This splendidly restored house is in a kind of variant of the Second Empire style that must have seemed very modern when the architect drew it. It has the exuberantly eclectic boundary-crossing details that made Victorian architecture an adventure. Unlike the strict revivalists, Victorian architects like the unknown who designed this house did not consider themselves bound to a pedantically correct interpretation of one period. Unlike the modernists who came after the strict revivalists, the Victorians felt free to pillage their ideas from every historical period. The result could be an atrocity if the pillaging was done without taste, but with taste it could create complex compositions that were like nothing that had been seen before, but were nevertheless in internal harmony.
Inglenook Place is something unique: a whole street where all the houses were designed by our noted early modernist Frederick Scheibler. There are two qualifications to be made here: first, one house on the corner of Oakmont Street, addressed to Inglenook Place, is not a Scheibler house; and second, there are two more blocks of Inglenook Place on the map, but they are a stairway with no houses addressed to it.
Here we see, at the end of the row, the one oddball house on the street.
These houses are two of Scheibler’s simplest designs, obviously meant to be built as cheaply as possible; but his modernist instinct is on full display in them. The larger group was built in 1907, all in this straightforward design; a second, smaller group was built in 1909 in a different though also simple design.
This is slightly less straightforward in that Scheibler has played with the rhythm of four houses in a row by putting the upstairs windows in three groups of 1, 4, 1.
Unfortunately, the neighborhood fell on hard times, and about a third of the houses are abandoned and will probably vanish eventually. When that happens, we’ll lose one more unique streetscape, in spite of the valiant efforts of neighborhood advocates.
This sign is so ancient that it dates from a time when it was normal to do lettering by hand on public signs. A designer of today would be baffled if you said you didn’t want every occurrence of the letter E to look the same: how would you even do that?
Here is a row of houses obviously all put up at the same time and designed by the same hand. In typical Pittsburgh fashion, they are all made of brick, but no two are the same color.
This house, which looks as though it is about to get some restoration work, has lost half its porch, but otherwise preserves most of its features in original condition.
Father Pitt would not hesitate to affirm that this is one of the finest blocks of Second Empire houses in North America. Manchester has had its difficulties, but it has some outstanding streetscapes to show us.
This double house, probably built in the 1880s, has had multiple renovations, and some of the vinyl siding has flaked off to reveal the much worse siding that preceded it. Siding has swallowed details of the window and door frames, but the carved roof brackets were grandfathered in with cutouts.
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.
These houses were built in 1910, and nothing like their brisk modernity had been seen in Pittsburgh. Frederick Scheibler was our most adventurous modernist in those days, and these would have been approved by the Bauhaus ten or twenty years later.
The two houses on the upper end of the upper row have been kept in near-original condition, though they are in less than perfect shape.
In the rest of the row, different ownerships have sent the houses careening off in various directions.
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Like many architects of terraces like these, Scheibler repeated this design in multiple locations. Apparently both Scheibler and his clients considered the design a success. We’ll be seeing more of these little houses.
If Wilkinsburg were a trendier neighborhood, it would be profitable to restore this row of fine houses. They are not only distinguished works individually, but as a unit they also form a unique streetscape that was carefully thought out. They were all built at once, all designed by Louis A. Raisig,1 the Wilkinsburg architect who is now most famous for briefly taking on the young Frederick Scheibler as a partner before Raisig suddenly died in 1901. Raisig’s taste was much more traditional than Scheibler’s, but within the conventions of the time he was an artist.
The whole row is capped off by a corner turret at the upper end. That corner house is still in good shape, though the turret has been wrapped in fake siding.
The houses all fit together, but each one is different. We are sorry to say it is not likely that the row will remain intact for many more years; houses will probably start disappearing one by one.
The second floor of this house burned out; it will probably be the first of the row to go.
Philadelphia Real Estate Record & Builders’ Guide, July 20, 1898, p. 466. “L. A. Raisig, First National Bank Building, has prepared plans for eight brick dwellings, to be erected for A. T. Stoner, on Centre street, Wilkinsburg. They will each contain ten rooms, will be well finished throughout, cabinet mantels, hot air heating, fine bathroom fixtures, and all modern conveniences The owner is A. T. Stoner.” A Hopkins plat map for 1903 shows the eight houses on the east side of Center between Wallace and North owned by “Stoner.” ↩︎
This beautiful and slightly fantastical house is tucked back in the woods in Squirrel Hill. Not long ago, a small group of Benno Janssen’s fans, among whom old Pa Pitt certainly counts himself, were given a tour of the house by the current residents, whose memorable hospitality made the occasion a delight. The details of the house are beautifully preserved, and with the owners’ permission we present a few of them here, beginning with one of the distinctive copper dormers.
Ascending the main stairway leads to a surprising revelation: all the doorways upstairs are Gothic arches, including the large closet at the head of the stairs.
The metalwork in the house is by Samuel Yellin, a Ukrainian artist in Philadelphia who ornamented many Janssen buildings.
Downstairs in the kitchen is the original range, which has had some spiffing up but needed no thorough reconstruction. It is still the main cooking apparatus for the house.
The rear of the house opens on a beautiful shaded slope that terminates abruptly in a forested cliff, because this is Pittsburgh. The current owners added a new dining room in the rear, carefully matched to the original house in its details.
You may have noticed that windows are few in this house: French doors take the place of most windows. They can be flung open for generous air circulation, and the louvered shutters still shut over the openings.
Like most Janssen designs, the house uses simple lines, exactly the right number of them, and relies on carefully chosen materials—like these irregular roof slates and copper dormers—to add satisfying texture.
