‘And then the vision starts to form’: The Life, Work, and Death of Ida F McCain, Part Two

By Amy O’Hair
With research and collaboration by Kathleen Laderman

The second of a two-part article about San Francisco architect Ida F McCain. Read the first part here.

Having covered Ida F McCain’s early and professional life in the first part of this article, I’ll now trace her later years and death. With her older sister Eda, she became part of a unique religious movement, and they both changed their names, as so many of the followers did. For a few years, the sisters remained in California, while their niece Dorothy Darling, and other relatives, travelled to the headquarters of Father Divine’s Peace Mission movement in Philadelphia. Eventually Ida and Eda would join them there.

How did they come to the point of finally leaving their beloved California? What did the movement mean for Ida McCain? I start at a singular moment toward the end of Ida McCain’s life.

A Deed for a Higher Purpose

After a lifetime of buying and selling property, and designing beautiful buildings, it is perhaps apt that the last public act of Ida F McCain’s life should to sign her name to a deed for a beautiful building.

At the end of 1948, Ida F McCain and her sister Eda H Walters, under their Peace Mission names, appear on an extraordinary document: the deed to the grand and luxurious Lorraine Hotel in Philadelphia. This enormous structure, built in 1894 and designed by Willis G. Hale, would become not just the showplace of the Peace Mission movement, but the first hotel of this standing in the US to be fully racially integrated. The price was $485,000.[1]

The Divine Lorraine Hotel, Philadelphia. 1980s. Photographed by Joseph Elliott. Part of the Historic American Buildings Survey, Library of Congress. Wikimedia.org
The Divine Lorraine Hotel, Philadelphia. 1980s. Photographed by Joseph Elliott. Part of the Historic American Buildings Survey, Library of Congress. Wikimedia.org

Not that the sisters bought this hotel on their own; their names are third and fourth on a list that comprises five hundred co-signers, all followers of Father Divine. This was the way that the movement acquired properties, making cooperative purchases of hotels and rooming houses, which would then be occupied by followers or anyone agreeing to the code of conduct and paying their dollar a week. Communal living and working was at the center of the movement. Continue reading “‘And then the vision starts to form’: The Life, Work, and Death of Ida F McCain, Part Two”

‘And then the vision starts to form’: The Life, Work, and Death of Ida F McCain, Part One

By Amy O’Hair
With research and collaboration by Kathleen Laderman

The first of a two-part article about San Francisco architect Ida F McCain. Read the second part here.

The life of an artisan is a compelling subject for me. The worth of some famous lives may suffer under the weight of a subject’s shortcomings. But for the creative worker even faults and breaks can cast new light on the mysterious, even transcendent, process by which that person was able to bring something completely new in the world, something separate and enduring.

“It is interesting to watch the progress of your work through all the stages. First a thought—from this thought a vision comes—and then the vision starts to form—first a mere skeleton frame, but day by day it grows and, like the acorn that sends forth the mighty oak [that] no man’s hands fashion mere material to conform to the thought, the idea—until a day comes and behold—before us our vision materialized—our completed home.”[1]

Speaking to an audience of women in the 1920s, architect Ida F McCain aimed to communicate her process of creation—the exhilaration, the awe, the satisfaction of working from the originating idea to the completed structure.

But the course of a life is more like an oak tree than a house—full of twists and asymmetries, buffeted by wind or drought, hampered by disease or predation—but often magnificent nonetheless.


Ida F McCain, about 1922. Passport photo, Ancestry.com
Ida F McCain, about 1922. Passport photo, Ancestry.com

West Coast architect Ida F McCain designed hundreds of houses in the 1910s and 1920s, in San Francisco and elsewhere—a woman prominent in her time in a profession almost entirely dominated by men. Her bungalow plans, with their thoughtful interiors, are distinctive and interesting. She boldly promoted herself, took on her own building projects as she pleased, and spoke freely about herself and her work. Her life deserves a full telling.

