My aunt and I had time to chill out in the cardiologist’s office at the OHSU building that isn’t on the hill, and after a bit of general staring out the window, I realized I was looking at the Fortress of Solitude, the place Matt and I lived before we bought our house.
That red-roofed house was on the street that peeled off from Barbur Boulevard, creating the triangle where our building was (and still is, though the lawyers aren’t there anymore.) The blue and orange building on the left are on the slope above our building; when there was a threat of ice, the people living there used to drive their cars down and park them in our building’s empty parking lot.
I took my friends through the house and when we got to the basement, one of them marveled at the door. Isn’t it great? So very wide.
It’s also perfectly weighted and makes a satisfying clink of the latch falling when it closes. I’m guessing this door was salvaged from some other building, but it might have been bought new for the house.
It needs some reglazing, and perhaps a paint job, but I enjoy that when my brother duct taped the cracks in the middle window, he made it look like a figure kicking up its heels.
The house is creeping closer to being ready to sell, and I took some pictures of some small details I love.
The fact that there is a utility room. Everyone has always called this the utility room, something that I didn’t realize was nomenclature of the period until I was reading a small booklet about Richland Washington’s Alphabet Houses, and noticed that all the plans had utility rooms. It would be called a laundry room now.
But also I love that cake cover style light cover, which is probably original to the house.
Here’s a closer look.
In the grandpa bathroom, a tiny room off the utility room, no one ever cleaned out the grandpa medicine cabinet, so here it is, last used in September 1990.
It includes a handy list of first-aid hints held up originally by cellophane tape. The other taped up item says, “Yet, it’s a pretty good and very simple remedy. It is not infallible, but very frequently will settle a queasy stomach. Use a two per cent salt solution (one-half teaspoonful of salt in three ounces of water). Then take a tablespoonfull of this solution.”
At some point in possibly the Oregonian, the was an article about someone in real estate (agent? photographer?) who kept a collection of cool light switch plates. I understood the appeal.
Here are two very cool light switch covers. I didn’t notice until I was taking the picture that they have mirrored backgrounds.
And here’s one of the two probably original bathroom switch plates. (From the other bathroom, not from the grandpa bathroom.) This one is cracked, and the other is not, but the picture of the non-cracked one came out blurry, so you will have to make do with the cracked one.
I also like the grooves on this switch plate.
Grandpa also had grandpa items in the big bathroom. Here they are, patiently sitting there since the George H.W. Bush administration.
I took the medicine cabinet contents home and put most of them out on the street for people to take as needed. They were all gone within hours, even that empty English Leather bottle.
We finished up the last things we needed to do before Thea’s Estate Sale took possession. I wandered around the house feeling sad about all the things that will no longer be part of my family and will soon find their way to new homes.
I took one last picture of the hallway. For my entire life (nearly 50 years) I’ve watched myself walk down this hallway in the mirror that sits over the phone desk where my grandmother always removed her clip-on earrings before talking on the phone.
When I was younger, I would run and leap, and as I got older and more earthbound, the pace was slower. If the mirror could montage, you’d see me from a baby to mid-century.
I took the mirror home with me. But I will no longer have the long hallway to reflect me to me.
I’ve written about the tree on this property here. And probably somewhere else about the house itself, though I can’t find the post.
When the Habitat for Humanity houses were built, this lot got much smaller to accommodate them. But the house remained, so I wondered if it would continue to exist.
But the dumpsters have appeared. While it could mean a rehab, that’s not usually the pattern.
This is a duplex built in 1908. It’s 2084 square feet, according to Portland Maps. I heard years ago that the landlord had died. Someone suggested the house was stuck in probate. It is now owned by 8106 N Interstate Avenue LLC and the owner’s address is in NE Portland. It sold this May for $380,000, a bargain for the neighborhood and house size, but probably an appropriate amount given it has been unoccupied for many years and squatters have been removed twice.
It was sold in 2018 for $495,000, so has had quite a comedown. The earliest assessor detail is from 1988 when it sold for $29,000.
My favorite website that gives me insight into permits hasn’t been updated since 2023, so no info there. For now, there are photos on this website. The interior is pretty grim.
We shall see what comes next. I wonder if the tree will get to stay.
Friends Burt and Laurie have bought a new house, which means they must sell their old house. I’ve had many happy times there, and I am feeling a bit sad about saying goodbye.
Among the things I will miss is seeing this gorgeous fireplace.
Here is more information about it:
Recollection from Jon Nelson, homeowner 1958–2003 regarding the fireplace.
The wooden fireplace mantel and Italian tiles in the front room of this Queen Anne style Victorian farmhouse came from the Wolfe mansion in Portland, Oregon, when it was demolished in the early 1900s. It had been brought around the horn in the late 1800s to be installed in the master bedroom suite. Mr. Wolfe was in the retail business with Mr. Lipman and they were the owners of Lipman and Wolfe department store in downtown Portland. A Miss Polly Predmore is credited with salvaging the fireplace and tiles and having them installed at 1822 N. Portland Boulevard [now Rosa Parks Way]. The mantel is made of walnut, it is believed. It is a wonderful focal point of this home and has been admired by many over the years.
I did a bit of searching, but the closest I could get to a picture of the Wolfe’s house, was this comment on this blog.
Can’t find a picture of Adolphe Wolfe’s Whidden & Lewis designed half-timbered Mansion up on King St, now avenue. It was next to the William Honeyman mansion, an amazing romanesque chateau with conical tower, also by Whidden & Lewis. There is a well known tinted picture postcard from around 1900 that shows the two houses and the surrounding beautiful neighborhood. The title of the postcard is written in red and reads-“Portland Oregon Residences”
Wait! I found that postcard. It’s in the second row on this site. A very handsome house, indeed.
On the way to Boise, I traveled with a Portland Thorns high school team. I could tell they were in high school because as we were deplaning, the adults in charge made sure each one hadn’t left anything, including their phones, behind.
While they weren’t great at managing the space they were taking up in the airport, it was fun to travel with them and their cheery red gear.
Having grown disenchanted with hotel/motels (they provide much more space than I need at too high a price; when I price down, they turn scuzzy) I tried out this darling Airbnb. I loved the original art and that bowl of chocolate waiting for me.
The unit was an integrated part of a mid-century and so had those great mid-century details including built-ins in the bedroom.
Also, this cute tiny kitchen.
Look at this darling built-in which is where I would put my spices and staples, were I living here full time.
Sadly, this wasn’t the best location, logistics-wise, so I won’t be staying there again.
I’ve written about this house before (in 2015) hoping that this creepy house might be on the tear-down list. Nine years later, it’s still here. But the overgrowth around the house has been chopped down, so perhaps things are moving in the tear-down direction?
Here’s the long view, across the Kenton Rose Garden.
Once upon a time (say, last week) the house at 1516 N. Winchell Street had two monkey puzzle trees framing its entrance. Now there is just one. And a big mess.
This was such a big tree, I’m actually surprised I didn’t hear it fall.
Aside from blocking the road, it also did some major damage to this car.
While some monkey puzzle trees in Portland are from the Lewis & Clark Exposition, this house was built in 1927, long after the exposition closed. But I bet the trees were planted around the time the house was built.
