We’d like to recommend a great local website that will feed your curiosity about Portland history: www.vintageportland.wordpress.com

This excellent site, which launched last November, features a steady parade of high resolution photos that you’ll want to look at close-up for clues to the past and the present. We like to download the photos and then explore them in detail. Look closely and you might see the person in the upstairs window. Or the guy in the distance staring at the photographer from under his fedora. Or the amazing wolf’s head frieze on the cornice of the downtown building.

Taken together they offer a sense of just how much we’ve inherited from the past, how much has been lost, and the importance of recognizing the stewardship role we have at this moment in time to be a bridge between past, present and future.

Keep an eye out there and you might even see a shot or two from the Alameda Park neighborhood! For future reference, we’ve added a link to Vintage Portland on the links sidebar in the lower right side of this page.

We’ve recently completed a survey through city building permits, collecting information on every home built here in the Alameda Park addition. It’s taken two years and more than a dozen visits to the Bureau of Development Services (which has been very accommodating and helpful), but time well spent, given the insight it offers into the development of the early neighborhood. Everything from the date of construction—it’s interesting to see what parts of the neighborhood were built first—to identifying the most prolific builders, and all of it helps paint a picture of how Alameda Park developed.

Original building record for Alameda School, taken out on November 7, 1921. Information from more than 1,025 Alameda Park building records were reviewed as part of the study.

When you aggregate the information from the permits, there are some trends and patterns that emerge:

The first observation has to do with the general timing of construction in Alameda Park, from just two homes built in 1909 to a peak of 139 built in 1922. One factor in the timing of this was the ebb and flow of the economy. Strong in 1910, but the infrastructure hadn’t yet caught up. Slow in 1918-1919. Explosive in the 1920s with both a strong economy and demand, and an infrastructure that was truly ready for development.

Building permits issued in the Alameda Park subdivision, by year, 1909-1934. From permit study by Doug Decker, 2010.

By 1934—the end of this graph—about 85 percent of the neighborhood had been built out (the late 1930s and 1940s are a mere trickle of a couple or three homes per year, if that). 1922 would have been an interesting time here in Alameda, with an influx of neighbors. If you haven’t read it, go back and look up our post about the Alameda Park Community Church and the pastor’s desire to bring together new neighbors who were strangers. That was 1922 here in Alameda.

Another observation from the permit study is to have a look at the spread of construction activity to see which portions of the neighborhood were built out first: the areas around 24th and Dunckley; 25th and 26th below the ridge; 29th and Mason; and 32nd Place (then called Glenn) from Mason to Hamblet. These highlighted areas below indicate in general the earliest construction from 1909 to 1912.

 

It’s also interesting to see who was doing the building during these years. A handful of builders built a large percentage of the homes. The list we’ve compiled below shows total homes constructed in Alameda Park by each of the most prolific builders. Many of these we’ve profiled here, others we’re still working on.

Builder Total Alameda Homes Built Building Activity
Oregon Home Builders 24 homes built 1914-1917
Ken Birkemeier 21 homes built 1932-1952
Harry Phillips 21 homes built 1921-1928
Matot Construction Co. 20 homes built 1921-1926
Frank Read 19 homes built 1923-1941
Nils O. Eklund 17 homes built 1916-1922
Grady Mahaffy 13 homes built 1922-1936
Wickman Building Co. 10 homes built 1921-1923

 

In addition to the general trends, there are specific sad stories: more houses than you might imagine have had fires (and fire repairs, hence the permit records). A couple of homes were actually struck by lightning. A fad of game rooms, recreation rooms and wet bars were put in during the 1950s, and even an exercise room way back when. Sadly, too frequent removal of trim, built-in shelves and other architectural details in a attempt at modernization (gasp). Interesting to note how many wooden front porches were rotting apart by the 1950s, and a spate of concrete porches and steps poured in replacement.

It’s also clear, when you look at the permits, why Portland’s addressing system was changed in the early 1930s. Some of our homes here in Alameda have had three addresses prior to the Great Renumbering (particularly on NE Bryce Avenue) as numbers had to be skootched over to make room for new houses built on empty lots. Let’s just say the original numbering system was less than scientific. You can see this on the actual building permits themselves, where one address has been scratched out and the new one written in. History in the making. It wasn’t scratched out in the example above, but you can clearly see Alameda School’s pre-address change number: 864 Fremont.

