Goldilocks Does Beverly Hills

   Once upon a time, about three weeks ago, a young woman-let's call her Ms. Goldilocks...

...with the help of her attorney....

...let's call her Gloria Allred, was able to win a sizeable settlement against the Bear Family, claiming illegal detention and sexual harassment. While the Bear Family publically claimed that it was Ms. Goldilocks who should go on trial for breaking and entering their tiny cabin in Encino, the Bear's lawyer convinced them that their hirsute appearance would not sit well with a jury and that they'd be better of settling. As soon as the settlement was granted, Ms. Goldocks turned to Ms. Allred and asked her to recommend a good real estate agent. "Someone who knows Beverly Hills," she said.
  The very next day, Ms. Goldlocks and her very blonde, very reconstructed agent, who shall go nameless for the moment, were in the back of the agent's car and headed out to shop for Goldilocks' new home.  "You're going to love this house; I think it's exactly what you're looking for," the agent told her as they pulled into the driveway....

...on Heather Road, just off Coldwater Canyon.

   "Oooh; this is so elegant," squealed Ms. Goldilocks...

...as they entered the 5,500 square foot, 5 bedroom, 7 and half bathroom abode. "This is so elegant!"
   "Yes," explained her agent, "the materials and fixtures have been imported from Paris and Venice and Florence, right down to the stone floors.
    "Wow," exclaimed Goldilocks; "How much does this cost?"
    "$8,795,000," her agent told her, in the same tone as if she'd said "$29.95".
    "Double Wow," said Goldilocks.
    "But can't you just see yourself..."

    "...and the future Mr. Locks in this beautiful master suite? Why there are bathrooms and dressing rooms and closets for both of you." As they entered another room....

...Goldilocks stood there, stumped. "What room is this?" she asked.
   "It's a bathroom," the agent snapped, barely able to conceal her contempt at her client's lack of sophistication.
    "Oh; I get it; that's a sink over there," said Ms. Goldilocks.  "You know I'm not so sure this is exactly right for me." At which point the agent grabbed her arm, yanked her downstairs, saying, "Well you have to see the grounds."

    But when Goldilocks saw that there were even chandeliers outdoors, she put her foot down. "Oh no no no!" she exclaimed; "This house is much to fancy for me! This will never do!"
    The agent was startled, not having heard the word "fancy" even once during her 25 year Beverly Hills career, and a bit peeved that this sale was going to take more time than she hoped. But being ever industrious, she plunked Goldilocks back into the car, telling her  "We're going to see something that's, well, not so done; maybe you'll be more comfortable with it. And it's a real steal. It belongs to Rihanna. She moved out." Reacting to the blank look on Goldilocks' face, she added, "The singer." While Goldilocks wasn't quite sure who that was, she was pleasantly surprised....

  ...as they pulled up to the gate.

    "Now this looks very interesting," she said hopefully. Until....

...the gate opened and they pulled in. "It's...a fixer," confided the agent. "She had a few problems with water damage and maybe some mold. But it's all fixable. And it still has celebrity heritage."
     Goldilocks decided to give it a chance. After all, it did have...

..30 foot ceilings in the living room, even if some of the flooring had been pulled up and someone forgot to remove the cleaning implements. And it certainly had...

...a great closet in the Master Bedroom. And after all, there were 8 bedrooms and 10 bathrooms. "It's 10,000 square feet!" the agent told her, but suddenly caught hereself: "No- wait!" She checked her notes and corrected herself-"It's 8,520 square feet," she said, having remembered that the agent who sold it to Rihanna had also claimed it was 10,000 square feet and was now being sued. "So, it's kind of cozy," she added. But by the time they reached the back yard...

...and the pool....

...Goldilocks burst into tears. "No no no no no!," she cried, "this will never do! This one is too messy!" She ran back through the house, with the agent following her, explaining, "But Rihanna pad 7 million dollars for this and she's asking under 5!"
   Things were silent for several minutes in the car, with Goldilocks finally admitting, "I just don't know if this is going to work out. I am very discouraged."
    "Cheer up," said the agent; "I have another idea. "Now we're going to the real Beverly Hills; I think I have just the right thing for you there."

