Is that green shag original?
The hills that surround downtown Portland to its West and South have some of its loveliest, leafiest neighborhoods, and although the most famous postcard view of the city is from Washington Park, where Mt. Hood towers behind the skyline, I’ve always liked the south hill views better. Just steps from Downtown, (CHNN’s Park Avenue headquarters is just out of the frame on the left) as Broadway becomes Broadway Drive and begins winding up the canyon toward Council Crest, are some of the most spectacular views in the city, with downtown so close you could almost touch it, yet the steep, wooded hills still feel like forest, since many sites are simply unbuildable, or ought to be, since landslides great and small are always rearranging things up there. But views like the one in the picture make developers see green, so try they will to defy logic and gravity to convert a shifting, muddy cliff into salable units, with often hilarious results. Like the place I’m working on now.
Back in the late 70′s, an obviously well-connected developer got hold of that view, in the form of a curving stretch of road that had, about forty feet below, something that in the dry season might generously be called land, and decided to build a condo development there. So far, so good. But this was the 70′s, after all, and worse, the developer aimed to build something striking and unique, a “branded” building, back before that was even cool. They succeeded beyond their wildest dreams, but probably not in the way they’d hoped.
The crescent-shaped thing they came up with is something like a section of a mushroom, wherein the stem rises for a couple of stories, which from the inside turn out to be frighteningly revealing heaps of netted riprap and twisted pillars lurking in the subterranean-seeming mazes of basements in each unit, and then it juts out on cantilevers, and slopes backward another four stories to the roof. That’s right, there are walls of windows inside, one bank two stories high, that slope in such a way that you could bump your head on the glass. Kind of like the starship Enterprise. But while you’re still rubbing the lump on your head, a closer look reveals a sort of Bugs Bunny perspective: everything seems taller and narrower than it ought to be, and is it me, or is this room, just slightly, a triangle? Yes, Virginia, it is. People took a lot of drugs back then.
Stranger still, the units are daunting, counterintuitive mini-skyscrapers, with four floors and natch, an elevator lined in the simulated wood paneling of that historic era to traverse them all. A compass and altimeter are required to navigate within, since one enters on the third floor, containing the entry, two-story dining room, and kitchen; the living room is upstairs, bedrooms below, and everywhere you look, some weird slope or angle distracts you from the fact that you’re lost. The master suite, occupying a whole floor, has a louche, gigantic Elvis-grade bathroom with a bidet and a plastic tub as large as a helipad that is unsettlingly evocative of group nudity, but with a door leading outside to a scary catwalk under the driveway, as does the lone, useless window, and no door between it and the bedroom, three steps down, of course.
Unfortunately, all this no doubt green-shagged 70′s splendor didn’t age well. Unstable land and insufficient structural rigidity made even the few walls that were meant to be square slip out of plumb, and banning pianos and heavy wood floors didn’t stop nearly every door in the place from sticking, swinging, or simply having to be replaced, and the floors got so out of level that residents grew accustomed to chasing spills rather than just wiping them up. But about five years ago, the association finally decided that the one thing they could no longer tolerate was the vulgar harvest gold aluminum siding, stamped with an insultingly fake woodgrain texture, that hung on the building like a polyester leisure suit. Maybe it would look better a different color.
That’s when things got interesting; after the guy fired up the power washer and blew off a disturbingly large hunk of the building, it became apparent that, without some rather disastrous intervention, the whole damn thing was going to go ass over teakettle, landing in a heap of harvest gold mushroom-shaped debris below. Not unlike what happens to Fred Flintstone’s car when the carhop serves the brontosaurus ribs.
Four years, thousands of tons of structural steel, and assessments approaching a half million per unit later, everybody’s pretty sure that the tipping over problem is fixed, and larger, tile decks with glass railings and Ipe siding, along with trendy glass garage doors, have made the place look quite snazzy, on the outside, anyway. Now it’s a dark brown and silver 1970′s mushroom, which doesn’t sound like much of an improvement but it is. The inside, well, that varies from unit to unit.
But I did something pretty neat with the sloping windows, besides just bumping my head on them. They’re now a 19 foot high by 10 foot wide solid grid, so instead of six windows, thinly trimmed in the sheetrock, it looks like one giant window, floor to ceiling and wall to wall, like any respectable 70′s spaceship should have. I’ll post pictures when it’s done.
Today my brother Buttsy (not his real name) turns 50. Wish him well in comments; that might induce him to read the blog.
When I lived in Portland, I often had the duty of taking my brother in law’s father to the Veterans Hospital. Its located in the hills just above the Ross Island bridge, and has the most breathtaking, spectacular views that only a politician would think of developing for a self indulgent legacy.
Best wishes to “Buttsy,” I’m sure that there is a real good story behind that nickname. Having a birthday during Lent, must have been a huge bust while growing up, much like having a birthday at Christmastime. Many happy returns!
That’s just across the canyon from this place, so the view is probably similar, but much higher. The 70′s mushroom is almost cute compared to some of the stuff up on Marquam Hill (where the VA and OHSU are located) but the view is even better.