Another observation as we completed the study was just how many homes do not have an original building permit. Over the years, for whatever reasons, the City has lost perhaps as many as 20 percent of the original building permits, particularly in the early years. For these homes, we have to rely on original plumbing permits which always give the construction date, but can be sketchy with owner and contractor information.

Regardless, as you handle these permits, some 1,025 in all, you feel time passing through your fingers. You see the clerk typists punching in the details. You sense the contractors standing in line, waiting at a counter wishing they could be back on the job instead of in the permit office. You witness the many inspectors and their mostly neat observations, drawings, complaints and even sarcastic remarks in shorthand on the 4 x 6 manila cards.

And you can’t help but wonder what it will be like 100 years from now when someone wants to research the history of your house. What story will your house be able to tell?

If you are as captivated as we are about lining up clues from memory and the geography of the past as a way of understanding the present and thinking about the future, you need to read an excellent series of essays coming out of Rochester, New York in the last few weeks. At turns heartbreaking, insightful, maddening and maybe even hopeful, these posts by the architect and urbanist Howard Decker reveal what happens when a community loses its sense of itself, when it forgets its own stories. There is a cautionary tale here for all of us.

Check out the post on Franklin Square, but be sure to look around at the other posts. Howard’s message to us is that the form of our community tells a story about what’s important to us; that it reflects our values and the choices we make about who we are, what we want to be.

While we struggle with growth and change right here in our own neighborhood and city, a quick look elsewhere can remind us how lucky we are, and what’s at stake as we make choices about the future.

Full disclosure: along with being a terrific urban archaeologist and geographer, Howard is also my big brother. Nice work bro!

Here’s a neighborhood memory that brings together a couple of favorite topics we like to wonder about: The open spaces of the early unbuilt neighborhood, and the Broadway Streetcar.

Long-time Alameda Tuesday Club member Terry O’Hanlon checked in with us recently to share these memories. Part of her growing up years – and most of her adult life – has been spent right here in the Alameda neighborhood. During the late 1920s and early 1930s, she and her family lived in the bungalow at 4016 NE 28th.  Here’s a picture:

4016 NE 28th, taken about 1932. Photo Courtesy of Terry O’Hanlon.

The house, built in 1921 by the Wickman Building Company, looks much the same today. As a very young person, Terry remembers playing with the neighbor kids, romping out front with her little white dog, and adventuring around the open spaces and empty lots nearby.

She also has an enduring memory of the night her living room provided a convenient stake-out location for the Portland Police.

A spate of robberies had been plaguing the Broadway Streetcar. As Alameda History Blog readers will know, 29th and Mason was the end of the streetcar line, where the conductor stepped outside to switch the overhead electrical connection, flipped the seats so they’d be facing forward, and then took a break before the inbound trip back downtown to Broadway and Jefferson. 29th and Mason was a quiet, somewhat out of the limelight spot – perfect for a motorman’s momentary pause. But also perfect for a stick up. The car, and its accumulated collected fares, was a sitting duck out there in the dark at the end of the line.

That’s where Terry’s living room came in handy: at the time, it provided a perfect view to the end of the line—about one block east—so the good guys could keep an eye out for the bad guys. Look back at the photo: See that empty lot to the left (north)? 20 years later, Kenny Birkemeier would build a house on that spot, filling up that open view to the end of the line.

Here’s something to think about: Watching out your window as all around you a neighborhood is being built up. Elder Alamedans remember this phenomenon well, and some have even lamented the loss of their favorite empty lot, hiding spot, or fort location. It was one of the defining experiences of growing up in Alameda up until the late 1940s. A topic for some future post. But back to the living room and the streetcar stick up…

Terry remembers coming downstairs to a darkened first floor, into a room filled with cops all craning their necks to watch the streetcar when it finally came to a stop. The shock of it all seared that image into Terry’s memory banks for these many years. But don’t ask if her if Portland’s Finest got their man…she’s never been sure about that. The image of her darkened house filled with police soaked up all available memory-making bandwidth for the very young person she was at the time.

We’ve seen news stories from 1920s editions of The Oregonian about a burglar operating in the neighborhood, but have never come across any official telling of the streetcar stick-up to help us know how it all turned out. Chances are the Portland Traction Company, which operated the Broadway car during those years, would have wanted to keep a lid on the whole thing anyway so as to not put every carline in jeopardy.