   "We weren't really in Beverly Hills?" asked the very puzzled Goldilocks.

   "No, both of those were in the Post Office," sniffed the agent, though Goldilocks remained clueless as to what she meant. As they wound their way up to Gilcrest Drive, Goldilocks became more and more intriuged by the lovely neighborhood. And when they entered 1520 Gilcrest Drive....

...a sigh of joy escaped from young Goldilocks.

   The beautiful woodwork and the stunning light caused her breathing to become quite rapid. As they entered the living room....

..the agent informed Goldilocks that "..many years ago this property belonged to Jascha Heifetz."
   "Who?" asked the now hypnotized Goldilocks.
   "You know; the fiddle player," the agent told her. "But it was really the actor James Woods who redid this property, with all the Craftsman inspired interiors, she continued." Goldilocks had even less idea who that was, but could not have cared less as she toured the gorgeous study...

   ..and the master bedroom....

...In a trance, she followed the agent outdoors, to the entertaining pavilion....

...originally designed for Heifetz by Lloyd Wright, and walked out to take in the view....

    "This one is JUST RIGHT!" Goldilocks exclaimed. "I want it!"
    The agent smiled upon hearing the words that were always music to her ears.
    "How much is it?" Goldilocks asked.
    "$9,850,000," the agent told her; "Last spring they wanted 12.5!"
    But Goldilocks was barely listening, so entranced was she. "Just call Gloria Allred and work it out," she told the agent who, fortunately, had Gloria's number on her speedial.
    But Gloria had some distressing news for both the agent and Ms. Goldilocks, namely that her settlement wouldn't begin to cover purchasing this house, or anything like it. "They were just Bears from Encino, for chrissake. How much do you think I could get?"
    So several weeks later, when the Bear's check finally cleared, Ms. Goldilocks rented herself a nice studio in West Hollywood and asked Ms. Gloria Allred for another recommendation-a plastic surgeon. The well connected Ms. Allred knew just the right person, whom Goldilocks visited....

And they all lived Happily Ever After.











All The World's a Stage...er

     I got a call the other day from my New York real estate partner. I had asked him to help an old client of mine, one whom I'm extremely fond of. Formerly a partner at the largest law firm in the U.S, he is now president of a university. He has always been one of those people who defined the Upper West Side to me; he and his former wife chose to create their lives there when it wasn't such a popular destination for families and young professionals. And when brownstones sold for $20,000.  He had called me because, in the near future, he's probably going to sell the co-op I sold him 20 years ago. He wanted some advice on the advisability of redoing the kitchen.
    "Wow," my partner told me. "I haven't seen an apartment like that in so long."
    "I'm guessing very Upper West Side, yes?" I replied.
    "Totally. You know, everything you see now is so polished."
     I knew exactly what he meant. As brokers we want each listing to show at it's best but, because of this, I fear we've created a  new monster: The Stager.
     Actually, it's the stagers who are creating the monster; the monster is the look. 
     And today, this is the look:

     It is attractive, especially the first time you see it. It's a bit less appealing when it's the fifth house you've seen it in that day. And so many stagers are like crack addicts-they just can't stop staging.

     How tired am I of tables that are set? We're supposed to believe that the very busy, very chic owners will be running in around 6pm to serve a tasteful dinner to their tasteful guests? My very least favorite, however...

.....is staged books. Look, we know you've just gone out and bought the books by the yard, but if you want us to believe we're in the home of a great thinker or even an avid reader, what's wrong with the real covers, other than they're not white? What you're really making us think is that we're in the home of someone with OCD. 

     And yes, while I have believed for a long time now that it is the fantasy of 95% of the citizens L.A. to live in the Peninsula Hotel, I'm also getting really tired....

....of rolled towels, artfully scattered about poolside or in white marble baths. Can the Cabana Boy be far behind? "Why is no one rolling the towels in my house," it makes me think, which reminds me that in my house no one even picks them up off the floor.

