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Aladdin Readi-Cut Homes, 1958

The good life of the 1950s, which those happy kids would later mock and deride, and abandon for sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll - and all that has followed.  
But was it really so bad?

Your Head Trucker can hardly think of a better way to while away a rainy day - such as we are blessed to have here in Texas today - than by poring over old house plans.  I suspect that many of my truckbuddies also get off on floor plan porn, so I here present for your delectation a sampling from Aladdin Readi-Cut Homes, published in 1958. But first, a little background information.

Readi-cut houses, also known as mail-order houses or kit homes, began to be marketed shortly after the turn of the 20th century, and were popular until the advent of World War II.  Sears and Montgomery Ward were but two of many companies who offered such houses, which are not to be confused with prefabricated houses, in which many components - including whole walls, interior and exterior - are assembled in a factory and shipped to the builder, who merely has to stand them up and attach one to another.

Readi-cut houses, on the other hand, are built stick by stick and piece by piece just like any other platform-framed house, but every stud, joist, plank, and rafter is pre-cut by a giant series of buzzsaws at the factory to its precise dimensions, labeled, and numbered.  This eliminates the need for a homebuilder, or his carpenter, to buy large pieces of wood from a local lumber mill and spend the many hours needed to cut them all down into the individual pieces.  Furthermore, where pieces join, they are pre-notched so as to fit together snugly and precisely, thereby assuring strong and sturdy construction, without waste of time or materials.

The Aladdin Company, headquartered in Bay City, Michigan, was one of the most successful readi-cut home vendors.  In the roaring 1920s, at the height of the Florida land boom, the company leaders actually planned to build a whole city of their houses near Miami; unfortunately, the collapse of the boom, followed shorty after by the Great Depression, scuttled those plans.  The Depression dampened all kinds of house building nationwide, and the readi-cut companies who managed to carry on were most of them scuppered by the diversion of materials to the war effort in 1941-45.

Aladdin soldiered on, however, despite the postwar boom in tract houses built by the hundreds or thousands in new suburbs across the country, with the encouragement of new FHA and VA loans available to millions who could never have afforded new homes before.  For a nominal down payment and a low-interest mortgage, home buyers could get the keys to a cute, convenient, complete ranch-style house without ever having to swing a hammer:  an easy choice for all but the most dedicated do-it-yourselfers, I suspect.  But Aladdin and a few other companies kept turning out readi-cut plans for a dwindling market until finally calling it quits in the 1970s.

Well, now that Prof. Manley has done his educational duty with this history lesson, on to a selection of the 1958 plans; the full catalog is available to view or download at the marvelous Internet Archive, a true Aladdin's Cave of all sorts of quaint and curious lore on every subject imaginable.  Click any image to view in the lightbox; or right-click to open super-large in a new window.

Continued after the jump . . .

Classic Shacks: Jackie's White House Tour

The shining moment that was Camelot:  the Kennedys at a state dinner in the
White House for French cultural minister André Malraux in 1962

In the United States, it doesn't get any better than the Executive Mansion. Your Head Trucker got to see the outside on his one trip to D.C., but alas, not the interior.  I well recall Mrs. Kennedy's tour of the White House that was broadcast on Valentine's Day back in 1962; young'uns today who are used to grungy reality-show celebrities and instant fame - or infamy, as the case may be - can have no real idea of how glamorous and thrilling this program was back then.

The Blue Room as redone by Jacqueline Kennedy and designer Stéphane Boudin

Of course, Mrs. Kennedy, with her sophisticated knowledge of art and antiques, was responsible for her widely praised restoration - not "redecoration," as she was quick to point out - of the house, and for establishing the office of Curator of the White House, as well as for publishing the first White House guidebook, sales of which helped finance the restoration effort.

A photograph of A Tour of the White House with Mrs. Kennedy and CBS
newsman Charles Collingwood; alas, color television was still a rarity
in most American homes in 1962, and like most other programs at the
time, the special was filmed only in black and white.

In those pre-women's lib days, Jackie's success in undertaking this enormous project led her amazed husband to concede wryly at a press conference one day that his wife had demonstrated executive skills he didn't know she had.  Doesn't that sound just like a man?

Anyway, here's part one of the film. Enjoy.



BTW, if you want to explore the mansion's many rooms in detail, the unofficial White House Museum website has an excellent collection of pictures, floor plans, and architectural information.

