A - f r a m eC H A D R A N D L

P R I N C E T O N A R C H I T E C T U R A L P R E S S , N E W Y O R K

PUBLISHED BYPRINCETON ARCHITECTURAL PRESS37 EAST SEVENTH STREETNEW YORK, NEW YORK 10003

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© 2004 Princeton Architectural PressAll rights reservedPrinted in China07 06 05 04 5 4 3 2 1 First edition

No part of this book may be used orreproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher,except in the context of reviews.

This book has been supported by agrant from the Graham Foundation for Advanced Studies in the Fine Arts.

Every reasonable attempt has beenmade to identify owners of copyright.Errors or omissions will be corrected in subsequent editions.

Editing: Jennifer N. ThompsonDesign: Deb Wood

Special thanks to: Nettie Aljian, NicolaBednarek, Janet Behning, Megan Carey,Penny (Yuen Pik) Chu, RussellFernandez, Jan Haux, Clare Jacobson,John King, Mark Lamster, NancyEklund Later, Linda Lee, KatharineMyers, Jane Sheinman, Scott Tennent,and Joseph Weston of PrincetonArchitectural Press —Kevin C. Lippert,publisher

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Randl, Chad.A-frame / Chad Randl.

p. cm.Includes bibliographical references andindex.

ISBN 1-56898-410-3 (pbk. : alk. paper)1. Vacation homes—United States.

2. A-frame houses—United States.3. Architecture—United States—20thcentury. I. Title.

NA7575.R35 2004728.7'2'0973--dc22

2003024853

PAGE 21: From The Complete Tales of Winnie-the-Poohby A. A. Milne, illustrated by E. H. Shepard. This pres-entation copyright © 1994 by Dutton Children’s Books.Coloring of the illustration copyright © 1992 by DuttonChildren’s Books. The House at Pooh Corner by A. A.Milne, illustrated by E. H. Shepard, copyright © 1928by E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc.; copyright renewal 1956 byA. A. Milne. Used by permission of Dutton Children’sBooks, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, amember of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 345 Hudson St.,New York, NY 10014. All Rights Reserved.

A C K N O W L E D G M E N T SI would like to express my sincere gratitude to allthose who helped make this book possible. A longlist of friends, relatives, colleagues, and A-frameenthusiasts passed along old brochures and arti-cles, archival sources, photographs, tips on whereto find A-frames, and anecdotes about their ownexperiences with triangular structures. Specialthanks are due to the designers, owners, and oth-ers connected with postwar A-frames who sharedtheir memories, personal photos, scrapbooks, andin several cases, hospitality, namely, Henrik Bull,Dr. David and Connie Hellyer, Andrew Geller, WallyReemelin, Bart Jacob, Sir Walter Lindal, DavidPerlman, Hugh Dobson, John Seaver, and JackMerry. This book grew from a graduate thesis atCornell University; my advisors, Michael Tomlanand Mary Woods, were ideal mentors who helpedbroaden my research and focus my analysis. AlanHess, Jamie Jacobs, Meredith Clausen, PeggySmith, and Gregory Donofrio read all or portions ofthe manuscript and provided thoughtful commentsand suggestions. Jakob Clausen, Gun Schönbeck,Henrik Bull, Elena Hazelwood, Mary Loizzi, GöranAndersson, and Björn Edlund provided transla-tions. Jennifer Thompson was a dedicated,patient, and encouraging editor and Deb Woodassembled my pile of images and text into a com-pelling design. The Graham Foundation forAdvanced Studies in Fine Arts provided essentialsupport for the research and production of thisbook. Final thanks go to my parents for their yearsof unquestioning support and to Melissa and thegirls who are everything.

T O M E L I S S A , L U C Y , E L L A , A N D L A N E Y

Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Chapter 1. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A-frame Antecedents

(to 1950)

Chapter 2. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Right Shape at the Right Time

Chapter 3. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Setting the Stage

(1950–1957)

Chapter 4. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Popularity, Plan Books, and Promotion

(1958–1962)

Chapter 5 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A-frame Apogee

(1962–1972)

Chapter 6 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Beyond the Vacation Home

Chapter 7. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

A Cultural and Marketing Icon

Conclusion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Plans for an A-frame. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Notes. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Image Credits. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Index . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

8

1 4

3 0

4 6

7 6

1 0 0

1 2 6

1 4 6

1 6 2

1 7 8

1 9 6

2 0 4

2 0 5

Contents

David Per lman’s A - f rame, 1958

Stepping inside the house was like steppingback in time, with the same can opener on thekitchen wall, the same wicker chair near thewindow, and the same cow skin rug spread outby the fireplace. Everything matched photo-graphs from forty-six years ago, when Sunsetmagazine put David Perlman’s Squaw Valley A-frame on the cover. With so much of the past stillpresent, it was easy to imagine the momentsthat had passed beneath the steeply pitchedroof: Friday nights unloading the car after drivingfrom the city, après ski parties, hot cocoas,games of Parcheesi and chess, skis piled up inthe corners, and wool socks drying on the loft rail.