     The truth of the matter is that we are selling a fantasy just as much as Hollywood does. To be honest, it was probably the element of fantasy, of living in so many different spaces, that propelled me into the business and keeps me going. But I fear that stagers are skewing the fantasy toward the utterly unattainable. I mean who lives in these all white houses? Certainly no one with children or pets or a messy spouse or who has guests to whom they serve red wine.

     It's true that when you're faced with an empty house it can become a much harder sell. Staging does, at minimum, give the semblance of a household.

    I may be in a minority in my profession, but I happen to prefer it when it feels like someone actually lives in a house; that there is a life going on there.  Personally I'd always prefer to work with what the seller already has; to tone it down or tone it up as the case may be. De-cluttering alone can make all the difference in the world as to the psychological effect upon a prospective buyer.  Perhaps my problem with most staging is that it generally feels like the same person lives in each house.
    That being said, I would also like to give a Brilliance In Staging Award, to whomever it was that did the beautiful  house in Hancock Park that I saw recently, asking just north of $4,500,000. This is the same house as the living room picture up above. As I walked through the impeccable, but relentlessly white, English Manor house, I peeked into the 'hers' closet in the Master Bedroom.
    There were several styrofoam wig stands in the otherwise empty closet.

     At first I thought, how odd to have gone to such expense to stage this house so meticulously and not finish cleaning out one closet? Then it dawned on me-this was no oversight; this was actually suggestion at its most brilliant. Architecturally, this is the grandest section of Hancock Park and is home to a number of wealthy Orthodox families. I have to guess that the message here is "Yes, you could be living in all this White Magnificance, but don't worry-it's still home."

     Then again, as an agent, from time to time you will walk into a perspective listing and know you're going to need big help. For example, this (from an actual MLS picture):

     I don't think rooms come much sadder than this. Now here's an agent who should have rushed to call either a stager or a psychiatric social worker. 

   Jamie Foreman

Those Who Can Have It All

    If you know anyone who is looking to have it all and is in the enviable position to do so, have them call me immediately; the perfect house for them, with an asking price of $7,750,000, has just come on market.
    The house happens to be on my (aesthetically) favorite street in Hancock Park- Muirfield Road. More about Muirfield later...

        This 7 bedroom, 9 bath 10,000 square foot Tudor estate sits overlooking the golf course of the Wilshire Country Club and is also only a short walk from Larchmont Village. Having been in the hands of very few owners since it was built (in 1933) the perfect, expansive layout has not been tampered with.

     There are superb public rooms spanning the first floor including the living room with a wall of glass overlooking the eighth fairway and a panelled library-the perfect spot to think profound (or even mundane) thoughts, pay bills or smoke cigars. Much of the original detail has been preserved throughout and the kitchen has been well renovated to both serve a family's daily needs and work perfectly for large scale entertaining. All of the main bedrooms are spacious, light and have their own baths. There's an adjoining wing that's perfect for guests, more children (if you're truly prolific) or help (especially useful if you are that prolific). There's even a fully finished basement in which the stagers have placed gym equipment and two massage tables. Why is that even good stagers (i.e. stagers who make it appear that real people live in the house) always tip their hand with details like this? Even worse, in a lovely game room on the first floor, there is an  open Monopoly board with Monopoly money, deeds and markers spread about as if 4 people had been in the middle of a game but were suddenly called away by more pressing matters like...life.

     The 30,000 foot lot offers gardens, patios, fountains, a pool for people who actually swim and a view of, in addition to the golf course, the Hollywood Hills. The size of the lot and the siting of the house give likely assurance that you won't be bothered by overshot, misdirected golf balls. Then again, the median age of the members of the Wilshire Country Club probably protects you from this as well.

    It is truly one of those homes that you walk through and think, "This is where I would love to raise a family." Of course if the truth be told, not that long ago many people, including the current owners, would not have been able to purchase this house.  For many years, Hancock Park was totally Restricted; in other words, those used in the original deeds, Negroes and Hebrews were not welcome.

