By Michael Good
SDUN Columnist

Historic designation can be a bit like greatness. Some are born to it, some achieve it and some have it thrust upon them. But even those homeowners who enthusiastically pursue historic designation for their old houses can feel, at times, a bit thrust-upon anyway. We all like to change things, but if that thing is the odd little door in the wall of the back porch that was made for the milkman to put his deliveries in—step away from the sledgehammer, ma’am! That is an historic item!

This historic hesitation can lead to a sort of paralysis—we can’t do this, because if we do, it will affect that thing, which was cited in the historic report somewhere, and then everything we worked for—the blood, the sweat, the plaster dust—will all be for naught! They’ll take away our historic status. They’ll take away our Mills Act. We’ll just be old house owners again with a leaky roof and a termite problem.

This trepidation isn’t completely misplaced. Whereas historic designation once was forever, the city now plans to revisit historic properties periodically to see if anything inappropriate has transpired in the years since approval was granted. And not only is it getting easier to lose historic designation, it’s getting harder to get it. There are fewer staff members to review the applications, the turnaround time is getting longer (it’s now 18 months) and fewer, many fewer, applications are getting approved. The bar has been raised. It isn’t enough that a house was built by a famous architect, it must now be one of his more famous houses—the first in Mission Hills, the best example of his best work, the one where Lincoln slept. With his mistress.

Still, from my perspective as a guy who works on historic houses, and overhears a thing or two, the Historical Resources Board isn’t completely inflexible (even if it is a little hard to predict). Some observations from the field: Dondi Dahlin, who was recently awarded an Excellence in Historic Preservation Award from the City of San Diego Historical Resources Board for the work she did on her house (congratulations, Dondi!) has a fake lawn. Her justification: There was nothing historic about the front yard, which was probably dirt when the house was built back in 1904. (And it’s still dirt now under the plastic turf.) The board bought her argument, and she received the designation (as well as her award).

Across town in Kensington, Darryl White and David Stephens pulled into the driveway of the historic house they’d just purchased to find their garage door had mysteriously disintegrated. It wasn’t the original garage door, but they wondered if the new door would have to look like the original. No problem, said the city, just send us a photo of the new door, which has to sort of look like an old-fashioned panel door from the era (even if it’s made out of plastic).

Then there’s the Bird House of North Park, a stately Spanish-style manse overlooking the park, which for years had been adorned with red-painted shutters that were decorated with giant, colorful parrots. The shutters were falling apart, so the homeowner took them down. When he went before the board to get his Mills Act, the question arose, “Hey what happened to those birds?” The homeowner admitted that the birds had, well, flown. Much discussion ensued. But in the end the board agreed that since there was some question about the provenance of the birds (were they original but ugly, or merely ugly?), new shutters in the shape of the old shutters were okay—without the birds.

Ron May, who did historic research for the above three houses, often advises homeowners on what makes their home historic and what they should do about preserving it.

“The most important things not to change are the living room and the dining room,” May says. “People always change the kitchen, usually that’s fine. All the woodwork, the tile fireplace, and the plasterwork should be preserved. Let’s say it’s a working-class Craftsman house, the Historic Board might turn a jaded eye if it has spectacular woodwork inside. The biggest emphasis should be to restore the woodwork and give it a favorable impression. Exposed beams, fancy tile work, coved ceilings—those are the things that should be left alone because they are the insurance of getting the house designated.”

If this advice seems lacking in specifics, it’s because every old house is unique. Sure, most Craftsman-style houses have wood trim, a fireplace, bookcases and a china cabinet. But it is how those elements are put together that matters, since so many master builders and architects employed signature details, such as the octagonal columns of Nathan Rigdon. To see what is historically significant about a house, you really have to be there.

Besides preparing the application for the Mills Act, which can take six months, May and his company, Legacy 106, will provide an assessment of your house and its historical potential. He’ll point out what details and features are significant, make suggestions about how to restore or preserve it and refer you to craftsmen who can do the work or offer further advice.

House Calls provides a similar (and free) service. Last month we found a pocket door in a 1910 craftsman house in University Heights (actually, the new homeowner had found the door in her garage; we found where it belonged). And we discovered a hidden compartment in a fireplace in an 1888 Victorian (where a 1976 bicentennial flag had been stored, along with, for no apparent reason, a golf ball). Perhaps Gerald Ford left it there. No sign of Lincoln’s mistress, however.

To contact Ron May, call 269-3924. To schedule a House Call, e-mail us at [email protected].