There are other memories about the end of our car line: about the old man and his German shepherd who used to nap on the lawn of the house at the southwest corner of 29th and Mason, watching streetcars come and go. And the enterprising teenager who “hijacked” a driver-less streetcar parked momentarily at 24th and Fremont. And, what if felt like for some on the last ride of the last day.

So many memories to explore, so little time…

It’s an unusual name: Hugby.

Not Rugby or Bugby. But Hugby. And it’s set in concrete for all to see near the base of Alameda’s Dead Man’s Hill, on what we know today (and have known since platting in 1909) as Stuart Drive.

We came across this on a recent walk up the hill. It’s well cloaked in moss, but clearly visible, there on the south side of the street, at the base of the hill, just upslope from the stop sign. Take a look:

Right next to Hugby in the curb is our old friend Elwood Wiles, 1910, the ubiquitous curb stamp across much of Portland’s east side, made by the prolific concrete contractor and former Alameda resident.

We’re sensitive to names because they are signposts to history, but Hugby is a new one on us, not encountered on many trips through Polk City Directories, the Federal Censuses, old news articles, legal proceedings and other documents stemming from the Alameda Land Company. Elsewhere on this site, you’ll find a handy reference about other neighborhood street names. But no Hugbys encountered in pursuit of those stories either. Recently we sorted back through the city directories from 1900-1920 looking for any Hugby, but no luck. And Google is little help: it thinks you meant Rugby.

And just for the record, Portland did have a Rugby Street–a short section of street located in Willamette Heights–which was renamed NW 34th Avenue during the Great Renumbering of the 1930s. Couldn’t be confused for our mysterious Hugby Drive though.

To be clear: the original plat for Alameda refers to this as Stuart Drive, even though there is no curb stamp that names it so (the original one may have been at the top of the hill on the north side of the street, perhaps obliterated from curb repairs). So Hugby joins Glenn and Laura as mysteries awaiting solution. Any ideas?

Always on the lookout for a little mystery like this. Seen any lately?

Our presentation this weekend at the Architectural Heritage Center turned up some helpful leads into Alameda stories.  We were there to offer a presentation about the development and early life of the neighborhood and were pleased to see some familiar faces, including Maryon Kinsey, who is featured here on the blog. Afterwards, several neighbors approached us to share suggestions and ideas for further research. Thanks!

Our sister Bonnie Hull, the talented Salem artist and art blogger (be sure to visit her blog, which often features detailed profiles of local artists, a feature she calls “Living the Creative Life“) was in attendance and provides a very nice glimpse into our AHC program. Check out her reporting here. Thanks Bon.

We’ll likely be offering the program again at AHC—perhaps in the summer or fall—and  who knows maybe other places too…open to suggestions or invites.

From time to time we like to plumb the depths of memory for stories about neighborhood businesses. This one is reaching a ways back, but we’re looking for a little help with any personal memories about this store, which operated out of the bustling commercial corner of NE 30th and Killingsworth.

The Davis Dairy Store, located at 5513 NE 30th, was operated by three generations of women from the Davis family, who also built and lived in the home at 2427 NE Dunckley here in the Alameda Park addition. A recent visitor to the blog—Teresa Roth—sent us some shards of memory from her mother Lucille, and some photographs to ponder. Here is Lucille’s mother Irene Davis, the matriarch of the store, standing near the open door in 1938, and the same spot today:

Left, Irene Davis at the Davis Dairy Store, 5513 NE 30th Ave., 1938. Right, the same doorway today. Historic photo courtesy of the Davis Family and Teresa Roth.

 

Irene’s daughter Lucille (far left) and cousin Isabel Buckendorf sitting out front in 1938. Note the words “bicycle shop” on the window behind them to the left, and the reflection of the power pole, which hasn’t moved much in 70 years. Historic photo courtesy of the Davis Family and Teresa Roth.

Irene and her husband Ernest built the Dunckley home and likely the business as well, though he was a machinist and she a stenographic secretary. The couple divorced in the mid 1920s. For as long as the couple’s daughter Lucille can remember, the store was just part of the family. Lucille, now in her mid 80s, and her daughter Teresa stroll through the neighborhood from time to time when they are in town together, remembering friends, cousins and happy moments.