The owner, David Perlman, had arrangedfor me to pick up the keys from the local realtyoffice while I was visiting the area. He hadrecently sold the house and was days away froma final trip out from San Francisco to pack upsome personal belongings and say good-bye.Perlman’s was not the first A-frame vacationhome built after the war, but it was one of themost successful designs, balancing the visual

drama of the triangular form with the functionalrequirements of a home away from home. And itwas my favorite.

The house was built in the summer of1955. A science writer for the San FranciscoChronicle, Perlman had wanted a vacation homefor his family that would be close to the newlycarved ski runs of Squaw Valley. ArchitectGeorge Rockrise came up with a design thatused intersecting gables and a T-shaped floorplan to provide a dynamic triangular exteriorand a spacious, light-filled interior. With barn-like board and batten siding and a cedar-shin-gled roof, matching the mountain peaks above,the house was well-suited to its natural sur-roundings. By using a glass-walled gable endthat opened onto an expansive deck, Rockrisethinned the line between inside and outside,giving the house an openness and informalitythat suited its function.

It was easy to see why the Perlmans lovedthe house (Sunset said it fit them like a good skiboot). Different from their year-round house in

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T h e A - F r a m e : A n I n t r o d u c t i o n

CHAD RANDL

San Francisco, it was a multifaceted designreflecting the informality and fun of a vacationwhile accommodating the practical needs of anactive family with frequent visitors. It was mod-ern and traditional, dramatic and economical.These attributes, shared by the few triangle vaca-tion homes that came before and the tens of thou-sands that followed, helped make the A-framethe quintessential postwar vacation retreat.

The A-frame was the right shape at theright time. It was the era of the “second every-thing,” when postwar prosperity made secondtelevisions, second bathrooms, and second carsexpected accoutrements of middle-classAmerican life. Next, signs at the hardware storeand ads in popular magazines declared, “Everyfamily needs two homes! . . . one for the work-week, one for pure pleasure.”1 In the 1950s and1960s, more Americans than ever before found avacation home (once limited to the wealthy)within their reach. The increase in disposableincome and free time, an economy driven byindividual consumption, and a new culturalemphasis on recreation redefined leisure as amiddle-class prerogative and contributed to thedemocratization of the vacation home.

Many of these homes were based uponforms traditional to wilderness settings—the logcabin and the clapboard cottage. On the oppo-site side were high-style boxes with flat roofsand glass facades, standing brazen against thelandscape. But for those wanting a place thatwas innovative and exciting, modern yet warm,a place wholly suited to the informality of thenew recreation lifestyle, a third alternativeemerged.

Starting in the 1950s, the A-frame gainedprominence as a popular vacation home type. Itsappeal transcended geography and class in partbecause its form defied categorization. Was itthe embodiment of contemporary geometric

invention or a steadfast, timeless form, suggest-ing rustic survival? From grand versions over-looking Big Sur to the small plywood shacksadvertised in Field and Stream, there was an A-frame for almost every budget. It was sturdy,easy to build, and seemed appropriate to anysetting. Perhaps its greatest appeal was that itwas different, an expression of individuality thatmeant relaxation and escape from the everyday,workaday world.

Triangular buildings did not always holdsuch connotations. “Roof huts” turned up inancient China, on South Pacific islands, andthroughout Europe, where they functioned ascooking houses, farm storage sheds, animalshelters, peasant cottages, and ceremonialstructures. In the United States, the A-framewas a utilitarian form until after World War II.

After the war, a succession of architectsfound the A-frame to be an appropriately whim-sical and informal stage on which to play out thestill nebulous leisure lifestyle. Through theirdesigns, the postwar A-frame, in all its myriadvariations, took shape. The excitement arousedby these early designs attracted the attention ofa building industry that had grown fat on thepostwar housing boom and was looking for mar-kets beyond the suburbs. National timber corpo-rations and local lumberyards and contractorsrecognized the profits to be had in vacationhomes. Partnering with mass-market magazinesand home-design services, they promoted sec-ond homes in hundreds of articles, plan books,and do-it-yourself guidebooks. Because A-frames were instantly recognizable andappealed to a variety of demographic groups,they were often at the forefront of these initia-tives. The appearance of prepackaged A-framekits made an already simple structure even eas-ier and cheaper to build, furthering its appealand hastening its spread from coast to coast.

