Feature

by Robert Shurell

I remember the wonderful days of summer vacation. I never questioned why they set us free for three months every year, but in retrospect, that freedom from the daily repetition of schoolwork is a developmental necessity. Childhood is such a unique experience, filled with exuberance and wonderment about the discoveries you are making everyday. There will be plenty of time to concentrate on projects year round as a mature adult–children need freedom!

As the sun began to set earlier, and the long carefree days of summer came to a close, however, the excitement of going back to school returned; I could feel it tingling like static electricity at the back of my neck. I would be taken shopping for a new pair of pants or two, plus a couple of new shirts to replace those I had outgrown. I would get a new binder, paper, pencils and pens. My mother would assess my backpack: could it be used another year? My first day of the new school year, dressed in my favorite outfit, with my new hair cut and new shoes squeaking on the buffed and shined tiled floors of the hallway, I would see familiar faces, meet new ones, judge unknown teachers mercilessly, and try to act unfazed at dinnertime when my parents would ask me too many questions.

As I grew older and began to think more and more about buildings, why they look the way they do, what makes them stand up and how they can influence their environment, I used my summers off from school to do my own focused learning. I found that these experiments would be even more rewarding than any report card successes. One of the skills I developed at this time was environmental observation. I would be very conscious of my surroundings, try to memorize the details of the built environment and categorize the results. I would then assess the character and potential of an area based on the quality of the constructions within it. Soon this was a year-round endeavor, occurring wherever I happened to be at any given time. Now, with college long gone, no summer breaks and no “back to schools,” this practice still continues with me.

Like many people, I have always felt affection for an underdog, whether it be a sports team, or a great unknown writer or architect who should be famous. I also believe in the power of potential in undervalued, disenfranchised neighborhoods. Those neighborhoods that don’t receive necessary investment and routine maintenance contain many treasures that in other neighborhoods may have met the wrecking ball.

San Francisco’s Tenderloin is one such underdog neighborhood, with some incredible buildings literally glowing with potential. I have enjoyed for some time the building at 860 Geary Boulevard, near Larkin Street. Named the Alhambra Apartments, I believe it has the integrity, both in design and in practice, to persevere and challenge the surrounding neighborhood to rise to meet its heights.

James Francis Dunn designed the building in 1913, at about the midpoint of his career. Born and raised in the South of Market area, the self-taught architect learned design by studying architectural journals of the time, and though he didn’t push the limits of design, he was very comfortable working within virtually any style. Many of his buildings, including his most well-known design, the Chambord apartment house in Nob Hill, are designed in the French “Belle Époque” style closely associated with Fin-de-Siècle (end of the century) mentality. Existing from the 1890s though the 1910s, this era was known for its decadent despair; the uncertain anticipation that always accompanies the turning of a century along with the industrial innovations changing the face of the planet and the pace of life combined to create a beautiful, heavily ornamented architecture.

Although Dunn was heavily influenced by the popular Parisian styles, he was competent in several looks, as evidenced in his Moorish treatment of the Alhambra Apartments. The original Alhambra is given a nod in the exterior detailing; although the bar tracery of the fifth-floor loggia arches resonates Venetian Gothic, the intertwining patterns on the wood and terra cotta columns and belt courses herald the terrazzo of the original’s mosaics. The entry lobby is the only interior part of the building articulated above the basic trim expected of any apartment complex built at that time. The lobby is a resplendent octagon encrusted with plaster relief. The original paint is still on its walls and ceilings, glowing with red, blue and gold richness. The fountain that used to stand in the middle of the floor is gone, but its refreshing splashing can be imagined as one walks across the cool tiles.

The architecture and detailing of the building is of a high grade; therefore the building is able to go beyond the base function of a simple apartment house and address a higher calling, becoming a symbol of resident pride and raising the level of the neighborhood’s quality. A building may be of first-class design, but without the support of great ownership, the people living in it my not be compelled to take pride in the place. The ownership of the Alhambra is a very hands-on operation that is proud of the building and genuinely cares about the people living in it. For this reason, I believe that the people living in the building reciprocate that care.

For example, one Alhambra tenant has been living there for about 45 years. He is a gardener and has “taken over” the neighbor’s adjoining back yard to cultivate a garden that users of both buildings can enjoy. Although he would do this for free, he gets $100 off his rent each month, plus the owner gives him a small cash bonus at the end of every year. Another tenant takes care to clean and polish the original brass signs on the front of the building. When a tenant was partially paralyzed in an accident, the owner was able to shuffle tenants to get him in the garden unit downstairs, and built a ramp and a new door through a closet to allow wheelchair access. Further, as the tenant began rehabilitation, the owner built a set of parallel bars from plumbing pipes and fittings in the backyard to assist him.

It is those little things, done because you like where you live, the building you own or the tenants you have, that make the difference.

The owners of the Alhambra would like to do a full restoration of the building, but are hindered because it is a fully functioning apartment building with a high occupancy rate. Therefore, maintenance and rehabilitation occur most often in the common spaces and in unoccupied units between tenants. They will pull up carpets to expose the hardwood floors beneath, which they couldn’t afford to do until recently. (It costs $1,500 to refinish hardwood versus $700 to recarpet, which can be a big deal, depending on the circumstances and other repairs needed.) Since the building interior has been modified so many times over the years, it is always interesting to pull up the carpet and analyze the floor beneath. Close observation will show the original layout of the apartment: the lighter floors indicate the area below the old walls that was never walked on, and the dark spaces in between show where the doors in those walls were.

The Alhambra is a building in motion, adapting to its place in the city and its place in time, constantly adjusting as it moves forward. In a hard-luck neighborhood, the owner respects the tenants, and the tenants respect the building. This optimistic story should serve as a model for other residences in the Tenderloin.

The opinions expressed in this article are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the viewpoint of SFAA or SF Apartment Magazine. Robert Shurell is a licensed architect with Chong Partners Architecture, a firm specializing in architecture that serves the needs of our communities in the fields of education, healthcare, transportation, and civic and cultural facilities. Feel free to contact him with questions or comments at rshurell@chongpartners.com. Copyright © 2007 by SF Apartment Magazine. All rights reserved.