Bibliography

Acknowledgments

First and foremost, I want to thank my good friend, and colleague in this project, photographer Joel Puliatti, whose beautiful photographs of Maybeck’s architecture grace the pages of this book. His tireless dedication, skill, and creative talent helped bring to life the elegance of Maybeck’s buildings in a manner that words alone could not have achieved. Another indispensable contribution was made by Cherry Maybeck Nittler, Bernard Maybeck’s granddaughter, who graciously offered to write the charming and insightful foreword to this book, to which her twin sister, Sheila, also contributed some of her memories. Cherry was also generous in allowing access to several drawings and paintings by Bernard Maybeck, as well as many unpublished letters and family photographs that add a very personal dimension to this biography of a great American architect.

Several people contributed comments or suggestions to this project. My thanks to Rheanna Bagley, Lisa Neal, Christine Lillevand, William Marquand, Trish Hawthorne, and Fred and Judy Porta for their feedback on my manuscript. Many other people were generous in providing original or archival photographs and images for this book: Laura Ackley, Richard Edwards, Foster Goldstrom, Genevieve Cottraux, Rene Puliatti, Daniella Thompson, Thaddeus Kusmierski, and Judy Hollander. A number of individuals also offered their time in providing specific research information: Angela Lin, Marion Hunt, Robert Craig, Warren and Lorna Byrne, Kris Impastato at the Principia College Archives, Anthony Bruce at the Berkeley Architectural Heritage Association, and especially the late Kenneth Cardwell, who shared his insights and knowledge as the pioneering biographer of Bernard Maybeck for use in this book.

Various staff members at a number of libraries and archives were very helpful in obtaining primary sources for either the text or archival images in this book; among them: Miranda Hambro at UC Berkeley’s Environmental Design Archives; Susan Snyder at UC Berkeley’s Bancroft Library; Gemma Guansimo at UC Berkeley’s Periodicals Room in Doe Library; Dick Apple at the Media Center at California State University, East Bay; Dayna Hooz at the Art and Music Room at the Berkeley Public Library; and Elizabeth Byrne, Director of the Environmental Design Library at UC Berkeley. Several people were instrumental in gaining access to photograph some of Maybeck’s buildings: Sister Catherine Rose Holzman (IHM) and Father John Stoeger at the Earle Anthony House in Los Angeles; Barbara Floyd at the Town and Gown Club in Berkeley; Kenna Richards at the UC Berkeley Faculty Club; Edward Bosley, Director of the Gamble House in Pasadena; and Valentyna Hohl at the Swedenborgian Church in San Francisco. I also greatly appreciate the graciousness of the dozens of owners of Bernard Maybeck–designed homes, who welcomed Joel and me into their homes, and allowed us to share the beauty of these places with our readers.

Finally, the staff and editors at Gibbs Smith were friendly and helpful in resolving various challenges that arose during our work on this book. In particular, my editors, Linda Nimori and Bob Cooper, and contract manager, Michelle Branson, were very diligent in their response to my many questions and requests. And I am especially grateful to Gibbs Smith himself, for his support and vision in making this project a reality.

Finally, I want to thank my wife, Ann, for her patience, understanding, and support during the writing of this book, and my daughter, Elena, for happily accompanying me to so many of the Maybeck buildings in this book.

Bernard Maybeck chopping a tree at Pine Ridge Ranch, Mendocino County, c. 1925 (collection of Cherry Maybeck Nittler).

Foreword

Memories of Growing Up with Bernard Maybeck by Cherry (Adriana) Maybeck Nittler

Ben

Picture a world-famous architect as having many aspects, like the arms of a wizard. From the view of one of his twin granddaughters will come stories after the shape of the man emerges. As a young child, Ben dealt with the death of his beautiful, intellectual mother, Elizabeth Kern, of the prominent Kern family of Yale and Wellesley. He told us of hours standing at the window hoping for her return, and calling himself a fathead for doing so.