1 0

Soon, the A-frame was a national phe-nomenon. It dotted ski slopes from Stowe,Vermont, to Squaw Valley, California, and was acommon sight in resort communities and forestsand on back roads in between. Triangular poolcabanas, garden sheds, and playhouses broughta touch of the leisure lifestyle to the suburbanbackyard. By the early 1960s, the A-framebecame a cultural icon, a geometric representa-tion of the good life. Hoping to capitalize on thisconnotation, a variety of companies made A-frames the centerpiece of their advertising andpromotional campaigns. Restaurants, gas sta-tions, liquor stores, and a range of other business-es set up shop in triangular buildings, relying onthe prominent shape to lure customers. A-frameswere also adapted for hundreds of the new reli-gious structures that accompanied the postwarmove to the suburbs. Triangular restaurants andchurches illustrated how the A-frame made itsway beyond the lakeshore and the ski slope toinfluence wider architectural circles. At the sametime they were indicative of the A-frame’sincreasing prominence in American culture.

The term A-frame has come to includeany vacation home with a low-slung, steeplypitched roof. This broad interpretation suggeststhe depth to which the form has infused popularculture, but a narrower definition more closelyreflects the term’s meaning during the postwarperiod. An A-frame is a triangular structure witha series of rafters or trusses that are joined at thepeak and descend outward to a main floor level,with no intervening vertical walls. The raftersare covered with a roof surface that ties theframes together and usually continues to thefloor. Though some are steeper and a few arelower to the ground, most A-frames have roofrafters and floor joists of the same length, con-nected at sixty-degree angles to form an equi-lateral triangle.2

Rafters are connected to either woodsillplates at the floor level or, to take full advantageof the triangle’s innate strength, are bolted tofloor joists to form trusses. Most have horizontalcollar beams that strengthen the frame and func-tion as floor joists for a second-level loft. Thesecross ties, combined with the angled roof rafters,give the A-frame its name. Because gable wallsare not load bearing, there are few limits to howthey can be configured: open or enclosed, flat orprow-shaped, with or without doors.

In defining an A-frame, structural sys-tems were less important than what a buildinglooked like on the outside. Plenty of postwar A-frames were constructed without collar beamsrunning across the center. Many houses skippedthe framing altogether, using prefabricatedmodular panels instead. Historical forms wereeven more varied; some had central posts sup-porting ridge beams upon which the roof rafterswere set. Others featured a boxlike interiorframework over which rafters were leaned. Few,if any, ancient versions were constructed astrusses with rafters connected to floor joists.

Within the triangular form, however, therewas considerable room for interpretation, adap-tation, and variation. The A-frame’s flexibilitywas one of its chief appeals. The simple shapecould be easily altered to compensate for itsinnate drawbacks and to accommodate the pref-erences of individual owners. Dormers, verticalwalls set within the diagonal rafters, and three orfour gable designs were elements of a vocabu-lary that allowed for considerable individualiza-tion while retaining the basic triangular shape.3

The A-frame vacation home was accom-panied by a collection of apparent dichotomies.Was it traditional or modern, highbrow or low-brow, trendy or tacky? Custom-designed A-framesby architects trained at the MassachusettsInstitute of Technology or by former apprentices

1 1

of Frank Lloyd Wright seem incongruous along-side the uncelebrated triangular shacks thatresulted from do-it-yourself projects. Perhaps forthis reason the A-frame has been largely over-looked by historians. What seem like contradic-tions, however, are really only characteristics ofthe A-frame’s once broad acceptance and wide-spread appeal.

Finding the fading embers of this boom—in the archives and along the roadside—offers achance to explore the rise of postwar leisure cul-ture, to see how modernism and other designtrends were accepted or rejected by the generalpublic, and to observe the ways marketing andconsumption patterns shape the built world. Asmid-century A-frames become increasingly rare,it is important to understand how this formbecame a nearly ubiquitous feature of the post-war leisure landscape, how it crossed into otherareas of architectural design, and why peoplelike David Perlman chose to spend their freetime in and around them. In the end, this explo-ration can help us figure out why such anunusual little building caused such a big stirand what the A-frame boom tells us about thepostwar era.

1 2

1 3

David Per lman’s A - f rame, 2003

C h a p t e r 2

The A-frame’s ascent to popularity coincidedwith an economic expansion that brought vaca-tion homes within reach of a rapidly expandingmiddle class. As Americans began to enjoylonger weekends and extended vacations, theyyearned to get away from their everyday life, toobtain what was once available only to the rich:a second home in the country. There was a newemphasis on recreation, both for self-improve-ment and for the sheer joy of it. With the evolu-tion of a leisure industry predicated on conspic-uous consumption, Americans packed up thestation wagon and headed out to stake theirclaim on a small lakeshore or hillside lot.

