Houses in the Grandview Plan lit up by golden winter sun, as seen with a long lens from Beltzhoover. We have seen some of the houses on Edgemont Street from a little closer; for example, the wide house with three dormers at lower left is the one we identified as designed by Henry Gilchrist.
Edgemont Street is a one-block street in the southeastern extremity of Mount Washington, according to city planning maps, where Mount Washington, Allentown, and Beltzhoover all come together. It was part of the Grandview Plan of lots, built on the land that had belonged to various members of the Bailey family until the early 1900s. This was a particularly high-class street in the plan, and some of our prominent architects designed houses here, although we have so far positively identified only one. We begin with a close examination of a house that is typical of the first wave of houses on the street, which share certain distinctive features and were probably all designed with the same pencil.
The oval leaded glass in the reception hall would create an impression of prosperity and taste.
These dormers with arched window in the center recur on several of these houses; this one preserves its original shingles. Note also the curled finial at the peak of the roof behind the dormer.
Patterned brickwork marks where the chimney is inside the wall—a kind of decoration we might call a false chimney, or perhaps an expressed chimney.
This house has been divided into apartments and suffered multiple alterations, but the bay flanked by columns is unique and probably original.
One of our architects had fun with this flamboyantly Flemish roofline. The rest of the design is very good early-1900s arts-and-crafts, with most of the original details preserved for now, though they will not survive the next house-flipper.
A Craftsman bungalow, again with many original details preserved, though the original windows (probably 3-over-1) have been replaced.
Probably described by its builder as a Dutch colonial, with a gambrel roof that creates a spacious, almost full-sized third floor. The mismatched bays bother old Pa Pitt. They are not asymmetrical enough for the asymmetry to be a design feature; they look like a failed attempt at symmetry. But it’s still an attractive house and an efficient use of a small lot.
This triple house was designed by Henry Gilchrist, who was responsible for some famous mansions (Robin Hill is a notable example). It may originally have been built as a single residence.1
A later house than most of the others on the street, probably dating from the late 1920s or early 1930s. Siding has replaced what was probably half-timbered stucco, and windows have been replaced, but some of the original details, including an individual interpretation of the popular arch-with-rays, are well preserved, and the house is well taken care of.
The shingles in the gable of this house were replaced long ago with hexagonal asbestos-cement tiles. The word “asbestos” can cause panic, but the best advice from safety experts, even the ones who make their money in asbestos remediation, is to leave stable tiles like these in place, and they will harm no one.
Finally, at the other end of the street, another of those foursquare houses with an arched window in the dormer. This one preserves its original dormer window.
As the storm clouds rolled in, old Pa Pitt was taking a walk in Mount Washington on a couple of blocks of Virginia Avenue. The neighborhood is an interesting phenomenon: it has always been comfortable but never rich (except for Grandview Avenue), so most of the houses and buildings have been kept up, and most of the renovations show the taste of ordinary working-class Pittsburghers rather than professional architects or designers.
We begin with one of the oldest businesses in the neighborhood: the Wm. Slater & Sons funeral home, which fills an odd-shaped lot that gives the building five sides or more, depending on how you count. Slaters have been on this corner since at least 1890. It is very hard to tell the age of the building, because it is really a complex of buildings that grew and evolved over decades, and each part of it has been maintained and altered to fit current needs and tastes. For example, on a 1917 plat map, the back end of the building is marked “Livery,” indicating that W. Slater had a stable there.
This building diagonally opposite from the Slaters has an obtuse angle to deal with. Its Second Empire features are still in good shape above the ground floor, and the storefront has been kept in its old-fashioned configuration of inset entrance between angled display windows.
Here is a house built in the 1880s, also in the Second Empire style, with mansard roof giving it a full third floor. The house has been kept up with various alterations that obscure its original details (the porch, for example, is probably a later addition), but it is still tidy and prosperous-looking.
It is hard to tell what this building was originally, but Father Pitt would guess it was more or less what it is now: a storefront with living quarters upstairs. The front has been altered so much, however, that it would take a more educated guesser than Father Pitt to make an accurate diagnosis.
This apartment building has also been much altered; the windows in front, for example, were probably inset balconies
The interesting Art Nouveau detailing of the brickwork reminds us of the work of Charles W. Bier, a prolific architect whose early-twentieth-century work earns him a place among our early modernists, though he turned more conservative after the Great War.
At this point in our walk, the windows of heaven were opened, and the rain was upon the earth, and we retreated to our ark.
Some day some clever inventor will patent a way to match mortar colors in brickwork and make a fortune. (That was sarcasm, by the way: it can be done, but first you have to realize that it ought to be done.) Nevertheless, this building looks much better than it did a few years ago, when the front was covered with aluminum, fake stone, and asphalt shingles. Was it absolutely necessary to brick in all the side windows? Well, probably. Otherwise light might leak in. The original building comes from the 1880s, and the basic outline of it remains Victorian Gothic.
This building also seems to have been put up in the 1880s, or possibly as early as the 1870s. It has been so thoroughly remodeled so often that it would be hard to guess what it looked like originally; Father Pitt’s best guess would be that it had a Second Empire mansard roof and details, replaced in the 1970s by the parody of a Second Empire roof we see today. In the past two decades, the ground floor has been completely redesigned twice; the current incarnation is better than the way it looked twenty years ago.
Here is a Second Empire building that retains much of its original detail, in spite of the complete remodeling of the ground floor (the original design probably let in far too much natural light) and the artificial siding on the dormers.
Built as a bank and still operating as a bank, this is a little building that gets the message right. It did not have the budget for stone, but the blond Kittanning brick gives it the color of stone, and the simple classical arches convey the impression of a rich and substantial bank where your money will be safe.
Note how the definition of “South Hills” has changed since this bank was built on Shiloh Street, just a block back from Grandview Avenue.
Cola Street was originally called Coal Street, but at some point there was a transposition of letters. It clings to the edge of Mount Washington, and it was originally built up with the cheapest grade of frame houses. Some of those houses have been adapted to expensive eyries for Pittsburghers who want the most dramatic view of the city; they have been joined by newer houses also specialized for sucking in as much view as possible. Below, a local architect’s own home, perhaps his childhood dream house that he finally prospered enough to build for himself.
The Monongahela Incline opened in 1870, and it has run since then with a few interruptions for maintenance. There has never been a serious injury on it, as far as old Pa Pitt knows, making it just about the safest form of public transit ever devised.
The engineer who designed it was John Endres. He was assisted by his daughter Caroline and by Samuel Diescher, who would later go on to design the Duquesne Incline and most of the other inclines around here. Diescher would also go on to marry Caroline Endres, making them certainly one of the first husband-and-wife engineer pairs in the country. They had three sons and three daughters; the sons all became engineers.
This upper station has gone through various renovations over the years, but it seems to be the original. The lower station was replaced in 1904 with a much grander building designed by MacClure & Spahr.
A minor work of a major architect, this building on Shiloh Street has suffered multiple renovations since it was built in 1911 that have gradually taken away much of its character. The ground floor was completely remodeled; the arched windows have been replaced with square windows and the arches filled in; and just a few years ago the roofline lost a crest. Still, what remains gives us some idea of how Frederick Osterling handled a small commission.
This is the kind of view that makes Pittsburgh unique among American cities. The pictures were taken from the intersection of Cederhurst Street and Estella Avenue in Beltzhoover.