    It was in 1948 when Nat King Cole purchased a house on this very same Muirfield Road that things began to change. Of course it would be difficult to say the entire neighborhood welcomed the Coles with open arms. They indured years of racial slurs left in their yard, their dog was poisoned and some lovely neighbors even began to circulate a petition in an attempt to keep "undesirables" out of the neighborhood. Nat King Cole-was he not the simple definition of cool?-simply responded by saying that "if he saw anyone undesirable, he would let them know," according to his daughter.

   Of course if the Negroes had been let it, could the Hebrews and Orientals be far behind? I'm happy to say, first hand, that the neighborhood is now a big, happy and beautiful melting pot. 

    Tell your lucky friends to call me and for a link to Nat King Cole singing "On the Street Where You Live," click at the bottom.

  Jamie

                                                        http://youtu.be/2PKL1MeSNW4

We Will Sell No House Before It's Time...

     No word has been rendered more useless in the world of Los Angeles real estate than "celebrity".
    If you're perusing a listing that mentions it's "Celebrity Owned", you can almost be sure that the owner hasn't worked since his last guest appearance on "Matlock" or that he was the guy on "Entourage" who one of the regulars threw up on.
    When an agent calls me to tell she's bringing a celebrity to view a listing of mine but cannot, due to the demands of the celeb's business manager, give me his/her name, I know I will have to ask (more than once) "Who is he?" as I watch him kick the tires of my lovely listing.
     So what a refreshing relief when, in one week, the homes of two long gone, actual Hollywood legends hit the market. In this case it was the former residences of both Orson Welles and Walt Disney and, while I can't recall any instance of these two giants working together, it's safe to say both men clearly had a good eye for real estate.

     Orson Welles former home, on a quiet, tree-lined street in the foothills near Hollywood is, not surprisingly, as stately as he was and almost as run down as he became. There's almost nothing that doesn't need to be done to this lovely compound, but this is reflected in the asking price of $1,285,000 (which I found surprisingly low). It sits on a 15,000 square foot lot and is currently owned by a screenwriter, who shall go unnamed, whose screenplays seemed to get progressively worse with each successive effort. But let's hope he's not thinking of a career change into the world of interior design.

      In the living room, it'd be hard to decide which is worse- the bad paintings or the curtains, which seem to be writhing in pain (perhaps from having to stare at the rug). Indeed, as you walk the grounds of this lovely little piece of Hollywood history....

           ...you cannot miss it's basic elegance, nor can you shake the feeling that the current owner, not unlike the last one, seems to be living in a state of deterioration. Are there any sadder examples of a fall from grace than Orson Welles? He began his career as a veritable genius/wunderkind on both stage and film and slid all the way down the mountain, finally crash landing in commercials for Paul Masson Wines, whose motto is "We sell no wine before its time". In reality, Paul Masson's definition of a wine's "time"  is roughly six minutes after it has been bottled. Hit the link below to see Mr. Welles stumbling his way through take after drunken take:

                                                       

<iframe width="425" height="349" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/mwbfwXcoRcs" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>

         But enough despair; let's move on to the much happier former home of Walt Disney, up in the hills of Los Feliz.

                As you wind your way up the gated driveway you feel ready to be swarmed by happy little packs of bluebirds, perhaps holding up the price tag:  $3,650,000.

            Sitting on an acre, this 1932 French Nrmandy accomplishes the rare feat of combining quiet, understated elegance with the feeling of a family home. There are currently 4 bedrooms and five baths, a pool and perfectly framed views of downtown and the surrounding hills. 

               You enter into a circular rotunda with painted ceilings which leads to a sensational two story living room, overlooked by a Juliet balcony from the upstairs hallway.

     In fact, the house was designed in such a way, at Disney's insistence, that most rooms have more than one entrance; he clearly wanted to create a flow that takes away any sense of formality. In a town where there is no shortage of homes with the  Monument to Me" design theme, this is a rare accomplishment.

     The piece-de-resistance of the house though is Walt Disney's screening room.

     In the space where he originally had a guest suite, Disney had a screening room installed. Again, it's warm and comfortable and has none of the self-consciousness of the screening rooms installed in homes today. Yet you stand there and can't help but think, "Oh my God, this is where Walt Disney took his work home."

