Taking to Ramparts to Defend Chateau

Hidden away in a canyon of steel and glass high-rises, the Chateau Colline has stood as a testament to the heyday of Hollywood and its glamorous stars.

With its leaded-glass windows, turrets and climbing vines, the eight-unit apartment building on Wilshire Boulevard looks like a tiny castle. Rumor has it that Clark Gable and Bette Davis once lived there, holding lavish parties in a second-story apartment.

Residents of the building, charmed by the combination of its heritage and singular appearance, long assumed that it had been declared a historic landmark.

Then, in February, city building inspectors showed up with a request to tear down the 1935 complex to make room for a six-story condominium project.

The months that followed have been hectic ones for residents of the building. They bonded together in defense of their home, hiring lawyers and firing off e-mails to friends and allies.

And they rallied the city’s historic preservation community for help in lobbying the Los Angeles City Council, which was faced with the choice of allowing the demolition or blocking the permit.

It is a battle, officials say, that underscores a number of problems facing Los Angeles’ preservationists: It was only by coincidence that Chateau Colline residents found out about a developer’s request to bulldoze the building. And it has required a full-time effort by an organized group of residents to try to stave off that outcome.

“Very frequently, it’s difficult for those who care about historic buildings to know when they are threatened until it’s too late,” said Kenneth Bernstein, director of preservation issues for the Los Angeles Conservancy. “In a case like this, demolition would ordinarily be handled as an over-the-counter request. An applicant could get a permit with no public hearing.”

Chateau Colline--one of the few remaining structures of its kind on Wilshire in Westwood--is packed with charming details: built-in bookcases, telephone recesses, huge wood-burning fireplaces with handcrafted mantels, bakelite intercoms, vaulted ceilings and outside nooks for milk bottles. One resident waited 15 years for a spot in the building; another obtained his apartment after showering the building manager with calls and flowers.

No one can remember ever seeing a “for rent” sign on the lawn, which is covered with wild strawberries.

“I know it sounds corny, but when I saw the building, I thought to myself, ‘If I could live there, I would feel like a princess,’ ” said one of the tenants, a dancer who goes by the name Vidala. “In French, Chateau Colline means ‘The castle on the little hill.’ It inspired me.”

But then came bad news.

Vidala said she was refinishing the hardwood floors in her apartment in February when she saw two men surveying the area. She asked what they were doing, and found out that one was a city building inspector who was processing a request from the building’s trustee to level the lot.

She quickly informed her neighbors. By May, Vidala--working with fellow tenant Jason St. Johns and neighbor Rita Tuzon--had launched an extensive effort to save the building, appealing to a number of historic preservation groups and local leaders for their help.

When questioned by the tenants, Frank McGinity, the trustee of the estate that owns the building, said he began exploring the possibility of selling Chateau Colline last year because it had become a financial drain. He said that the old complex needed new plumbing and electrical systems, and that city law restricted him from raising rents.

He had entered into escrow with an unnamed developer, who requested that McGinity obtain a demolition permit as a condition of the sale.

St. Johns--an actor from England--invited McGinity to lunch to try to change his mind. Like Vidala, he saw his apartment as his source of creative inspiration--an American pied-a-terre.

Meanwhile, Tuzon--an entertainment attorney--moved along a more confrontational route. As the wife of a lawyer who helped fight to save St. Vibiana’s Cathedral from the wrecking ball, Tuzon set out to galvanize the other renters and put together a presentation to win over the city Cultural Heritage Commission and the City Council.

The renters worked the political wires as well. Indeed, even before Councilman Jack Weiss assumed office, they had won his promise of support.

When Weiss won his council race, he delivered on his pledge, calling the building a “unique, vital piece of Holmby Hills and Westwood history.”

Protecting pieces of that history is not what Los Angeles always is best at. Although the city used to be a national leader in protecting old buildings, that is not the case anymore, according to preservationists. Many of the major East Coast cities have passed far more stringent codes to save historic structures, they say.

“We have never even had a citywide survey of our historic resources,” Bernstein said. “Only about 15% of the city has even been looked at to identify buildings that could be of historic quality. There are many hidden gems throughout the city that have never been officially designated as historic.”

City officials say an ordinance is in the works to strengthen the Cultural Heritage Commission--requiring all five commissioners to have a “demonstrated interest, competence or knowledge of historic preservation.” At least two of the commissioners would have to possess backgrounds in architecture, urban planning or related fields.

“Strides are being made to address the issues,” said Michael Cornwell, a member of the commission. “More people are coming into the mix and realizing the importance of preserving buildings with interesting architecture.”

In the case of Chateau Colline, the legal, political and public relations efforts all came together last month, when the City Council was asked to decide the matter. On July 31, council members voted 14 to 0 to try to save the building by declaring it a landmark.

The council action will forestall any demolition for at least six months, Weiss said. And any future proposed demolition will require the preparation of an environmental impact report and will force the proponent to explore preservation as an alternative.

For McGinity, the vote was a disappointment because it ended his effort to unload the building--the flip side of many a successful preservation campaign. Still, he hopes to prevail in the end.

“Here it is my property, and yet it is being controlled by other forces,” McGinity said. “I understand the position of people wanting to save it. I guess there’s a possibility we can sell it as a historic building.”