Classic Shacks: Palazzo Reale di Genova

I seem to be in an Italian mood today.  Surfing around, I just happened to come across this jewel of art and architecture, which you can read more about here if you have a mind to.

The Mayflower, 1930

A happy little house that would still be totally livable today, from the Monkey Wards home catalog of 1930, found at Antique Home Style.  I'd take plan B, eliminate the dining nook, add a screened porch off the kitchen, and a half-bath in the back bedroom; otherwise, it would work for me just like it is.  Click to enlarge:

WTF: The Cube House

Continuing with the domestic architecture theme, or should I say - from the sublime to the totally fucking ridiculous:




Would have a made a terrific playhouse when I was about 10. It's the sort of thing that appeals strongly to navel-gazing young men who fancy themselves both deep and progressive thinkers. The type who think real life happens only in overpriced coffee shops and deeply-dark nightclubs. Who are always on the make, but never quite seem to have a steady girlfriend. Which perhaps is because they are so fond of quoting arcane philosophers no one has ever heard of, and trying to impress at parties by playing endless madrigals on hand-carved flutes.

I say girlfriend deliberately, because no sensible gay man would ever go for such a shipping crate of a house. Not nearly enough room to decorate!


Speaking of ridiculous - at this very moment, 2:15 p.m., it is exactly 100 degrees here on the prairie, and your Head Trucker is all hot and sweaty and naked. But it's not nearly as sexy as you think, guys - the a/c unit went haywire last night, and I've been waiting all day for the service company to arrive, all the windows open and all the fans going. Which helps very little. Probably they won't get here till 5 or so, by which time your Head Trucker may be a tepid puddle on the floor.

This would, of course, happen on the hottest damn day of the year. Send some cool thoughts my way, will ya?

UPDATE, 2:40 p.m. - Dayyum, that was fast! The service guys (straight and none too cute, crap) just left, and cool air is flowing once again. One of my readers must have amazing psychic powers - whom should I thank for this blessed relief?

English Cottage Style

As I've posted before, you fellas know that your Head Trucker gets off on looking at old house plans, and even trying to draw some of my own.  The English cottage style was way big in the 20's and 30's, and I remember as a kid I used to see a lot of old houses around town built that way - of course, being a goofy kid, I just thought they looked weird, with their narrow, pointy gables and long, long rooflines.  (I never heard anyone use the term "catslide roof" back then, but it's a great description.)

Even now, this is not a style I would ever choose for my own house - I'm a Colonial Revival man - but at this late age I can appreciate the artistry that went into them.  Here's a couple of pretty cool houses to share with you, from a 1924 Bilt-Well catalog of plans (see a lot more on the slideshow at Antique Home.)  Click to enlarge:

Dig the colored stonework around the doorways.
And notice the attached garage, a rarity at the time.

That catslide roof would have been way too tempting for a little boy who loved to climb - like yours truly.

And while we're on the subject, might as well show you Eudora Welty's Tudor-style home in Jackson, built in 1925, in which she lived until her death in 2001.

It's a very roomy, livable place.  You can see the floor plans and take a virtual tour over at the Welty House website.

And I was really amazed to learn some time ago that the architect her father (an insurance company executive) engaged to design the house is the same man - Wyatt Hedrick - who designed the awesome Art Deco Texas & Pacific buildings in downtown Fort Worth, local landmarks (my God, they're huge, you can't miss them) now turned into very high-priced condos.

They just don't build 'em like they used to, eh guys?

Colonial Revival, Southern Style

It's not really much to speak of, but I'll share one of my hobbies with you guys, something that passes the time very agreeably for me out here on the prairie.

The first software I bought after I finally acquired a computer was a home design program.  I have no training in architecture, but I've been drawing and redrawing my dream house - or should I say houses? - for more than thirty years now.  I've drawn dozens of designs, depending on whether my imagination at a given moment leads me to think of a modest cottage or a grand manor, a townhouse or a ranch, an apartment or a suburban home.  Or just a new and improved version of somewhere I once lived.

I paid only ten bucks for that first program, which came on a floppy disk; but that was the best ten bucks I ever spent, because it gave me many hundred hours of creative play, and allowed me to go far beyond what I had been doing with pencil, paper, and ruler (I have no training in art, either, sad to say).  The challenge for me, and a great deal of fun, is to set myself a limit such as one might encounter in the real world:  a certain number of square feet, a certain shape, a certain architectural style.  Anybody can draw a big, rambling house that bulges out here and there; the satisfaction, though, comes from coloring inside the lines, so to speak - creating a lovely, liveable space within realistic limits.