     Yes, the house needs some updating and some relandscaping but it is truly one of those Los Angeles homes where its history gives it an intrinsic value. Rumor has it that a foreign film director is in the midst of purchasing it. I hope he will be bringing his own bluebirds....



Jamie Foreman

                                                                                                                                  

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

                                                                           
   

Utterly Clueless...

   My wife and I share a guilty pleasure: watching late night reruns of "Perry Mason". From the alliterated titles to the mind boggling plots to the acting that, at times, resembles Kabuki, there's no element we don't take great pleasure in. Not to mention of black-and-white-1950's-L.A. of it all.
    My personal favorites are the episodes where the plot is so convoluted that only an idiot savant could follow it and I find myself utterly clueless as to who did it. This is when Perry steps up, at the last moment, to explain it all to the judge or to the perpetually perplexed (but trusting) Della Street. And to me.

  So you can only imagine how excited I was when the former Raymond Burr estate in the Hollywood Hills came on the market with an asking price of $4,950,000. I raced to the scene of the crime faster than Hamilton Berger or  Paul Drake ever did (though Paul no doubt was delayed admiring his own reflection when passing mirrors).
  The entrance to the estate is tucked away on a dead-end, giving no clue as to what lurks behind. The path to the front door has a haphazard almost country sort of charm.  Yet shortly after entering the front door, I seemed to lose not only my bearings but any memory of how a normal house is laid out.
     I see plenty of bad layouts (though least frequently in older homes) but this one had me flat-out stumped.  As I looked for something resembling a major public room, I realized I felt as utterly clueless as I do during the most convoluted episodes of "Perry Mason". And where is Perry when you really need him?
     The main entry floor offers a very large living room, a smallish dining room and a very small kitchen, one that would be more appropriate in a guest house.  That's because the 'real' kitchen is on the floor below and, other than a restaurant sized stove, it has a depression era motif, with the emphasis on 'depression'. The only surprising element of this kitchen, actually, is that you have to walk through a bedroom to get to it.

   Why there are bars on the kitchen window I still haven't figured out, unless they're holding their cook hostage.
    The lower floor has some randomly located small bedrooms, including the one that leads right into the kitchen. This floor also has a small office and a den, which overlooks what we're told on the floor plan is the "theatre".

   Okay, maybe this is a theatre. But what's the show? The theatre leads to an "entertainment room" and a "game room" (game room seemingly defined as a room with an old tv, a bunch of DVDs and a lot of board games).
     Throughout the house there are hundreds of tsotchkes, some of which may be priceless but, again, here I was clueless. There are some wonderful pieces and some beautiful stained glass (which I prefer in cathedrals, but that's just me). But there is so much stuff everywhere that it rapidly becomes overwhelming and, well, sort of psychotic. The theme of the decorating is reminiscent of a style I first encountered in the house of my daughter's former ballet teacher- "Everything Looks Better Covered With a Shawl".

   There's also a lot of not-so-new carpet, which adds to the claustrophobia.  The crowning jewel of the house, however, is the Master Bedroom, which I guess is why it's at the top.

                           
     Over all these years of visiting great apartments and homes, there have been a precious few times where I've seen the concept of "overdone" taken to a level of brilliance. This is not one of  them. This just seems overblown. I kept peering around the bedroom corners, afraid Anne Boleyn might pop out from behind a tapestry. The concept here is clearly A Boudoir Fit For  a King. Or Queen?
      In his defense, I don't think Raymond Burr can be held responsible for a lot of this. The current owner, a music industry mogul who bought the house from Burr, has been here since 1983. According to building department records, several of the early owners created additions and served as their own contractors. Perry could have offered them the metaphor of "a lawyer who acts as his own attorney has a client for a fool.." but as they were already dead, nothing would have been gained.
        Burr bought the house in 1972 (although he had been renting it for several years before that). We do know from permit records that he did add glass greenhouses to the rambling property to raise his prized orchids.