Andy, (Butts) is in Disneyland with my other brother and my nephews; I declined to go. The one privilege of geezerhood, I think, is that you no longer have to go to Disneyland. It’s not a coincidence that Butts and Nuts rhyme.
CH, I find these stories to be among my favorites. I don’t know jack about building. I can’t pitch a tent without it collapsing in the middle of the night. But, you make the issues, problems, structural concerns “visible” and accessible to people like me – whose thumbs have a serious aversion to hammers. Especially, those weighted suckers that have a waffle nose on ‘em.
Hey, Buttsy! Happy 50. I’m here to reassure you that you will survive this one, too. Best wishes for a terrific birthday.
Well, jobs like this show that I seem to know a lot more about building than most people. I’m aghast that they got permits for the thing when it was built. My brother Ted’s house is on a much drier and more stable bluff, and we had to hire an engineer and put huge footings in to build a frigging deck. The handrail supports alone that they made us do were stronger than whatever held up the mushroom.
Glad you like this stuff… I’ll be liveblogging my Brooklyn project. I’m guaranteed one reader.
Well now that I have a grandchild, its just a matter of time before I am put in the position of taking the whole family to Disneyland. The last time I checked, the tickets were around $150 for a two day pass, and the last time this happened, the song “its a small world” stayed in my mind for almost a whole day, seriously, I almost cried.
The one time I went, in 1976, it seemed like an age-appropriate rite of passage. Space Mountain wasn’t even built yet. Oddly, I felt no need to ever return; others unaccountably do, even close relatives. I don’t know why that is. But it gave me a nice excuse to wrap up the spaceship so I could go to NY with everything all done, several hundred dollars richer, and having seen fewer obese people.
Happy birthday Turd!
Bob… Other brother. The turd is still a verdant 43.
I’m picturing that section of a mushroom meant to be a building, and I know that even a mushroom could not stand up like that. Cantilevers! On a hill prone to landslides?! Yikes!!!
I loved the Flintstones metaphor. Perhaps because I watched them so much when I was a kid, knowing that I wasn’t getting all of the jokes because they were meant to go over my head.
It’s a little unnerving to look at from below, but the cantilever is only about ten feet out from the base. It’s the spongy ground, with at least one spring running through it, that’s been the problem, along with a lot of structural rot from water intrusion elsewhere.
I always use cartoon metaphors; somehow they seem so evocative, and the humor was sharp. Remember when Fred and Barney bought a boat, and Fred wanted to name it Nautical Lady, and Barney wanted Queen of the Sea? Later you see the boat, and it says, “NAU-SEA.”
In fact, I do remember that very incident. And it was either Wilma or Betty who had to point out the ridiculousness of the name to them.
I think that was an Important Episode; like a whole hour epic where they took a trip in the boat and everything….. Missing that would have been like missing the Grinch.
And before I forget: “Happy Birthday, Buttsy!”
Hag, your description reminded me of those ’70′s homes in the Hollywood Hills. Many of them have these long poles buried deeply to keep the structure from collapsing (I assume). Whenever I see a film showing one of these, I immediately tense up, sure that the house will slide down the hillside as part of the plot.
About Disneyland, the last time I went I had to admit to myself that the magic of the place that so captured me as a child was long, long gone. I was just tired, dirty and had aching feet at the end of the day.
I lived in Laurel Canyon for a time, and saw many of those. (Lautner’s Chemosphere is probably the best) Here in Portland, we try to be blander, which has the distinct advantage of not leaving a bunch of jaw-droppers all over like LA has. When they pick a style down there, they go big, and sometimes it’s great but other times, well…. But the 70′s were hard on every city.
I’m with you on the Disney thing… remember that time when somebody got killed by a flying fitting on the jungle boat and they cleaned it up so fast the cops were pissed? Some people who go to Disneyland never return, documentedly. Why risk it?
Happy Belated Birthday, Butts!
In these challenging times, it feels like a great time to be fifty. Don’t know why it feels that way,… just does – to me anyway. Today anyway, Also a pretty good time to be 30, 40, 60, or 70. (10 or 20… not so sure.)
Well.
[btw, you should know: we think an awful lot of your brother.]
Many happy returns of the day! Hope the birthday fun with family at the Magic Kingdom was full of hugs and squealing laughter.
What it means to me, Gordon, is that it’s going to be a damned short time before I go tottering off that cliff myself. The Butt isn’t exactly a different generation, and all. I bet they’re having fun, though, and they’ll appreciate your wishes.
Happy birthday buttsy. Take it from me; 50 is not all that big a deal.
Hag: another good one; but it is sad that buildings in this country in this era are “old, old, old” after only a few decades. Sad. My people could put up a monument and expect it to last several thousand years. Perhaps we need to build another pyramid.
Well, there’s this thing called “design life,” and for most buildings in the US, a 20-year design life is all that is required of its materials. In Europe it’s closer to 100. That’s why they build in masonry, stone, tile etc, and we use plastics.
