Again, Pasadena Has Designs on a Showcase House

I made my annual visit to the Pasadena Showcase House of Design the other day, going, as usual, while it was in the agonies of a prodigious remodeling for the public opening April 22.

I have learned that the landscapers, carpenters, painters, plumbers and designers working for the Pasadena Junior Philharmonic Committee always get the job done in time, but five weeks early it looked like a Marx Brothers set.

The 73-year-old French chateau-style mansion occupies 9,000 square feet just east of the Arroyo Seco, in sight of the Rose Bowl. Huge boulders were scattered about a large oval space in front. It looked like a Neanderthal barbecue.

I was met by a small party of Junior Phils who showed me through the house and its grounds, variously making comments and answering my questions. One produced a landscaper’s drawing of the rock-strewn oval, showing that it was going to be a pretty garden indeed.

Off to one side was a gatehouse that looked as if it might sell for $500,000 itself. It was being fitted with cabinetwork and a small kitchen and bar. The Phils didn’t see it as just a guest house. It was to be equipped with shelves for computers, video monitors and other high-tech equipment, including a bookcase for tapes and a conference table. “It’s for the year 2000.”

In the back yard, men were replastering the pool by a garden of bare rosebushes. “I hope they leaf,” someone said. “Maybe we can pin roses on them.”

Two eucalyptus trees with enormous trunks rose behind the house. Nearby a brick saw whined. Brick walks were being laid through a formal garden. “There’s going to be a fountain out there. One of four.”

I asked what color the exterior of the house was. “Mm. It’s almost a mushroom. It’s the same color it was in 1916.” In 1916, I thought, it probably wasn’t called “almost a mushroom.”

A small cherry tree with pink blossoms stood in the corner of a garden sloping down from the west side of the house. The ground was covered with dichondra, ferns and azaleas. Two slender Japanese ginkgo trees stood side by side.

The garden is a fitting tribute to its landscaper, Tom Matsuoka, who died of a heart attack in Japan shortly after finishing the job.

We went into the house and into the garden room above Matsuoka’s work. It overlooked a tennis court, and through the trees we could see the Rose Bowl and the ridges of Linda Vista. Originally the room had been an open terrace.

The dining room was enormous and formal, in the Federal style. The living room was huge. A man at the top of a ladder was painting the coffered ceiling. A circular morning room was set for lunch. Thirteen stars had been hand-painted around the ceiling for the 13 states of the Federation. A painter was finishing an eagle with arrows and laurel leaves in its claws.

Steps led down to a men’s room. A modern oil painting on its wall looked like a Greek temple on fire. The kitchen was four rooms opened into one. It was filled with pure white laminated cabinets.

It also had a breakfast room, which made me wonder whether one would take his breakfast there or in the morning room.

“Depends on what mood you’re in.”

We climbed the stairs. A tub lay upside down at the top. One wing, once servants’ quarters, had been opened to form a large, high-ceilinged master bedroom.

Linda Cantwell, the historian, told me she had talked to a man who had grown up in the house and had never been in the servants’ quarters.

In one bedroom the walls were being covered with pine half-logs, for a 6-year-old boy.

“Maybe a little boy wouldn’t like it,” I said.

“Oh, a little boy would love it.”

Across the hall we looked into an unfinished bedroom for a 16-year-old girl. “It’s going to be sophisticated and Old-Worldy.” Next door was the bedroom of a 14-year-old. “She’s going to be a real California girl.”

I wondered how they could anticipate the sex and ages of the children who might be living in the house. It was necessary to imagine the tenants, they explained, to decorate the rooms.

Tuesday: The history .