Architecture during this time was alsoundergoing change. Blending elements of mod-ernism, local building traditions, and recenttechnological advances, architects, especially

those on the West Coast, developed entirely newexpressions: origami-like roof forms, space-agemotifs, and creative glazing schemes. Bearingthe influence of work by Frank Lloyd Wright,Eliel Saarinen, William Wurster, and others,these designs offered a more human contempo-rary architecture and appealed to broad seg-ments of the American population. Some of themost creative designs were for vacation homes.

Free from the strictures of the permanenthome, second-home design offered architects acheap, informal opportunity to try somethingnew and garner attention. Image-consciousclients saw the contemporary vacation homeas a way to attract notice, to distance them-selves from everyday life, and to reflect theirtrue unbuttoned personality. Owning a stun-ning vacation home marked the achievement of

3 1

T h e R i g h t S h a p e a t t h e R i g h t T i m e

T H A T “ L I T T L E P L A C E I N T H E C O U N T R Y ” H A ST U R N E D I N T O A B I L L I O N - D O L L A R - A - Y E A R B U S I N E S S ,P O W E R F U L E N O U G H T O I N S P I R E R A D I C A L C H A N G E SI N B U I L D I N G M E T H O D S A N D T H E M O S T E X C I T I N GD O M E S T I C A R C H I T E C T U R E B E I N G C R E A T E D I NA M E R I C A T O D AY. — S P O R T S I L L U S T R A T E D , 1 9 6 3

Vacat ion homes and boats were the tools of le isure and the s igns of success

a revised American dream. It was into this mixof economic, architectural, and cultural trendsthat the A-frame came to the fore.

The A-frame’s popularity lasted fromaround 1950 through the first half of the 1970s.This twenty-five-year period saw an upswell inthe financial fortunes of many Americans.During the 1950s, as industry shifted fromwartime production to the manufacture of con-sumer goods and as the economy ballooned, anincreasing number of families had more discre-tionary income and leisure time.1 Economicprosperity fostered a rapid expansion of thepostwar middle class. Between 1955 and 1965,the average income of an American worker rosefifty percent, while total disposable incomeincreased fifty-seven percent.2 Returned veter-ans, helped along by the GI Bill, created andfilled a variety of new (largely white-collar) jobsin corporations, government bureaucracies,service industries, the media, and the military-industrial complex. As the percentage of mid-dle-class families rose, their role and influenceas culture creators grew proportionally.3

When the middle class began to domi-nate leisure spending, a new breed of vacationhomes evolved to fit their budgets and accom-modate their lifestyle. A nascent leisure indus-try, encompassing the building trades, realestate agents, magazine editors, and sportinggood and motor vehicle manufacturers, promot-ed vacation homes as a necessary possession.The second home became a rightful inheritance.

Extravagant claims about the investmentpotential of vacation homes were part of thepitch. Payments were manageable, and appreci-ation was assumed. In the short term, rentingout the home when not in use could cover muchof the monthly mortgage payment. Long term,vacation homes could eventually serve as retire-

ment homes before being passed on to one’schildren. According to some boosters, middle-class families could hardly afford not to own asecond home. “As a rule...annual family vaca-tions at resort hotels are a heavy drain on thebudget, entail tiresome preparation and toooften result in little more than fast-fading tansand fleeting memories. When such credits anddebits are balanced, a vacation home may wellbe an economy.”4

Rising incomes provided much of the cap-ital needed to afford a vacation home, but manyfamilies still came up short. Increasingly avail-able credit and financing helped close the gap.5

Large, fully insulated homes in establishedresort communities or prime vacation locationswere usually no problem, but banks were lesswilling to extend mortgages to individually con-structed modest vacation homes on scatteredlots, especially those built only for seasonaluse.6 Early on, bankers considered A-frames andother contemporary vacation houses a trendthat would eventually lose favor and be difficultto resell in the event of foreclosure. The initialreluctance of banks to underwrite mortgages ledproducers and developers to offer financingdirectly and include credit applications as partof brochures and plan books. Advertisements forthe precut A-frame kits encouraged buyers to“build now and pay later.”7

Just when many Americans found them-selves with more money to spend on nonessen-tials, they also secured more free time in whichto spend it. By the postwar period, the forty-hourwork week was nearly universal, the culmina-tion of a trend dating back to the beginning ofthe century. In 1940 the average Americanworker was entitled to one week of paid vaca-tion and two paid holidays per year. By 1969, thelength of the average paid vacation had doubled

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C H A P T E R 2

3 3

Excavat ion for In ters tate 80between San Francisco andLake Tahoe

Const ruct ion of In ters tate 80in I l l inois

C H A P T E R 2

and the number of paid holidays had grownfivefold.8 Saturdays were fully ensconced aspart of a full weekend, rather than the last (half)day of the work week.

Other factors contributed to a boom invacation home ownership. The creation of artifi-cial lakes and reservoirs by private developersand public agencies like the Bureau ofReclamation opened tens of thousands of milesof new shoreline to recreational use.9 Between1946 and 1966, the mileage of surface road inthe United States doubled.10 Highway construc-tion, especially the new interstate system,brought large undeveloped recreation areaswithin a Friday night’s drive of the city and sub-urb. Roads like Interstate 70, through theColorado Rockies and Interstate 80, through theSierra Nevada Mountains between SanFrancisco and Reno, created weekend wonder-lands that were accessible year-round.11

Since it first became affordable to mid-dle-class Americans, allowing them to reachbeyond railroad-serviced resort areas, the auto-mobile had spurred the dispersal of recreational

activities. In the 1920s and 1930s, cabincamps and cottage courts sprouted up

along the roadside, offering a more indi-vidual, private, and flexible leisure expe-

rience.12 Vacation homes, especiallythose individually built on scatteredlots, took that seclusion a step fur-ther, requiring interaction only withother family members and invitedguests.13 New roads and theincreasingly ubiquitous car per-

mitted vacation homeowners and builders

to seek out a private piece of unspoiled anduncrowded paradise.

From their earliest introduction as a post-war vacation house form, A-frames were wellsuited to the new economic and cultural atmos-phere. A-frame designers in particular weredetermined to keep costs down in order to attractpeople of more modest financial means. Thoughgrand versions were built, the A-frame was moreoften seen as a natural “entry level” vacationhome. Plan books and popular magazines likeBetter Homes and Gardens and House Beautifulfeatured a variety of small, six-hundred- to thou-sand-square-foot A-frames, their dramatic shapecompensating for their diminutive size.Construction costs were often kept around tendollars per square foot; construction time wasmeasured in weekends. Articles boasted of howeasy, fast, and inexpensive the A-frame was tobuild, one stating that “with a few long poles andnot much dough, you can build your ownShangri-la.”14 The A-frame contributed to thepromise that through economic prosperity andthe beneficence of American capitalism, every-one could have access to the good life.

L E I S U R E T I M E A N D VA C AT I O NH O M E SPostwar leisure culture was an amalgam of sev-eral, at times conflicting, attitudes. There wasan established and stubbornly persistent beliefthat free time was best spent on self-improve-ment, whether it was taking adult educationcourses or attending the ballet. Alternately,there was a sense that postwar Americans hadearned the right to relaxation, to lounge in ham-mocks and share cocktails on the patio.Somewhere between these two poles was anincreasingly predominant interest in spendingfree time actively engaged in physical, usuallyoutdoor, recreation.

3 4

The many faces of postwar recreat ion, f romCare- Free L iv ing , a plan book publ ished bythe Homasote Company

Middle-class expansion, its accompany-ing buying power, and the rise of a true massculture were the primary engines that reorderedthe character of leisure. The wealthy no longerdominated free-time spending and no longerdictated public perceptions of what constitutedthe leisure life. Instead the rules were beingrewritten by a new, broader group of tastemak-ers and popularized by the mass media. Fortunemagazine summed up the trend saying that “theyacht splurge of the late 1920s is replaced by theoutboard boom of today.”15 Unlike the yacht, theoutboard motorboat represented widespreadaccess to waterskiing, fishing, and a lakesidevacation home.

Broadly considered, leisure is a state ofmind, a freedom from the necessities of life. It isthe attitudes and activities we choose to fill thetime not spent working, sleeping, or doing any-

thing else essential to survival. Since the nine-teenth century, when industrialization firstdelineated work time from free time and thatfree time became more available to those ofmodest means, there was a growing concernamong social scientists, politicians, and reli-gious leaders that American civilization wasimperiled by leisure.16 This fear reached a peakin the postwar era. Robert Hutchins, a formerpresident of the University of Chicago, observedat the time that “if we survive the leisure whichthe atomic age will bring, it may make peacemore horrible than war. We face the dreadfulprospect of hour after hour, even day after day,with nothing to do. After we read all the comicbooks, traveled all the miles, seen all the movies,what shall we do then?”17

Many worried not so much about a nationof bored sybarites but one made weak from lazy

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T h e R i g h t S h a p e a t t h e R i g h t T i m e

The Ranger f rom the Douglas F i r P lywood Associat ion plan book, 1962

C H A P T E R 2

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living, a population grown soft on luxury. In theCold War era of missile gaps and domino theo-ries, this was especially dangerous. The rhetoricof the time posed the Soviet Union, tempered bywar and adversity, against an America that wasbecoming too comfortable to bother defendingitself. If Americans chose to squander theirincreasing leisure time on amusements, enter-tainment, diversions, time wasters, or timefillers, the moral and physical vitality of theentire country would be jeopardized.Abundance, rather than a symbol of the victoryof the American system, would be its downfall.

The only solution was the worthwhile useof leisure, spending free time on activities con-sidered fulfilling and enriching, ones thatrestored and regenerated. Wholesome leisure,from learning to paint or play a musical instru-ment to hiking and woodworking and buildingone’s own vacation home, refreshed one for newwork and new trials psychologically, physically,and spiritually. In this way the benefits of worth-while leisure activities extended far beyond theindividual. Wholesome leisure emphasized thecentrality of the family and created an educated,cultured population.18 It was an antidote to suchun-American developments as urbanization,overcrowding, automation, and rapid change. Itwas often hard work and, therefore, an exten-sion of the Protestant ethic that exhorted laborand spurned indolence.

Although postwar leisure meant differentthings to different people, almost all saw it as anopportunity for consumption. Whether it was apair of downhill skis, a dirt bike, rec room, orvacation home, spending money was a centralcomponent of the postwar leisure life. Like aFord Mustang bought in addition to the familycar, vacation homes were a signal to all that onehad arrived, that success had been achieved,and that the leisure life was at hand. One recre-

ation area developer told a conference ofbuilders that when it comes to vacation homes,status “is the sizzle you are selling.”19

The best wholesome leisure activitieswere ones that encouraged consumption andfurthered economic growth. Unlike passiveentertainment—frequenting bars and otheruses of free time derided by the experts—phys-ical outdoor recreation activities and do-it-yourself projects required the purchase ofincreasingly specialized equipment and tools.Building vacation homes had beneficenteffects that spread far beyond the real estateand construction industries, since secondhomes required a second set of sheets, silver-ware, and furniture.

Such views helped justify the enormousefforts federal, state, and local governmentsexpended on increasing leisure opportunities.From establishing the Bureau of OutdoorRecreation to opening up Forest Service tracts to“vacation home-steading,” government agenciesworked to instill the ideal of productive leisure inAmerican society.20 Vacation homes, including A-

A B O V E Aboveground A - f rame bomb shel ter, des igned to protect as many as ten people f romthe ef fects of radioact ive fa l lout , 1962; R I G H T The Engelmann Spruce, an A - f rame plan bythe Western Wood Products Associat ion featured in Vacat ionland Homes , 1960

frames, were clearly seen as a bulwark against acreeping Communism and a soft citizenry. Theywere an assertion both of the primacy of the fam-ily and of private property. A-frames were literallyadapted for the protection of the American fami-ly against a Cold War turned hot when in 1965the Office of Civil Defense began testing triangu-lar fallout shelters.21

In contrast to the view that leisure oblig-atorily provide moral uplift and social value, amore basic justification for leisure emerged dur-ing the postwar era. The idea of fun for fun’ssake and the shameless pursuit of pleasureplayed an increasingly important role in howfree time was perceived and spent. It was a joy

of living that many felt they had earned after theprivations of the Depression and self-denial ofthe war years, or at least after a hard week ofwork at the office. This was leisure as lifestyle, aconcept that described the values of what onehistorian called “a new middle class of college-bred administrators, professionals and man-agers” who were oriented to a culture of “play,fun and excitement” and who took “endlessdelight in pursuing a lighthearted existence ofinterpersonal repartee and pleasure based on amoral code that bore no relationship to babbitryand its Protestant morality.”22 It was youth-ori-ented, individualistic, and unapologetic in itsfocus on gratification.

A-frames, and vacation homes in general,appealed to both button-down conformists andhedonistic pleasure seekers. A-frames straddledthe line between the safety and conservatism ofthe family and the emergent swinging bachelorand independent single girl, between the moralobligation for wholesome recreation and theshameless quest for fun. A-frames were a sanc-tum where the nuclear family could retreat, findshelter, and immerse itself in the regenerativepowers of nature. Alternately, the triangularvacation home could be a totem for nonconfor-mity, the quintessential bachelor pad and sin-gles’ love nest, a place where unchaperonedromance could blossom on the bearskin rugbefore a prefabricated fireplace.23

D O - I T-Y O U R S E L FFamilies that built their own A-frames fulfilledthe social scientist’s and politician’s hopes thatCold War Americans would make active andproductive use of their free time. Amateurbuilders were part of a do-it-yourself phenome-non that included a plethora of activities fromarts and crafts to building bookshelves and bar-

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A- f rames were the refuge where t i redle isure seekers could ret reat af ter a longday recreat ing, A lpine V i l lages brochure,c. 1963

C H A P T E R 2

rel chairs, to home renovations, additions, andconstruction. As more and more Americansbecame office workers—more adroit with theadding machine than the saw—hands-on proj-ects provided a sense of fulfillment and accom-plishment. With the cost of skilled tradespersonsrising rabidly, doing it yourself was an economicimperative for those who wanted more thantheir salaries could cover.24 Whether it was fin-ishing an attic space or building a vacationhome, couples, particularly young couples, sawdo-it-yourself activities as a means of acquiring

comforts that were increasingly considerednecessities yet too expensive to purchase as fin-ished products.25

In a culture still suffering from a Puritanhangover and for those still a little squeamishabout leisure for leisure’s sake, do-it-yourselfprojects were both productive and morallydefensible. Those whose hobbies consisted ofmore work could not be considered lazy.Whether through construction or regular main-tenance and repair, vacation homes offered themix of leisure, labor, and self-affirmation that

From Douglas F i r P lywood Associat ion vacat ion home plan book, 1958

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many Americans seemed to crave. (In fact,many articles pointed out that amateur vacationhome builders got more work than they expect-ed, as construction and upkeep left them moreexhausted on Sunday night than they had beenon Friday.)26

The aggressive marketing of electrictools, latex paints, linoleum, pressed-wood pan-eling, and prepackaged kits made home renova-tion and construction, seem within the capabil-ity of the hands-on hobbyist. With the intentionof selling more plywood or other materials, com-panies developed booklets of second homeplans, in which easy-to-build A-frame designsfigured prominently. Others went a step furtherand formulated precut or prefabricated kits,which provided the customer with all the mate-rials necessary to build a basic A-frame shell.Whether finishing a basement rec room or con-structing an A-frame, do-it-yourselfers boughtwith sweat equity the middle-class necessitiesthat they could not otherwise afford.27

P O S T WA R A R C H I T E C T U R EIn his book Waiting for the Weekend, WitoldRybczynski observed that “country retreats havealways been an opportunity to break loose fromthe architectural constraints of the city.”28 While

any building could serve as a getaway, uncon-ventional designs furthered the fantasy ofescape from the everyday world. Rustic“camps,” for example, with bark exteriors andknotty furniture, had long allowed their wealthyowners to play pioneer in the Adirondacks. Inthe past those who could afford modest summerhomes usually selected recognizable designstraditional to rural or mountainous settings:variations on the log cabin, English cottage,Cape Cod house, or bungalow. Except for logcabins, there was little difference between sum-mer homes and permanent homes.29

The first designs to break with this con-vention were International Style beach housesdating to the late 1920s and 1930s. Built prima-rily on the east and west coasts, these modernstructures, with featureless white walls, ribbonwindows, flat roofs, and open interiors, werederived from a European industrial and socialistaesthetic that had nothing to do with leisure.Rudolph Schindler’s concrete and glass LovellBeach House, in Newport, California (1926), wasone of the earliest done in the new form. It wasfollowed by other designs on the Californiashore, as well as homes on Long Island byWarren Matthews, William Muschenheim, andthe firm Peabody, Wilson and Brown.30

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Modest In ternat ional S ty le beach houses, proposed by Sunset magazine, 1938

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Five such homes appeared in a 1938Sunset magazine plan book scattered amongthe typical cabin designs.31 Though they resem-bled the much more elaborate and expensivecustom-designed beach houses by Schindlerand others, these homes offered basic avant-garde living at an affordable price. Where the logcabin was a bulwark against the wilderness,early modern vacation homes, with jutting ter-races and copious plate glass, suggested a moreengaged and salutary relationship with the out-doors. Nature was on display, more an accou-trement than a threat.

When the A-frame vacation homeappeared in the early 1950s, it marked a newcategory of contemporary leisure architecture.This loose grouping mixed an up-to-date appre-ciation for active outdoor recreation with exper-imental tendencies ascendant in other areas ofarchitectural design. The emphasis was on play-ful informality, dynamic structural concoctions,unconventional roof shapes, open plans, andunusual glazing configurations. Designerssought to produce dramatic structures with lim-ited resources, goals that often proved comple-mentary as tight budgets impelled innovationand modest size encouraged experimentation.The result was an accessible modernism, morelikely found in the pages of Better Homes and

Gardens and Popular Mechanics than in the“official” architectural press.

For those who found traditional vacationhome styles a poor fit for contemporary ideas ofleisure and who were equally unexcited by strictmodernism, the A-frame and its whimsical off-spring had great appeal. These homes weredesigned for and were a product of the postwarleisure culture. They were in tune with this eraof outdoor living, of sun decks, breezeways, andthe all-important deck and patio. They wereuniquely suited for their function: the stylish,informal, active enjoyment of free time in natu-ral surroundings. The magazine Living for YoungHomemakers observed in 1961, “Vacationretreats are providing the ideal chance fordesigner and owner to unshackle all inhibitions.Fanciful expressions are popping up like brightimpertinences against the conventional land-scape. Houses and shelters are becoming moreand more adventurous in themselves, inspiredby shapes and forms that stir the imaginationand invite the spirit to get away from it all.”32