    However, I never saw the grounds or the greenhouses; I fled, disoriented by the crazy layout and decor, wishing that Perry Mason would appear at the end of the driveway to kindly explain this all to me.
   And yet as I reviewed some of the property's historical documents, I started to think that, while Perry may have been a damned good lawyer, perhaps as a witness he would not have been as reliable. Take for example some facts extracted from his, or rather Raymond Burr's, "official" biography: He worked doing counterintelligence on a  Navy ship during World War II; the ship was hit by Japanese kamikaze planes. He suffered a shrapnel wound in his spine and won a Purple Heart. According to the biography, after.."recovering from the injury, Burr was ready to give his all to acting." This eventually resulted in his being cast as Perry Mason, though many reviewers argued that they found his "all" to be quite tiny.
   This pales next to the tragedies of his personal life as offered in this biography: His first wife, whom he was married in 1942, died in a plane crash in 1943. They had a son, but he gave custody of the child to her parents; the son died of leukemia in 1953. He married again from 1948 to 1952; that didn't work out so well, so he married again in 1954, but his third wife died of cancer within a year. Yikes. Burr's biography goes on to state that he lived "a quiet personal life on a remote Pacific island.." that he owned and died on his ranch in Northern California where he "raised sheep and cultivated grapes for wine." How serene.
    Yet no where in this biography is there any mention of Robert Benevides, whom the L.A. Times listed in their obituary of Burr as one of his survivors as well as his business associate and companion.
   Oh, Perry. Oh, Raymond. You've left me as clueless as ever.
Jamie Foreman

Taste Takes A Holiday

   One of the great benefits of the march of time is how often the tables get turned on the meanest of villains.
    Remember Mr Blackwell, the self-appointed arbiter of taste who each year published his list of the "10 Worst Dressed Women"? This the the man who said the Wynona Judd looked "..like Hulk Hogan in sequins," and that Martha Stewart "..dresses like the centerfold for Farmer's Almanac."
  Well guess whose long term home in the Windsor Square section of Hancock Park just came on the market? Let's just say that given his taste in home decorating perhaps he should have been a little kinder to those he made fun of.

  The exterior of the house could easily be improved by replacing the phallic shrubbery with some good landscaping. It sits on a good sized lot, with two separate guest houses out back. But the interior seems to be done in High Wasp Camp. Ultimately, all one can say is that perhaps one man's  object d'art is another man's tchotchke. But this guy was out to corner the market.

 

Aside from being stuffed to the gills, the decor is dark and oppressive with conflicting patterns and unappealing, random color schemes. As for the late Mr. Blackwell's treatment of his guests, it wasn't much better.

Here's the living room of the main guest house, a room that clearly says, "Please have a seat; the Gerontologist will be with you in a moment." This was the man telling America how to dress?
  Indeed, the elegant, Waspily named "Mr. Blackwell" was born Richard Selzer and grew up in a tenement in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. He managed to parlay a brief acting career into costume design, then fashion design (The House of Blackwell") then Arbiter of Taste. 
   Well the house of Blackwell is now on the market, asking $2,000,000.

 Personally, I feel if kitsch is one's goal, be honest about it and go all out. In other words, "If you can't hide it-flaunt it," which brings me to another new Hancock Park listing, a house that thousands of people in Los Angeles have made a pilgrimage to see in person.

Yes, it's the house with the 24 naked statues of David lining the driveway. The ideal time to see this house, of course, is during the Christmas Season...

..when each David gets a Santa cap and jacket but, alas, no pants.
In a million years I couldn't begin to tell you what the actual style of this house is or was supposed to be. Apparently, neither can the owners and I give them much credit for going with it all the way. Of course if you've gone this far on the outside...

...you can't short change the interior, and they haven't. Here's the dining room which I don't even know how to explain or interpret beyond guessing that the impetus behind the decor may have been a bad 70's acid trip.     There are 7 bedrooms and 7 baths, in 4800 square feet, a pool and a large yard. The asking price is $2,400,000 and the listing agent (whom no one has ever heard of) won't even take your phone call-he only accepts email messages. Let me know if you want to see it, and we'll see if he can read.
Jamie Foreman