Concrete block was never a very popular material for houses in Pittsburgh, but we find a fair number of concrete-block houses scattered here and there. Few of them reach these imposing dimensions. This house was built for members of the same Kountz family that also owned the Second Empire mansion next door. Today it is divided into apartments, but except for the fire escape and the third-floor window, few significant changes have been made to the exterior.
A matching concrete-block garage with rooms above, perhaps a chauffeur’s apartment, was built later.
Old Pa Pitt will admit to finding these rusticated concrete blocks unattractive, perhaps even aesthetically disturbing. Individually, each block is cast to resemble rough-hewn stone, which is all very well; but when you have a whole wall of the things, the fact that they are all identical instantly destroys the illusion, and instead rubs our noses in the fakery. Smooth-faced concrete blocks, on the other hand, can be very attractive.
Take away the balconies, add a mansard top to the central tower, and you would have a classic Second Empire mansion. The house may have been built in the 1870s; as far back as 1882, according to old maps, it belonged to Joseph Kountz, who was still the owner in 1910. By 1923 it belonged to “R. Wolfinger et al.,” suggesting that the house had been turned into apartments by then.
The maps show that the front was not always as symmetrical as it is now; and if you look at the front closely, you will notice that the bays behind the balconies on the first two floors on the left side are original, but the square ones on the right side, and the third-floor bay on the left side, are built from a different shade of brick.
Much of the ornamental woodwork from the original 150-year-old house has been preserved.
This apartment building with Renaissance details was built in about 1905. The architect was A. E. Linkenheimer,1 about whom old Pa Pitt knows very little so far.
The name of the building is interesting, because it is the name of a project that was planned at about the same time nearby at the intersection of Penn and East End Avenues, where Titus de Bobula was to supervise an immense $600,000 Alpha Apartment Hotel. That project fell through; at the moment Father Pitt does not know that the name was anything more than coincidence.
This building is under sentence of condemnation, but it does not appear to be in such bad shape that it could not be rescued. Homewood is not rich, but there has been some renovation going on in nearby streets.
The Braddock Avenue side has its own neatly symmetrical façade.
Two doors up the street from St. Michael’s School is this colorful little building, of whose history old Pa Pitt knows nothing. Perhaps someone better informed can reveal it to us in the comments. Father Pitt thought it might have been part of St. Michael’s parish, but old maps do not seem to suggest that it was. Whatever it was, its colorful tile arches and terra-cotta ornaments are worth preserving, and we are happy to see it so well maintained.
Titus de Bobula designed this school, built in 1904 for St. Michael’s, a Slovak parish. Although it has been altered here and there, enough remains to show us a very unusual mind at work.
For example, who else would have given us the ragtime rhythm of these tall and narrow stairwell windows (later bricked in)?
These abstract pilaster capitals are echoed on the porch columns of the convent next door, also De Bobula’s work.
This building has also been altered (the roof is newer, and the third-floor dormer appeared only about a decade ago), but we can see that its details were calculated to match the school.
Pittsburgh’s own Harry H. Lefkowitz was the architect of this futuristic tower of furniture, which was built in 1941. The building is one of the chief landmarks of the moderne style in the Pittsburgh area, and by sheer luck it has not been too much damaged over its eighty-five years of existence. It is an astonishing thing to come across while walking or driving through the almost deserted business district of Braddock. Now, at last, it is appreciated: it has been restored, complete with its spectacular sign, as artist residences, and as much of the original modernistic appeal as possible has been kept intact.
Old Pa Pitt has been wandering in Braddock, and we’ll see many pictures in the next few weeks. Some of what we’ll see is sad, so we begin with good news to show that there are people who love Braddock and have hope for its future.
This is what we think of when we hear “Victorian house”: turrets and angles everywhere. The picturesque arrangement also creates interesting and versatile spaces inside.
Another of the seven closing churches in the inner eastern suburbs. The dominant feature of this one, built as St. Michael’s in 1929–1930, is the huge octagonal lantern.
Addendum: The architect was Carlton Strong, according to Van Trump & Ziegler’s Landmark Architecture of Allegheny County (1967), p. 163.
The interior of the church is much more auditorium-like than most Catholic churches of its era, probably because a square lot forced it to make that adaptation.
If old Pa Pitt had to pick one apartment building to preserve in Pittsburgh, it would be a hard choice. But this one, built in 1905, is probably the first one that would come to mind. It was the one that earned Frederick Scheibler a short-lived international reputation, and it is perhaps our best example of the kind of Viennese Art Nouveau that some of our architects drooled over in the European magazines that made their way over here.
The name “Old Heidelberg” tells us something about the charm of this style. It’s the predecessor and source of what Father Pitt likes to call the “fairy-tale style” of the 1920s and 1930s: it tries to create an impression of a delightful time long past, but it does it with modern materials, sometimes shockingly modern, and with a design vocabulary that adroitly mixes the historical with the up-to-date and even futuristic.
The Old Heidelberg got quite a bit of attention from the architectural press, and the photograph above even made it into the Viennese annual Der Architekt for 1908, thus bringing the chain of architectural influences around in a circle, since Scheibler is known to have taken many of his ideas from Viennese publications.
Note how the building is constantly varied, even where you might expect it to be symmetrical. The balconies on the right are handled differently from the balconies on the left.
In 1963, the Historic American Buildings Survey took pictures of the Old Heidelberg, including a couple of interior shots—regrettably fogged, but still recognizable. Above, a dining room; below, a fireplace. We can see that the odd but effective combination of nostalgia and modernism prevailed in the interior as much as on the outside.
Little decorative whimsies all over add to the fairy-tale atmosphere and the sense that some kind of adventure lurks around every corner.
Cottage wings were added after the main building was put up; they match well enough that one might not guess that they were later additions, but the style is simpler and even more modern-looking.
For some reason, Park Place is one of those neighborhoods that have no official existence on city planning maps. It is counted as part of Point Breeze South, but there is a considerable gap between the rest of Point Breeze South and Park Place, which slops over into Wilkinsburg, thus becoming one of the rare neighborhoods that ignore city boundaries. In fact the border goes through a number of buildings and houses.
Ellsworth Dean was the architect of this Renaissance palace of education, which was built in 1903. It is now an “Environmental Charter School.” We assume that means children can have the unique experience of learning in an environment. (Actually, old Pa Pitt just looked up the school’s Web site, and now he is wishing there had been such things as Environmental Charter Schools when he was a tot back in pre-Revolutionary days.)