When I work on a 100-year old house, which I do all the time, everything in it that is original is still good; floors, siding, moulding, doors, cabinets, windows, and even the antiquated plumbing fixtures are still beautiful and functional in their way. Anything after about 1965, all of those things are garbage. Worse, the trade and practice of building is being lost because everything is factory-made rather than site or locally built, so no real skill or pride is involved, from right-to-work sweatshop to the immigrant laborers who slap it all together.
And the people who buy get a ticking time bomb that will have to be virtually rebuilt before the mortgage runs out.
Nice work if you can get it.
Now that is an idea for another post. Compare and contrast the building methods and materials 1950 versus today. Then offer suggestions on how we all might be better severed to build them slower, but so they last.
Actually, that’s an idea for about 100 other posts. Basically, what’s happened is that “planned obsolescence” and the constant repurchases it requires is a huge part of what drives the building industry. It’s dreadfully wasteful and short-sighted, and I see it every day. Watch this space for more.
I’m new to Cocktail Hag blog but I just have to have the Mushroom’s location. See, my offices are in the Broadway Plaza Building at the foot of Broadway Drive and I have often looked up the hill to see an curved building full of windows, and wondering if, in the next earthquake, I’m going to see that puppy sliding down the hill toward my conference room. Is that the mushroom?
Happy Birthday to Brother Buttsy.
That’s your office roof in the foreground, nan; i.e., look out for mushroom incoming. Actually, like I wrote, the mushroom is now relatively tip-proof, but all bets are off in an earthquake. Your building would be equally in danger in such an event, since it has the classic “soft story” lower floors, with posts holding it up but not a lot of shear strength. Each day I walk through your dripping lower parking level (apparently the smoker’s lounge), on the way from Park Ave. to the public stairs… What a small world it is.
Happy Birthday Buttsy .
My own favorite architectural venue is LA, home of the frisbee mentioned above. I once managed to snag a tour of the Ennis-Brown house, which is one of the most magnificent interior spaces I’ve ever been in — like a cathedral built for two people.
As you know, it appeared in movies fairly often. The best of them was probably Blade Runner, but unfortunately the elegance of the coffered teak ceilings was obscured by Ridley Scott’s claustrophobic drop ceilings — necessary to the plot, but unkind to Wright’s genius. Also, something which folks who haven’t been in the house couldn’t know, Deckard’s kitchen in the film is actually a bathroom. Also, the set dressers made fiberglass copies of the Mayan revival concrete blocks to fill strategic places where they wanted to alter the spacial relationships. After the shoot was over, Mr. Brown used them as cladding on his doghouse. Incredibly cute….
Anyway, it isn’t only cheesy seventies hillside frisbies which are badly built. After my visit to Ennis-Brown, so beautiful in conception, and so fragile in execution, I stuck pins in a Frank Lloyd Wright doll for weeks. The water damage in those teak ceilings alone, *#@%&@! And then the Northridge earthquake more or less finished it off. I haven’t looked lately — I’ve been afraid — but the word when I left California in 2003 was that there was simply no foundation money available for what really needed to be done, which was tear it down completely and reconstruct it from scratch with more durable materials.
Sadly, daring architecture, be it good (Hollyhock House/Ennis House/Fallingwater) or bad (the mushroom) always costs too much money and leads to bad shortcuts. Predictable blandness must therefore prevail. Unfortunately, incentives for building beautiful, lasting monuments simply don’t exist, and architects, from Wright to the present, don’t know how to build, and the results are predictable. Huge amounts are wasted on show-offy tricks, while livability and even soundnessis tossed under the bus. Have you ever seen the golf-tee like skyscraper, I think the Rainier Bank Building, that the WTC architect put up in Seattle? I walk blocks out of my way to avoid the scary thing, which looks like it will tip over at any moment.
WT… New post up; nothing great but at least it’s fresh typing.
I know that the river has moved on, but I did want to say before moving on with it that architecture is one of my great loves, even though — apart from friends who were architecture students years ago, and a course in statics and strength of materials back when I was a chemical engineering student — I know relatively little about it.
Since you do know something about it, I’d love to hear more from you on the subject. (My range of interest in the built world is pretty broad, from charming cottages and gardens to loving Las Vegas, from Corbusier’s Machines for Living, to Soleri’s Etica e Invenzione Urbana. (I live less than 50 miles from Arcosanti, and have followed Soleri’s approach to sustainable city planning for more than forty years.)
I understand that you’re a builder, and have a justifiable contempt for some of the things architects get up to in their flights of fancy, but I can also tell from your photographs that the aesthetic dimension of building, and its effect on everyone’s quality of life is important to you also.
So how about it? Once in a while? Please?
With pleasure, WT. I have a post floating around in my head about the PSU campus, where all the buildings are bad, brown, 70′s fortresses that appear to have four backsides and no front. I wonder what they use in their brochures…. One particularly dreadful pile has, for good measure, a cornerstone that says W. Park St., although it’s on SW Park Avenue. Is there a reform school for architects? There ought to be.