Continue reading “‘And then the vision starts to form’: The Life, Work, and Death of Ida F McCain, Part One”

Sunnyside’s Log Cabineers, Part Two: The Ghost Clubhouse by Ida F McCain

By Amy O’Hair
With research contributed by Kathleen Laderman

Last October, in a post about a group of teen nature explorers, I thought I had reached the end the story—their plans to build a clubhouse. Never having come across evidence of the building, I wrongly concluded their plans were mere pipe dreams, abandoned and unrealized. But further research, prompted by an inquiry about an architect from a loyal reader, revealed that the clubhouse—a sizable structure at forty by sixty-five feet—was indeed built! More surprisingly, it was designed by the notable architect, Ida F McCain.

During the 1910s and 1920s, McCain was responsible for designing over a hundred houses in Westwood Park (and many more elsewhere)—in my opinion some of the most distinctive in the nearby development. She was a standout for the era—giving interviews, talking publicly with knowledge and ease about her field, and promoting her own work. Her bungalows in the Arts and Crafts vernacular are compact and distinctive, with unique details and thoughtful interior fittings.[1]

The clubhouse for the Sunnyside kids was one of her rare design projects that was not domestic architecture,[2] and though there is no way of knowing what the style and features of the building were, perhaps it included some of the clinker brickwork (an example of which can be seen in the header image above) or the charmingly primitive details she used elsewhere. Ida F McCain’s biography is not complete—her death date has not been established—and that led me into other discoveries I’ll get to at the end of this post.

Dreams Come True

Elfreda Svenberg, UC Berkeley yearbook, 1938. Ancestry.com

The clubhouse project was initiated by the group’s leader, Elfreda Svenberg, whose unusual career leading local teens in a robust nature group I detail in the previous post. She lived at 751 Foerster Street (the house is gone, replaced later by another one with the same address).

Svenberg and McCain were of the same generation, coming of age toward the end of the Progressive Era, and benefiting from the increase in public participation afforded to many women then. They were both well educated and enterprising and both led public lives.

Ida F McCain in 1922. Passport photo. Ancestry.com

Somehow, perhaps through one of the many progressive women’s clubs of the time, the two met and found common cause in this seemingly small project with a community focus—although the nature-loving Svenberg leaned toward bird clubs and the more ambitious McCain preferred business women clubs.[3]

What evidence is there to support the fact of construction of the clubhouse? Continue reading “Sunnyside’s Log Cabineers, Part Two: The Ghost Clubhouse by Ida F McCain”

Art with Soul and History: City College Works on the Move

By Amy O’Hair

Update 9 Dec 2023: Since I published this post, the college has subsequently decided to place The Whales at the Student Success center, while El Rey #1, discussed below, will find a home at the future Diego Rivera Theatre on Frida Kahlo Way. Read more about The Whales in this post.

As recently revealed in the Ingleside Light, City College of San Francisco plans to relocate some of its iconic artworks into the new Gateway building complex currently under construction at Ocean Avenue and Frida Kahlo Way. The collection of public art belonging to City College is significant and extensive, and the selection of these three works, spanning 65 years, forms a suitably impressive welcome to any student or visitor, and a visual statement about the importance and history of the college.

Let’s take a closer look at the works and the artists.

Bighorn Mountain Ram

In 1940, in the Art In Action ‘pit’ at the Golden Gate International Exposition (GGIE), Dudley Carter skillfully carved the form of a springing ram into a massive redwood trunk using just a woodsman’s axe.

Dudley Carter in the Golden Gate International Exposition Art-in-Action 'pit', carving 'Bighorn Mountain Ram'. 1940. RiveraMural.org
Dudley Carter in the Golden Gate International Exposition Art-in-Action ‘pit’, carving ‘Bighorn Mountain Ram’. 1940. RiveraMural.org

Nearby, up on scaffolding above the ‘pit’, famed muralist Diego Rivera was also at work, painting the panels of Pan-American Unity, which would also later end up on the college’s campus. Rivera was so impressed by Carter that he made the process of the Ram’s creation and its sculptor the centerpiece of the mural. One Dudley Carter was not enough for Rivera; to show what he so admired, he painted three Carters.

A portion of 'Pan-American Unity' by Diego Rivera, showing his three portraits of Dudley Carter at work carving 'Bighorn Mountain Ram'. The centerpiece of the enormous mural by Rivera. Right: Timothy Pflueger depicted beside one of the Carter figures. Left: Frida Kahlo. RiveraMural.org
A portion of ‘Pan-American Unity’ by Diego Rivera, showing his three depictions of Dudley Carter at work with his axe, carving ‘Bighorn Mountain Ram’. The centerpiece of the enormous mural by Rivera. Lower right: Carter with Timothy Pflueger. Lower left: Frida Kahlo. RiveraMural.org

Continue reading “Art with Soul and History: City College Works on the Move”

Restoring a Fazekas Address Unit, Step-by-Step

By Amy O’Hair
All things Fazekas are found linked on this page.

Having documented the history behind the Fazekas-designed house-number units, manufactured at American Art Metal Works and found all over San Francisco and the Bay Area, I am often asked for help by people wishing to restore their own. Such matters are not my forte. Fortunately, a reader named Sarah has offered a detailed description of the process of refurbishing a unit, and I present it here. (Have anything to add? Write me or post a comment below.)

After removing the unit from the house, this is what Sarah did:


Recently, a significant decision was made by my mom and stepdad to sell my grandmother’s house in the Sunset district. This decision started me off on my journey of restoring the address frame. I wanted to share my restoration process in case it helps others.

Before restoration. Sarah's unit had the the additional problem of rust and deterioration of the number tiles, and a mission spacer on the left.
Before restoration. Sarah’s unit had the the additional problem of rust and deterioration of the number tiles, and a missing spacer on the left.

Continue reading “Restoring a Fazekas Address Unit, Step-by-Step”

A phalanx of Fazekas

By Amy O’Hair
All things Fazekas can be found linked on this page.

A few more novel sightings of the work of Anton Fazekas, San Francisco’s midcentury sculptor-entrepreneur of illuminated house numbers. Read the background in the original post.

As if the classy copper metallic paint wasn't enough, this one has had its numbers replaced with real copper digits, complete with a touch of verdigris patina. Raymond Avenue.
As if the classy copper metallic paint wasn’t enough, this one has had its numbers replaced with real copper digits, complete with a touch of verdigris patina. Raymond Avenue.

 

A bit of fancy paintwork on this Slimline number. Dolores.
A bit of fancy paintwork on this Slimline number. Dolores. 

Continue reading “A phalanx of Fazekas”

View of Mt Davidson and Balboa Reservoir: 1973 and Today

Looking north from Summit Street near Thrift in Ingleside. Note changes in the Balboa Reservoir and along Ocean Avenue (center), while residential streets are little altered (except perhaps bigger trees) in 50 years. Science Hill at City College Ocean Campus visible on the far right.

Future changes planned for the Balboa Reservoir will alter the view once again in coming years—both the housing development on the western portion, and City College’s plans for the eastern portion. A new house on the lower left muddles the 2022 view a bit.

Move slider to compare photographs. Can take time to load. View larger here. Look at other comparison photographs here.

The Sunnyside Cemetery: A Plea to Lift the Pall of Gray Paint

By Amy O’Hair

Although this is a history blog, I offer this polemic to address a current and ongoing phenomenon; I only hope it will be history soon. The blocks of this neighborhood (and every other one in the city) are awash in the grim shades of lead, asphalt, mildew, and petro-chemical smudge, and I don’t mean the streets and sidewalks. Two-plus years of covid-era walks has made the problem impossible to ignore.

Houses are turning gray, and it’s a dreary sight. Sure, these last years have been somber, but the gray trend mushroomed well before that.[1]

The world grown gray[2]

I photographed every gray house in Sunnyside*; more fell to the menace even as I thought I’d got them all. There were too many to include in this post–hundreds. I walk everywhere in the city, and it is the same in other districts. I am hardly the first to comment on this pervasive and apparently infectious color-phobia, but as it still marches on unabated, I make the case here for breaking this dull, dull spell of grimly hued houses. After several galleries of grayness, I’ll show examples of houses that buck the trend—from old-school pastels to natty new bold tones.