After the divorce in the mid 1920s, Irene ran the store, with Lucille’s help during the summer, and likely with the help of her sister Mae, a piano teacher. Irene and Mae’s mother Martha LeFabre lived with them as well in the Dunckley Street house: three generations running the house and the business.

No one around today remembers exactly when the store opened or closed, but we do know it would have been popular with kids. Here’s an advertisement from 1938.

Flyer from Davis Dairy Store, 1938. Courtesy of the Davis Family and Teresa Roth.

The corner of NE 30th and Killingsworth has experienced a recent renaissance that echoes the vitality of the intersection in the 1920s and 1930s. Today, the area is officially known as the Concordia Neighborhood, though in those days it was known to both residents and customers as Irvington Park. Just for context, here’s a shot of the overall commercial building today, which features some very tasty restaurants, including DOC, which we recommend.

Any memories to share about the Davis Dairy Store or this bright and busy neighborhood corner?

According to the 1938 Polk City Directory, joining the Davis Dairy Store at 30th and Killingsworth were the following businesses:

5425 NE 30th             Serafino Boitano Shoe Repair

5425 NE 30th             Parrot Cleaners

5430 NE 30th              Jason Frost Grocer | Theo Larson Meats

5433 NE 30th             Anderson’s Food Market

5438 NE 30th              30th Avenue Pharmacy and Post Office

5501 NE 30th             The Ark Beer Parlor

5507 NE 30th             Irvington Park Variety Store (now Blackbird Tatoo)

5509 NE 30th             30th Avenue Bicycle and Hardware

5515-19 NE 30th        Twin Pines Barber and Beauty Shop

We’ve just heard from our friends at the Architectural Heritage Center that there are still some seats left for the Saturday, January 23rd presentation about Alameda History. We’ll be taking a trip back through time to look at how the neighborhood developed, some of the key builders, and stories from across the years that help characterize the life and times of the Alameda Park neighborhood. The program runs from 10:00-11:30 a.m. at the Architectural Heritage Center, 701 S.E. Grand Ave., Portland.

Click here for more information about registration.

There are always at least two sides to any story (usually a lot more), and we’ve recently found a description of the events surrounding the neighborhood opposition to the Alameda Park Community Church that sheds further light on exactly what happened around here in the fall of 1921.

Let us whet your appetite with this clip, from the April 1923 edition of The American Missionary, published by the Congregational Home Missionary Society:

To help put this in context, if you haven’t already read it, we’d recommend reading the page on the church (today’s Subud Center) which you can find by clicking here. Be sure to have a good look at the photos too.

In order to appreciate what The Rev. Allingham is about to tell us, you have to know that some in the Alameda Park neighborhood were up in arms about the construction of the church at NE 30th and Mason. Several protests were organized, a petition got up, and a fair amount of consternation resulted, including relocation of a construction site. The story hits close to home for us because the leading petitioners were the folks who lived in our house for 50 years, and the original intended construction site are the two lots immediately north of us.

Let’s catch up with The Rev. Allingham: 

The turning of the other cheek. He continues:

The reference to the children from the homes that objected to the church: that’s probably Bruce and Jean Morrison who lived here and were probably some of those kids who snuck out the back door of home to check out Sunday mornings at the Bungalow Church. Hmm. And the church seems to have served the community up into the 1950s and early 1960s. We’ll continue looking for additional stories and articles that chronicle the building’s life and times. In the meantime, with The Rev. Allingham’s words in our minds, stroll past the building at Regents and Mason and listen for the echoes of all those children.

If you’re a long-time reader of the blog, you’ll recall our piece on the controversy about construction of the Alameda Park Community Church (click here for that page). As a reminder, in the Fall of 1920, neighbors were not happy about plans to build the church on two lots at the southwest corner of 30th Avenue and Mason. The former owners of our house—Walter and Edith Morrison—led a campaign to oppose the building, and then to relocate the planned construction one block east to the island at the corner of Mason and Regents where it was ultimately built (but not before trying unsuccessfully to kick it out of the neigborhood altogether) .

While researching recently through building permits and related documents filed on microfiche, we came across the original drawings for the building, all filed for construction at 30th Avenue and Mason. Take a look:

Detail from elevation drawings filed with construction documents for the city’s permit process. Note that the building was designed by architect Edward G. Larson, working for Redimade Building Company (which was based in Portland).

The church building, now known as the Subud Center, is still going strong and a neat place for meetings, events and large family gatherings.