Which, I imagine, is what real architects do, most of the time.

Now, modern architecture is not your Head Trucker's cup of tea, but I do dearly love traditional old homes like Colonial Revival - the sort of house I would have liked to grow up in.  Here's my latest attempt, based on an actual architect's design from about 1925, which I've elaborated a bit and, I think, improved upon.

I could show you fellas the floor plan too, if I thought you really wanted to see it.  But perhaps you can imagine your own floor plan, which is half the fun of looking at old houses, isn't it?

Of course, I have a much better program now than what I started out with, which generates these wonderful three-dimensional views of the outside of the house.  No doubt some or all of you are faintly smiling and saying, So what?  But I look at these renderings and imagine not only the house but a life lived there.

I wander sometimes through my houses like a ghost, drifting on the evening breeze that wafts the scent of magnolias and fresh-mown grass through the windows.  I watch the shades of a summer twilight lengthen, hear the distant crickets begin to chirp.  I watch the family as they finish up their supper at the big mahogany table in the dining room - is it someone's birthday, or the Fourth of July, or just a summer visit with the kinfolks from out of town?  There has been much talk and laughter; now the women, without missing a word of gossip, are carrying the dishes into the kitchen and filling the sink, while the men with their jokes and stories drift towards the den, or the back porch.  The girls giggle their way upstairs to the pink-and-white bedroom where there are new records to play, and hair curlers, and talk of boys.  The older boys head out to the garage and discuss fireworks and cars and girls.  The younger boys run across the porches and all around the yard, shrieking happily, playing hide-and-seek in the shadows of the big oaks, with the dogs excitedly joining in the game.  A train whistle blows for the crossing at the bottom of the hill, and is swallowed up in the muffled rumble of the cars.  Somewhere a church bell tolls the hour.  Nobody wants the evening to end anytime soon, not even the grandparents, who are already a little tired, but full of good cheer.

Life is sweet, and safe, and steady.  I am in their midst, gliding among them, the silent wraith who sees and hears it all.  They have no idea I am here, watching, listening . . . ordaining their private joy.  They will never know me, though I know them well.

It is not my house.  It is not my life.  But a life that might have been.  Could have been.  Should have been.

Update:  Below the jump, the floor plans.

It Can Still Be Done

This may be old news to some of you city boys who keep up with all the latest developments, but your Head Trucker is awed by his discovery today that a new building just went up in New York City that is actually - beautiful.  My God, what a concept.  Here's the pics to prove it:

Ralph Lauren had the new digs put up to house his womenswear collection at 72nd Street and Madison, across from his existing store in the old Rhinelander mansion, which is now going to be exclusively for menswear. Actually, I think the new place has a more masculine look, and it sure is handsome. It's faced with Indiana limestone in Beaux Arts style - done by a New York architectural firm that up till now has been known for glass-and-steel postmodern monstrosities.

I don't care anything about Ralph Lauren's brand-name stuff - I've never seen anything he made that I had the least hankering for. But I sure do like his style of building. Who knew that this kind of construction could even be done anymore? But you see it certainly can - if people want to. They just haven't wanted to for the last sixty years or so, and more's the pity.  Architecture on a human scale, with details lovingly crafted, adds a great deal to the enjoyment of life - unlike the slick, faceless, soulless creations of recent decades that have littered the urban wasteland for far too long now.

But this warms my heart, a work of fine craftsmanship - my hat's off to all the guys who worked so hard and so well on this job, especially the stonemasons and iron workers.  I love it, hope more architects will be inspired to do likewise. More pics of this beauty here and here, check it out.

Perving on Sears House Plans

Your Head Trucker is not ashamed to admit he is queer for floor plans, especially old houses like the ones Sears and Roebuck used to sell by mail order.  Sometimes I'll take an old plan like these and redraw them on my Home Designer software, updating just a little bit around the edges.  Like I did all weekend.  Hey, it keeps me off the streets.

Anyway, just sharing a really cool site I found:  Sears itself has an (incomplete) archive of their old house plans, which I had a blast looking through.  Check it out for groovy old homes like these: