On the Level
by Terry F. Meany
History is replete with second guessing. Hindsight of course is 20/20, but some decisions—such as, say, Napoleon attacking Russia on horseback and on foot in the dead of winter—are so obviously blunder-headed you have to wonder how these people are able to dress themselves in the morning. If your building is vintage enough to have gone through the Victorians, the Roaring 20s and the post-World War II era of kill-the-old-bring-on-the-new, not to mention aluminum windows, walnut paneling and three or four layers of exterior treatments, you'll know what I'm talking about.
We are human, and as such we seek out the new, the better, the (theoretically) improved. We hope the next best thing will eliminate painting, gutter cleaning, roof repairs and heat loss. It's rarely that easy, but hope does spring eternal and legions of sales reps are ready to knock on your door and sell you salvation in the form of vinyl siding or miracle cleaners.
I started thinking about this while removing a textured ceiling from a friend's home this past week. Also known as popcorn ceilings, these are a sprayed gypsum product made infamous when asbestos was sometimes added as a binder in years past. Even as owners of old homes scramble to get this stuff out, Lowe's home centers will sell you do-it-yourself popcorn-ceiling mix in a bag (sans asbestos) and rent you the texture gun to apply it.
Why was this stuff ever applied? Because it covered up cracks and plaster that had seen better days. It was the ultimate fix-it—just aim, shoot, and walk away—at least until aesthetics catch up years later and turns out the stuff costs far more to remove than it ever cost to apply. My friend's ceilings, fortunately, did not contain asbestos, but they did not strip down all that easily either, especially after being painted several times. Wetting it with a spray bottle was about as effective as just saying “Stop!” to taggers in the hopes of keeping your building graffiti-free. But a wallpaper steamer really kicked up the pace and the stuff lifted right off.
Before trying this yourself, remember: you have to have the texture tested before you remove it. No fair hiring someone off-the-books, bagging the gunk and tossing it in the trash. Norcal Wastes Systems, Inc., accepts asbestos from San Francisco residents and businesses (the latter through their Very Small Quantity Generator, or VSQG Program), but they don't recommend removing it yourself. The San Francisco Department of Public Health, 415-252-3951, will tell you more than you ever wanted to know about asbestos and related illnesses.
Do you need to remove popcorn ceilings? You don't have to, but if you do, be aware of what's involved, especially in an occupied building. And know that it could be worse. Some exteriors were sprayed with popcorn-variety texture. This stuff was great at holding off the ravages of chipped and peeling paint, at least in the early years after being applied. It stuck to anything and stayed stuck. But just try opening a window when it's coated with texture. Fortunately, this treatment wasn't done often.
Aluminum windows were also arrows that fell short of the bull's eye. Nice idea—pull out those leaky wood windows that kept demanding to be painted and replace them with maintenance-free aluminum. Problem was, besides being ugly, metal windows are cold unless they have a thermal break and insulated glass. Old wood windows were actually warmer than old aluminum windows. Still, doing away with all that painting and wood repair, especially on the exterior, was pretty appealing. Ugliness, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.
My friend's house, as it ends up, was also subject to multiple layers of exterior treatments, starting with the shiplap siding typical of 1890s homes. Not wanting to leave well enough alone, a past owner covered the front of the house with stucco. (What was the cry of the stucco salesmen? Something hokey like, “You won't get stuck if you use stucco.”) Another owner, apparently wanting to go for the natural woody look, shingled over the stucco. At least my friend gets some nominal insulation value out of all these layers, but the shingles, which were left unpainted, now look like kindling after thirty-some years of exposure. Granted, they should have been restained more often over the years, but given painting prices in this town, it didn't happen.
Who ever said shingles shouldn't be painted? Too many of the vast ill-informed—that's who. The reason stains and non-film-forming finishes have been pushed for cedar shingles and siding is that they're simpler to apply than paint and don't last anywhere near as long. This is fine if you're willing to recoat every three years. If you find anyone willing to recoat that often, I'm buying the next round at the pub of your choice. Shag carpeting showed up in the 1970s and for some reason orange was frequently the color of choice. And you can't blame it on hallucinogenic drugs since it was homeowners paying for this stuff, not their pharmaceutical-experimenting kids. All carpet traps dust and dust mites, but shag is the worst according to the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases (who else?). Despite these civil-rights-for-the-hyper-allergic in the making, Pro-Source, a floor coverings wholesaler, claims shag carpeting is making a comeback today.
Cheap wood-grain wall paneling is to real wood as costume jewelry is to the Hope Diamond. Alright, so that's a little extreme, but fake paneling adds neither a hint of class nor a suggestion of varnished walnut. Like popcorn ceilings, paneling covers up more than a few sins in the form of cracked or bulging walls. And it doesn't have to be painted, just wiped down with Windex when the mood strikes. Unlike a painted wall, once that glossy faux oak begins to fade or becomes damaged, revealing its pressed board and sawdust origins, you're kind of stuck. Pulling it off the wall isn't any picnic, either. There's a reason panel adhesive comes in caulking tubes instead of small glue bottles: you need plenty of it for good adhesion. Paneling is not only ugly, but it won't go quietly when you want it off. Besides, in some cases, it's probably holding up the wall.
I don't know what people are thinking when they sink buckets of money into a project and then get cheap about the wrong things. More than $50 million to renovate the Ferry Building and they couldn't install automatic flush valves for the toilets? Some $25 million to restore the Conservatory of Flowers and the exterior painting would shame even Happy Hal the House Painter? Brand-new homes with laundry facilities on the second floor but no floor drains in the event of leaks or overflowing washing machines? I toured one such house and mentioned this to the realtor, who swore a floor drain had been installed until I showed him otherwise. He didn't flinch at this revelation, but he did get awfully quiet for about 30 seconds while he looked for the nonexistent drain. No doubt future builders and homeowners will look back at us and wonder why we installed so much particle board and so many vinyl windows, wood decks (don't get me started, they're just stupid) and short overhanging roofs in wet climates. Some errors, such as L-P siding, we catch early. But despite massive lawsuits (it seems exterior siding made from leftover wood chips, wax and resin falls apart in the rain), we didn't learn from that mistake, as other manufacturers peddled similar products and were similarly sued.
My advice to you is this: consider the quick-fix or the new-kid-on-the-block product carefully before you pull out your checkbook. You might be getting a terrific deal that will stand the test of time and give you your money's worth, or you could spend three times as much money undoing it twice as soon as you expected to. Weigh your repair and renovation options carefully. Pennywise really can lead to pound foolish; and remember, nothing—and I mean nothing—offers a maintenance-free lifetime unless it's got a very short life.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the viewpoint of SFAA or the San Francisco Apartment Magazine. Terry F. Meany is a former contractor and landlord. He is now a full-time writer and author of Working Windows: A Guide to the Repair and Restoration of Wood Windows, published by Lyons Press. He is cost-conscious but not cheap and knows deferred maintenance always costs more in the end. He can be reached at tfmeany@msn.com. Copyright © 2005 by the San Francisco Apartment Magazine. All rights reserved.