We continue to keep any ear out for stories, memories and photos of this building. Have something you can share?

We’ve known there are many other Portland homes and buildings yet to be discovered that were built by Harry Phillips, in addition to the 19 we’ve found so far here in Alameda Park. Thanks to some attentive visitors to the blog, we have an important addition to make to the list.

Prolific builder Harry Phillips built this English Cottage style Ladd’s Addition home in 1926 for his parents Henry and Louise Phillips. Photo courtesy of Tami and Brian Clare. 

The Henry and Louise Phillips home—located at 2108 SE Cypress—is a special English cottage that Harry built for his parents in 1926. Current residents of the home—Tami and Brian Clare—found our biography of Harry (click here to read the Phillips bio), which triggered a connection to their home. Tami and Brian had seen Harry’s name in the documentation about the house that was submitted as part of the Ladd’s Addition National Historic District nomination package. After visiting the blog, they put two and two together, and sent me a quick e-mail sharing their observation.

According to the nomination: “The house was built by building contractor Harry Phillips for Henry Phillips, possibly a relative, a machinist for Southern Pacific Company, who lived in the house with his wife, Louise.”

Brian and Tami wrote us with the following thoughts about the house:

“We love the style of our home, and so it was very exciting to find your website and know that there are other Harry Phillips homes in Portland!”

They were as excited to learn more about Harry as we were to find this special home he built for his folks. They also shared a photo of a carved ornamental beam, similar to beams found in other Phillips-built homes. Harry’s son Jerry attributes the design of the beam to architect George M. Wolff, who is believed to have designed many of Phillips’ homes.

Detail of a hand-carved beam, Henry and Louise Phillips Home. Photo courtesy of Tami and Brian Clare

Thanks to Tami and Brian for making this connection. We’ve recently put them in touch with Jerry to tell him about his grandparents’ home and to ask a few questions of their own.

In the process of perusing building permits for other research, we’ve come across another Phillips home to add to the list: 3035 NE 23rd.

Next to builder Frank Read, who built at least 20 homes in Alameda, Phillips was the busiest builder in this neighborhood.

Word has arrived from Oregon’s State Historic Preservation Office (SHPO) that a prominent home in Alameda has been placed on the National Register of Historic Places: the Edward and Bertha Keller House, located at 3028 NE Alameda Street.

The Edward and Bertha Keller House, 3028 NE Alameda. Photo courtesy of Oregon SHPO.

Here’s the official word from SHPO, which was shared via the Oregon Preservation e-mail list:

Constructed in 1924, the Keller House is important as an example of the early works of master designer Elmer E. Feig and the English Cottage Revival style. Feig began his career in 1921 when he obtained a building contractor license while employed by the City of Portland Buildings Bureau as a plans examiner. Feig’s early work included a handful of homes, but he quickly transitioned to apartment buildings where he creatively merged a variety of European-revival styles such as Tudor, Spanish Colonial, Mediterranean, and California Mission. Among his commissions are 24 properties noted in the Portland Historic Resource Inventory as “having architectural merit” and the National Register-listed Spanish Colonial Revival-style Santa Barbara Apartments built in 1928.

SHPO has placed a copy of the nomination form on its website. Do take a look, (click here for a PDF of the application) which will give you appreciation both for the home, and the thoroughness of the application and review process.

This brings to four the total number of homes in the original Olmsted Park or Alameda Park plats that have made it onto the list. The other three are the Thomas J. Autzen house, located at 2425 NE Alameda; the Thomas Prince House, located at 2903 NE Alameda; and the Louis and Elizabeth Woerner House, located at 2815 NE Alameda.

Alameda School, 1923. Picture taken looking southeast from the corner of NE 27th and Fremont. OHS image OrHi 105623.

We received word last week from Portland Public Schools that they’re sharing an inventory of their many historic properties, including our favorite Alameda Elementary School, and nearby Beaumont Middle School.

You can find these reports and many others at this link, which is interestingly housed within the Office of School Modernization.

Looks like Alameda faired well in the analysis in terms of its historic integrity, but Beaumont–due to many alterations made over time–did not. Both buildings were designed by George Jones, the one-man Portland school architectural institution (actually two man institution, his father Thomas had also been architect for the Portland School District years earlier).

The good news for Alameda Elementary School is that it scores well as a candidate for listing on the National Register of Historic Places. Perhaps a small group of interested parents and historic building fans might be up to the task…? Count us in if we can find a quorum.

In the midst of the communication technology that has come to define our busy lives—mobile everything and 24/7 communication—we thought a little historical context might be of interest. During a recent session with The Oregonian microfilm, we came across this little nugget from January 11, 1911.

1911-Telephone-Service,-11-

From The Oregonian, January 11, 1911.

Just wanted to make sure you caught that: the Home Telephone & Telegraph Company, working at a very busy pace, installed 2,460 phones in calendar year 1910, bringing the total number of working phones in Portland to 12,254. Just for interest sake, Portland’s total population in 1911 was 212,290. Between 1910-1911, more than 13,000 building permits were issued in Portland, a record that made the City Building Department (formerly located in City Hall) a very busy place. Construction in Portland, and in our brand new neighborhoods here in the Northeast quarter of the city, was taking place at a pace which we can hardly imagine today.

In our 1912 bungalow, the first phone was hidden away in a box tucked into the wainscot in the breakfast nook. A later version had its very own table mounted to the wall in the hallway outside the master bedroom. Not sure when the “twisted pair” arrived here, but our hunch–based on what was a growing trend both in homebuilding and telephone business–is that we were wired from the beginning. What’s the history of the phone in your house?

At a time when we take wi-max, wi-fi, cell phones and the internet for granted, the notion of 12,254 working phones in Portland makes us want to slow down a bit, and wonder if people were actually better connected then.

11-7-Harry-Phillips

Harry Phillips, Alameda Builder, 1886-1935.

We’ve often walked the Alameda Ridge above and below Ridgewood and admired the work of Harry Phillips, a prolific builder and designer who shaped the western edge of the Alameda Park neighborhood. It’s been a pleasure to be able to visit with and interview his two sons–now in their 80s–to learn more about their father’s work and his too-short life. You might have read the profile we wrote about him in The Builders section. The quality of Harry Phillips’ work, and the striking sadness of his family story, have captured our imagination.

So it was particularly nice recently when Harry’s son Jerry sent along a portrait of his dad, taken in the 1920s. Seeing Harry Phillips helps us to imagine him and his family here in Alameda, and to honor his work. It’s too easy to forget the many lives who have shaped our homes and neighborhood in the last century. Here’s one person–thanks to his dedicated sons and stories passed across these many years–who is remembered.

We read the very nice story by Janet Goetze in the November issue of the Hollywood Star News, which arrived in our mailbox today. She wrote about our passion for seeking out the history of the neighborhood, and highlighted some of the stories you’ll find here. Thank you, Janet. (She didn’t mention this in the article, but she lives in house built by prolific Alameda builder Frank Read, who you can read more about by clicking here). Here are links to the topics she mentioned in the article:

You’ll find the information on Elwood Wiles here.

More about the Broadway Streetcar here.

A collection of stories about people who are living in the houses where they grew up is here.

The remarkable tale of the Pearson Ponderosa Pine is here.

Have a good poke around the blog: there’s lots to read and you’ll find topics not just about Alameda, but Beaumont-Wilshire, Rose City Park and Albina too. And if you’d like a little more on neighborhood history, come along to the program I’m doing at the Archtectural Heritage Center on the morning of Saturday, January 23rd.

Of course, I’m always on the lookout for an old photo, a mystery to solve or a neighborhood or old house story to listen to, so leave a comment here on the blog or drop me a note at doug@alamedahistory.org And if you’d like some help investigating the history of your own house, check out the research services and resources tab.

Thanks for dropping by.

It’s been quiet on the Alameda old house history blog for the last month or so, but time to get back into the swing of things as the kids return to school, and as the weather transitions to more research-friendly conditions like cloudy, cool and wet. Actually, I think this stretch from now through late October holds some of my favorite Oregon weather.

In addition to perking along with a few research projects this summer (but not much blogging), we’ve been working on a kitchen remodel in our almost-hundred-year-old house. We’ve tried to be faithful to the historic design concepts even though we are using standard current kitchen technology. We’ve been fortunate to have a great architect in Arciform and an excellent contractor in Joe Petrina and Petrina Construction. You can read more about our kitchen adventure here, and maybe share your own pearls of wisdom about surviving a kitchen remodel.

