Seattle Sun Newspaper - Vol. 8, Issue 2, February 2004

Copyright 2004 Jane Lotter. Do not reproduce without written permission.

JANE EXPLAINS

Six degrees of demolition

By JANE LOTTER

"The house was just a dump. How he could have lived there, I don't know."

-- The New York Times

Multi-millionaire Steven Wallace speaking about Oscar-winning actor James Stewart's former Beverly Hills home. Mr. Wallace demolished the Stewart house to make way for his own 12,800-square-foot residence.

"It was a dump. ... It was full of cats and dogs."

-- The New York Times.

Hollywood producer Brian Grazer speaking about Oscar-winning actor Gregory Peck's former home in Pacific Palisades. Mr. Grazer purchased the house and spent $2 million remodeling it.

"The place was devastated."

-- The New York Times.

Dr. Tracy Conrad who, with a partner, bought and renovated a Palm Springs mansion once owned by movie actress Marion Davies.

* * *

Sweat attractively moistened my brow as I sat at the computer. As a newly licensed Los Angeles real estate agent, I was eagerly composing an ad for my very first listing, a choice piece of residential property.

"Stunning and spacious Beverly Hills Tudor in move-in condition," I typed carefully, trying not to break a nail. "New light bulbs. Updated doorknobs. Two bedrooms, eighteen baths, entertainment-sized closets. Former home of Zasu Pitts."

My boss, Cash Closing, came and read over my shoulder. He shook his head.

"Nope," he said. "You gotta make it sparkle. Like this." He motioned me aside and plopped down in front of the keyboard, looking for all the world like one of those chimpanzees who scientists predict will one day randomly tap out the complete works of William Shakespeare.

With one stroke, Closing deleted my ad.

In its place, the following copy began appearing on the screen: "Crumbling Beverly Hills Tudor, recently condemned, awaits your decorator touches and wrecking ball. Cat and dog hair everywhere. Devastation throughout. Hurry, won't last! (Literally.) Former home of Marilyn Monroe."

"But that's not true, Mr. Closing," I demurred. "Marilyn Monroe never lived there."

He shrugged. "She could've dropped in for a cup of tea or a shot of Benzedrine."

"With Zasu Pitts?"

"Kiddo, you're missing the point. Marilyn was a notoriously untidy individual. These days, to make it in the real estate business, you've gotta emphasize the squalor over the glam. Sophisticated buyers crave an eye-popping patina of decay that shouts, 'Hollywood, the Golden Age: What a bunch of slobs!'

"Savvy investors are aching for the privilege of telling the world that Marilyn slept here, and she never once ran the vacuum cleaner. That's what sells in today's market."

The truth of what he was saying hit me with the force of 40 fur balls. I could learn a lot from this man, I thought. Then I realized I already had. Before the day was over, I resigned.

Months later after moving to rainy Seattle, I ran into Cash Closing in front of the Chinese Theatre on Capitol Hill. He was smoking a cigar and trying to fit his feet into the dancing footprints.

"Ah-ha!" he said when he saw me. "The girl wonder of real estate. Kiddo, what a success you are! I hear about you everywhere. I even saw your lovely mug on the cover of Architectural Indigestion."

"That's nothing," I said modestly. "They gave me a two-page spread in Cat Fancy."

"So what's your secret?"

I laughed. "Don't you know?" I asked. "I learned it from you. I start with a provenance, real or imaginary, ranging from Bogart to Barrymore. There isn't an Italianate villa or Bauhaus beach house in the entire Evergreen State that I can't associate with at least one Hollywood legend.

"Then I bring in my team. Nowadays, filling a house with cats and dogs is child's play. My staff can install anything from coyotes to carpenter ants in a matter of hours. We'll rip up the parquet floors, spray seltzer on the furniture, carve graffiti into the woodwork whatever the customer wants. Heavens, for the right property, we'll even bring in poltergeists, ectoplasm, and little boys who see dead people."

"Kid, you're a visionary."

"A lot of movie stars have come and gone to Seattle over the last 90 years," I said. "They were worshipped and envied by millions. Now, happily for me, as they retire or die off, they're leaving behind innumerable run-down, spooky-looking homes."

"What an opportunist," he said. "I mean, opportunity."

"Well," I blushed, "it's a living."

* * *

E-mail Jane at janeexplains@comcast.net.