You may argue with my choices, but it is the agglomeration on every block of all those gray and near-gray houses that I am underlining here. It mounts up, visually—over the course of a stroll, or over the months of getting outdoors for some fresh air and a new view, only to find it is grimmer than before.

A Walk Among the Tombstones[3]

A house is the public face of private life, a communal contribution to the visual streetscape. One house after another has drunk the sullen, colorless Kool-Aid, increasingly depriving local walkers everywhere of that most basic of human visual delights—color. Continue reading “The Sunnyside Cemetery: A Plea to Lift the Pall of Gray Paint”

Strothoff in Sunnyside, or How to Love the Utility Poles in the Street

One of a short series of house-based local history—stories touching on the perennial San Francisco themes of immigration, families, city-building, and self-making, although this post, the last, has ventured pretty far beyond the original remit.

By Amy O’Hair

In all the histories of individual houses I have researched in Sunnyside, only one revealed itself have been designed by an architect. This led me deep into the career of a massively prolific designer, and also into the history of restricted neighborhoods in San Francisco.

House in Sunnyside designed by Charles F Strothoff, 1928. Photo: Amy O'Hair, 2022.
House in Sunnyside designed by Charles F Strothoff, 1928. Photo: Amy O’Hair, 2022.

Designed by Charles F Strothoff in 1928, this anomalous house on Gennessee Street, with its distinctive cylinder turret entrance, is fun to contemplate aesthetically.[1] But it also gives me opportunity to look at the ethics and consequences of the exclusionary policies that were historically built into the houses of the 1920s ‘residence parks’ that are adjacent to Sunnyside, most of which were designed by this architect. That legacy of restricted housing—which has morphed into low-density zoning later in the twentieth century—continues to have a powerful impact on housing affordability and socio-economic segregation in the city.

The presence of an expensive midcentury architect-designed house in Sunnyside is unusual, but it is an exception that proves a rule: there is more of a mixture of land use in the neighborhood. Having never been a residence park, Sunnyside has a variety of housing, built over a longer period, with greater density, commercial activity, and multi-unit buildings; this difference has shaped the nature of the neighborhood, and is worth looking at.

Curved Streets and Straight-up Racism

Sunnyside was laid out in the 1890s, before San Francisco latched onto the ‘City Beautiful’-style planned neighborhoods that dominated house-building in the years between the wars. These ‘residence parks’ went up all over the city between Quake and the Great Depression; to the west of Sunnyside, several were developed where Adolph Sutro’s Forest once stood, such as Westwood Park and Monterey Heights. On a map it is easy to see where Sunnyside’s die-straight rectangular blocks end and the curvy streets of these districts begin.
Continue reading “Strothoff in Sunnyside, or How to Love the Utility Poles in the Street”

Midcentury Stories Out of Sunnyside Houses: A Swedish Builder Rebuilds a Family

OOne of a short series of house-based local history—five stories touching on the perennial San Francisco themes of immigration, families, city-building, and self-making. This story contains a description of a suicide.

By Amy O’Hair

During a recent renovation of this 1921 house on Joost Avenue, a fabulous treasure was discovered inside a wall, placed there by the builder and first resident, Carl Swanson. Before we see the prize, first the story of how Carl came to San Francisco and built the home where his broken family would finally be reunited.

House on Joost Avenue built by Carl Swanson in 1921. Photo: Amy O'Hair
House on Joost Avenue built by Carl Swanson in 1921. Photo: Amy O’Hair 2022

From a Swedish Village to a Quake-Ravaged City

Born in Väne-Åsaka in Västergötland, Sweden, Carl Swanson immigrated to the US in 1907 with his younger brother Claus. He was in his late twenties.

On the ship over, he fell in love with a Swedish woman named Vendla. He would ask her to marry him no fewer than seven times over the coming years. Before ending up in San Francisco, Carl stopped off in Vermont to train with the famed Vermont Marble Works; after he moved to the city, he continued to work for the company’s site here, carving and polishing stone. Continue reading “Midcentury Stories Out of Sunnyside Houses: A Swedish Builder Rebuilds a Family”