As we’ve worked through the remodel process, we’ve kept a keen eye for clues from the past, and we’ve found some interesting items…nothing earth shattering, but some quaint signs of the time. Thanks to some insulating material (as in crumpled up newspaper) we confirmed the long-held thought that a back porch extension was made to the house sometime in 1930.  Below is a clip about the Reo Convention coming to Portland, from the Sunday Oregonian on February 2, 1930.

 7-14-Exhibit-7

 

Here’s an interesting scoop about the world’s largest passenger plane — a 30-seat Fokker – coming to Portland. And below that, from January 26, 1930, a story about a record order expected for new Chevrolets to keep up with a booming demand for new cars. Apparently, the market had not yet found the bottom. Hmm.

7-14-Exhibit-3

Exhibit 8

 

But probably one of the most interesting finds during the remodel was the signed name of our original builder, William B. Donahue, who we have profiled here on the blog. We found this little gem buried deep inside a wall, signed in what looks like blue grease pencil or blue chalk on the back of a wainscot panel that faces our breakfast nook, on the other side of the kitchen wall. Check it out:

9-15-post-Donahue-Signature

Because we’ve found documents and letters sent by Donahue years after his construction endeavors, we think we can recognize the handwriting. If you look to the left of the crossbrace, you can see the “#1.” Could be that Donahue was sorting out the plywood he wanted for the wainscot, and this had a number 1 grade side (the other side). Not sure. But it sure was a treat to find.

When you are working on your renovations, be sure to tell the contractor and the crew that you are interested in old house archaeology. You might even ask them for their stories about the most unusual items they’ve ever found working on these time capsules we call our homes.

What have you found?

Interested in learning more about Alameda? I’m doing an education program for the Architectural Heritage Center, which has been rescheduled to Saturday, January 23rd from 10:00-11:30 in the Center’s auditorium on Southeast Grand Ave. It will be a good opportunity to have a closer look at the evolution of Alameda, and specifically at several of the prolific builders and their design styles that have shaped the neighborhood we know today. It’s also a great excuse to drop by and get to know the Architectural Heritage Center a little better. And you might even meet a neighbor or two!

You can find more information about the program, and a link to registration, at the AHC website: http://www.visitahc.org/content/upcoming-programs

Seeing as how the English Tudor Cottage stories and photos are among the most often viewed files here on the blog, I thought I would share an article and drawings that ran in The Oregonian homes section on December 20, 1925 (click on the image to enlarge). Interesting to note that plan sets like this were available in abundance. Every week, the newspaper focused on a different house style: the narrative describing each house could have been the same for every story, favoring words like roomy, inexpensive, tasteful, convenient. If you live in a Tudor, does this floor plan and design look familiar?

From The Oregonian, December 20, 1925

From The Oregonian, December 20, 1925

I’ve just finished a research project on a century-old house in the Boise neighborhood, an area known in earlier years as Albina. The house, on North Borthwick, was a rental for many years that held at least 17 different families and dozens of occupants of all ages. The research task was to track down all of the past residents and to learn something about their lives. What a fascinating pleasure it was to unearth the stories from newspaper clips, Polk directories and a handful of remaining public documents.

The part of the neighborhood I was focusing on was a Scandinavian stronghold in the early years: the house was built by a Swedish immigrant and for the first 40 years of its rental life, the house knew only immigrant families.

In the course of the research, I had occasion to read and enjoy a great book by former Northeast Portland resident and author Roy Roos, The History of Albina, which I recommend to readers of this blog.

The back of the book contains a thumbnail history of many properties in the Boise, King, Humboldt and Piedmont neighborhoods. You’ll recognize some of these buildings, particularly the ones up and down Martin Luther King Boulevard. But it’s the front part of the book—the narrative that describes how neighborhood geography has changed over time, and particularly the maps—that will haunt you. So much has been lost in these neighborhoods. Virtually all of Albina has been altered by development of Emanuel Hospital, construction of Interstate 5, and construction of the Fremont Bridge and its various ramps and fly overs. Overlay the map of old Albina on the geography of today and you can get a sense of just how much is gone.

If you are haunted by layers of history and enjoy seeking clues that link today with the past, read Roy’s book and then get out there on the ground, maps in hand, to imagine what must have been. You can find his book at Powell’s and many other booksellers locally and on the internet. Here’s a link to a neat story that ran in The Oregonian following the book’s publication.

Hat’s off to Roy for keeping these stories and places alive.

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