As a young boy, he studied art and philosophy in private schools, went to a public high school, then to the College of the City of New York, where he had to take chemistry (he hated it). His German dad, a talented furniture carver, always spoke of following your art, and sent him off to Paris to study furniture carving. As a young man of 20 in Paris, he was smitten with the tall hats on the elegant young men passing by, going to the architecture school at the Ecole des Beaux-Arts. After deciding to enter the Ecole, he displayed great talent, showed good humor, and made many friends.

The Maybeck twins, Cherry and Sheila, with their grandmother, Helena Van Huizen, in front of Bernard Maybeck’s 1929 Packard, c. 1933 (collection of Cherry Maybeck Nittler).

As a young graduate of 24, his search for work in the US led him to Kansas City, where, through a friend he met the charming Annie White, daughter of Henry White, principal of a Kansas City high school. She accepted his proposal when a ring appeared inside a cake, and he agreed to give up his pipe and drinks for her Women’s Christian Temperance sentiments. They married in 1890. He was 28; their marriage lasted over 65 years. Along the way, he humorously told his family to put a pipe in his mouth just before he died. As a young husband, he and Annie went to California for more work. There he became part of the Young Turks: talented, creative men who set the tempo for the California Arts and Crafts movement. He was 30 years old.

As a young 36-year-old dad in 1898, he happily welcomed a son born in Brussels, Belgium. He was working for Phoebe Apperson Hearst on the design of the University of California at Berkeley at the time. The boy was four years old when he chose his own name: he became Wallen White Maybeck. A daughter, Kerna McKeehan Maybeck, was born in California a few years later. Ben was a creative parent; family life was full of pageantry, friends, music, books, humor, philosophy, politics, the Bohemian Club, and the Hillside Club of Berkeley.

Bernard and his son Wallen Maybeck, c. 1899 (Bernard Maybeck Collection, Environmental Design Archives, UC Berkeley, 1956-1).

As a family man, his San Francisco office was busy with clients and work. He and Annie bought land in Berkeley, and on Pine Ridge near Ukiah in Mendocino County. Here they met the Van Huizen family: Peter, a distinguished sugar chemist from Holland, and his wife Helena. They had two children: Jacomena Adriana and Peter J. Van Huizen. The Maybeck and Van Huizen children played happily together. Later, Wallen and the lovely Jacomena attended Cal. Love bloomed, then graduation. They were married in 1927, when Ben was 65. As a grandfather in 1929 at age 67, he enjoyed being presented with twins. He took the role seriously, with the ever-present twinkle in his blue eyes. We twins were born in Ross, in Marin County. I was born first, and called Cherry because of a birthmark on my head. Five minutes later—with the comment Oh my God, there’s another one!—came Sheila Kern Maybeck. Life on Nut Hill enlarged.

The shape of the man has emerged—not complete, but enough for the reader to see a bit of his path. A grandchild’s view of the great man will follow. Be aware that great had no meaning to us children. We hope you can know him from our humanistic angle. We twins enjoyed our twinkling, teaching, warm, and humorous Grosswater, as he wanted to be called, but we preferred Ben.

Childhood Memories

As small children, we were friends with Ben. He never talked down to us (nor anyone else). He taught us drawing, read us children’s stories in German, and took us for walks. His love of beauty, elegance, and festivals led to gold crowns and velvet robes for birthdays and holidays. We thought this was what everyone did. The following are some of the impressions each of us have of growing up with Ben.

Cherry

As three-year-olds, we lived in Berkeley in the Cubby House (our several houses, in our family area north of the Cal campus off Buena Vista Way, all had names). Our parents built a six-foot chicken-wire fence to surround the deck off our bedroom and keep us from wandering. Our agile toes easily climbed up and over. We then made our way up the short path to the Blue Carpet House where Ben and Little Grannie lived. On those early mornings we would announce ourselves—Both of me are here!—and climb into bed with a grandparent. They would rub our backs. Ben used to tell me to keep rubbing the hands and arms for good health and function throughout life. I later became a physical therapist with a degree from UC San Francisco, carrying out his gently spoken advice.

The nursery stories he read us in German told of strange things, like the fat boy who drank vinegar until he thinned to a mere stick of his former self and died. I still have the copy of the book from which he read. It was damaged by one of the several fires the family endured in Berkeley. He also wrote us letters in fine old German script, illustrated by his own sketches. Today, Sheila and I also write letters with small sketches.

Bernard Maybeck and Jacomena’s father Piet Van Huizen, with Cherry and Sheila, in front of Maybeck’s Cottage, c. 1930 (collection of Cherry Maybeck Nittler).

Jacomena and Wallen Maybeck in living room of Wallen Maybeck House #1, c. 1948 (courtesy of Berkeley Architectural Heritage Society).

Sheila

To me as a little girl, Ben was a wizard and a Santa Claus: white beard, sparkling eyes, and cheerful attitude. He lived in a tiny pink house like a Hansel and Gretel cottage. He believed we would become great ladies, artists and independent thinkers. He would say, You are a lady; you don’t have to follow anyone else’s style—make your own. He gave us security and pride.

Ben never ignored us when we came to visit. He brought us to the drawing table, put a small piece of glass over a simple picture, and gave us poster paint to copy the picture underneath. Then he would put red tape around the edges and put it on the wall. He told us what his beloved teacher and mentor Père Andre at the Ecole in Paris taught him, which was how to put many charcoal lines together until the right one stood out. He even taught this at 93 to his great-grandchildren. Perhaps that is why I enjoy working in watercolors and pastels today.

Ceremonies were important to Ben. For special holidays, the family wore the gold crowns he had made for us of gold paper on cardboard. We also wore velvet robes (when he could persuade us). It was years before Cherry and I realized that not everyone did this. We also had a fine gong from India at the front door, rather than an ordinary front doorbell. In high school we were very embarrassed by this odd way of announcing visitors at the front door, but later we were delighted with it. The sound was very deep and beautiful, and it was different.

Just in case you were imagining a bland genius who was always perfect in manner and attitude, here is a small sample of Grandfather Ben’s temper. In 1957 there were four generations in one house. My husband John was stationed in Iceland, and we came to spend the year in the High House (Wallen and Jac’s house). Ben enjoyed his great-granddaughter, Adrienne, and gave her charcoal to make drawings, always looking for the right line. He would work on his drawing board in the living room. One day before lunch he asked me for a special charcoal blender for his drawing. I told him I would get it after lunch. He pounded on his table and said, I might be dead after lunch. I need it now! My three-year-old daughter said to him, You can’t talk to my mother like that! He looked at her and smiled, and all was peaceful again.

Maybeck family pageant: Annie, Ben, Kerna, and Wallen, c. 1910 (Bernard Maybeck Collection, Environmental Design Archives, UC Berkeley, 1956-1).

Cherry

Both of us remember Ben was gracious and polite. He stood for the ladies, held their chairs, and enjoyed conversations with young and old visitors. Little Grannie felt young people kept Ben young, and he enjoyed their enthusiasm and new ideas.

World War II changed the family. Wallen and our family followed the Air Corps, Kerna and Chick the Navy, and Ben and Annie went to their house in Twain Harte. In 1944 we all came back: Ben and Annie to the Cottage, and we to the High House. Then we were in high school, and again there were friends and parties. Ben and Annie would walk over with their canes, at that point tolerating drinks, fingernail polish, and lipstick around them. When Ben was 88 years old, he worked on plans for Arillaga, the last house that he built in 1950. Jacomena’s book says of him at this time: His age sat on him like a hat which could be taken off.

In 1956, Little Grannie had a heart attack and was gone. In her book, Jackie wrote, Ben went quietly over to the High House to live with us. We expected him to be a recluse, but the minute he heard voices, he climbed the stairs and joined the people. He was gracious as always to the women, telling them they were beautiful and would be more so as they grew older. He kissed their hands gently. Two weeks before he died, he wanted to go home and moved back to the Cottage with Inez, his wonderful nurse and housekeeper. Ben was a quiet, gentle, and cultured genius, with ideas popping out of him at all times. He made a lasting impression on the land, the family, and all those who lived in his houses.

Showboat

Ben designed many beautiful buildings for Earle C. Anthony, who was known as Mr. Packard in the early twentieth century. The Packard showrooms in Los Angeles, Oakland, and San Francisco, as well as Anthony’s mansion in the Los Feliz District of Los Angeles, were designed by Ben. Anthony ordered a 1929 Packard Phaeton specially made for Ben as partial payment for his architectural services. It was superbly elegant in black and silver, with a back windscreen that could go up and down. In the Depression of the 1930s, Ben was in his 70s, but still kept the San Francisco office open. His beautiful daughter Kerna worked in his office, and would drive him across the bridge to the City. She wrote in a letter, "There were so many lines of unemployed that when I drove Ben to the office, he insisted I drop him off a block away so that no one would know he owned such a grand car." Kerna would then drive on into the garage under his building.

Showboat was the only automobile the family ever owned, and it lived in the garage of the Cottage for over 20 years. It was driven by the family or college boys, since neither Ben nor Little Grannie ever drove. Horace Fritz, a Cal student, drove the family for his four years at Cal. Then Ben loaned him the money to go to Harvard Business School. We visited him and his wife in Bodega Bay in 2008. He commented, We visited Ben often during the years after he retired, and appreciated his gentle humor and wise observations—always optimistic about the present and the future.

Ben and Annie loved picnics, the Oakland Free Market, and just a drive out into the country. We loved to go with them. Ben sat in the back seat with his white beard flowing gently in the wind as he said to the driver, Straight ahead that way, gesturing to the right or left. The driver had to be on his toes to decipher the course.

In 1951, the car was sold to an Orinda farmer for its powerful engine. In 1954, it went to Mississippi, where it was lovingly restored and repainted a different color. Then it went to Louisiana. In 2008 it was offered on eBay for $125,000 and was purchased by a dentist from Vermont. Its history was researched, the Maybeck family was found, and pictures were shared. The car can now be driven across the US, and the dentist hopes someone will want to do this. Showboat is now looking for its next owner.

Maybeck’s 1929 Packard, Showboat (collection of Cherry Maybeck Nittler).

The Gold Medal

In 1951 Ben was awarded the Gold Medal of Honor by the American Institute of Architects (AIA). Since he was unable to travel to Chicago to accept, his son Wallen went in his place and gave the acceptance speech. An excerpt follows:

Dad’s old Grandfather Kern was notorious for his violent temper. Dad inherited just a touch of his temper. When he wanted something and could not get it, he became frustrated. Old Grandfather Kern would take over, and mother was afraid he would die of apoplexy. As she was afraid of everything, but mostly of apoplexy, she would write letters, borrow money, call people on the telephone, or do anything necessary to get him what he wanted, and avoid the apoplexy. In this curious way, the dreams of the artist became a reality.

The Gold Medal was accepted by Wallen and came home to Berkeley. As the years passed, the Gold Medal moved with the family. Then one day 40 years later it could not be found. But here’s the rest of the story. It’s about a fireplace. Ben’s fireplaces were baronial. You could walk into them, sit on the hearth, and enjoy conversation, singing, music, warmth, and a place for the soul to expand. At 2751 Buena Vista Way (Wallen’s house), the fireplace was massive, going up two stories from the base on the first floor (the bedroom floor). The north bedroom held a secret. A hidden panel in the wall of this bedroom could be opened, revealing a large storage closet. Inside was the huge cement base of the fireplace, in which there was a dark metal door with a padlock. If you had the key, you could open this metal door to find a small room with cement walls and a roof. The first items inside were two foam-rubber knee pads. One had to kneel for entry into what was a small room-size safe used by the family.

In 2005, nine years after Jacomena’s death, Wallen’s house on Buena Vista Way was put on the market and the safe was entered. Many family items were found inside. Notably, one special box of silver flatware. When it was opened, a small black leather box was revealed, and there inside, gold and gleaming, was the lost Gold Medal of Honor, presented to Bernard Maybeck in 1951 for his lifetime of distinguished achievements.

Gold Medal awarded by American Institute of Architects to Bernard Maybeck in 1951 (photo by Richard C. Edwards).

Introduction

He was the soft-spoken son of a woodcarver from Germany and a mother who died when he was three. He grew up in Greenwich Village, attended the world’s