Playful roof forms set contemporary vaca-tion homes apart from the by-then cliché flat-roofed structures and traditional year-roundhouses. It was a trend paralleled in postwarcommercial, institutional, and civic architec-ture. New bank, car dealer, and restaurant

Plan companies and bui ld ing mater ia l t rade associat ions of ten promoted the new breed of contemporar y vaca-t ion home forms. L E F T The Sugar Pine, Western Wood Products Associat ion, 1960; C E N T E R Design Number 717, HomeBui ld ing Plan Ser v ice, 1965; R I G H T Three Stage Beach Cabin, Douglas F i r P lywood Associat ion, 1964

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Freder ick L iebhardt ’s vacat ion home for DFPA , 1958

designs were replete with folded plates, hyper-bolic paraboloids, cylindrical and sphericalshells, bat wings, and saddles, often built inconcrete or steel. Coming up with new versionsseemed a rite of passage for aspiring architects.California’s “coffee shop modern,” or “Googie,”architecture introduced a flamboyant vocabu-lary of cantilevered roofs, exposed trusses, andtilted glass walls that was part Frank LloydWright organic, part Jetsons space age.33

Expressionist designs, like Eero Saarinen’s ele-gant TWA Terminal at New York’s JFK Airportand the houses of John Lautner, left orthodoxmodernism behind, opening the door to playfulengineering and symbolic, flexible forms.

Because plywood and two-by-sixes werethe common material of modest contemporaryvacation homes, their imaginative roofs wereusually more angular, with intersecting planesrather than arches or domes. In an oft-copieddesign, architect Henrik Bull draped a pitched

spent-wing roof over a large built-up ridgepolefor his 1954 Squaw Valley house for PeterKlaussen.34 Several years later FrederickLiebhardt came up with a Taliesin West knock-off for a plan book published by the Douglas FirPlywood Association (DFPA).35 In addition todistracting the eye from the usually basic squareforms underneath, these roofs effectivelyspanned vacation home interiors with few or nopartitions. By shedding or easily supportingheavy snow loads and with generous overhangsto block out bright sunlight, such designs alsoproved well suited to vacation area climates.

Essential in shaping the exterior appear-ance of the contemporary vacation home,unusual roof forms also helped define the interi-or. Structural beams, joists, and plank sheathingwere left exposed in order to clearly articulatethe roof shape on the inside. In many designsthe angles and shifting pitches of the ceilingaccentuated a living-room area open to the full

T h e R i g h t S h a p e a t t h e R i g h t T i m e

Alan Dunn car toon in Architectural Record ,September 1959

Henr ik Bul l , K laussen House, Squaw Val ley,Cal i forn ia, 1954

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height of the house. Kitchens and bathroomswere placed in the back, beneath upstairs loftbedrooms that were at least partially open to theliving room below. Hallways were rare. Roomsopened into the living area, with Japanese shojiscreens or curtains sometimes forming the onlypartition. A central tenet of modern architec-ture, open plans were especially suited to mod-est vacation homes. They allowed viewsthrough the glazed wall to be visible throughoutthe house, were more easily heated by a singlefireplace, and lent a feeling of spaciousness tothe small structures. They also emphasized theinformality attendant to the postwar leisure life.

Venturesome leisure seekers interested ina contemporary vacation home could have onecustom designed. Young architects were eagerfor the publicity that could accompany aprovocative design. Popular magazines and planbooks were a source for those who could not orchose not to hire an architect. Because thebooks and articles were aimed at a nationalaudience with a range of preferences, even their“fresh,” “interesting,” and “unusual” homeswere generally tamer than those done by archi-tects as one-off commissions. Woman’s Daycounseled architects that all the vacationhomes designed for the magazine “have had astrong element of the unusual without beingcrazy. They give the impression of being funhouses where the owner changes his personali-ty and looses his tensions.”36 The Douglas FirPlywood Association, a major vacation homepromoter, described the type as “conservativelyradical.”37

Vacation home purveyors sought designsthat were bold yet acceptable to middle-classAmericans. Like the parties, getaways, andrecreational activities that took place in andaround them, contemporary vacation homes

were relaxed, refreshing, and above all fun. Tomany, the A-frame best matched this descrip-tion. Arriving in the early 1950s, it initiated astrain of vacation home design characterized byexperimentation and informality. But affectionfor the A-frame was not instantaneous. It tookalmost a decade to bring the public around tothe strange idea of a triangular vacation home.During this time the A-frame remained primari-ly a custom design, explored and refashioned bya succession of young architects. Through theirwell-publicized work, the postwar A-frame tookshape.

Archi tect George Rockr ise ’s se l f -des igned vacat ion home, Squaw Creek, Cal i forn ia, 1956