Grau Pond and William Wurster’s Grau Residence, Niles, California, 1941, photography by Paul Welchsmeyer.No kidding! His work can be as elusive as Waldo: To preserve it, you have to find it. For fifteen years, I drove by this building, always wondering, aware of rumors that there may be others—but with no proof.
This historic mystery hadn’t crossed my mind for some time, but when the City of Fremont (of which the Town of Niles is a part) became interested in demolishing the building, I felt it was time to know.
First, a comment about preservation—or do I mean conservation? Preservation implies financial assistance from sources other than the property owner (i.e. the public), to preserve a building and its use the “way it was”—even when the original use of the building no longer relates to present day needs. Preservation projects are few, but there are a lot of buildings ready for a second life, so we create new uses for them while retaining the shell: adaptive reuse, or “conservation.” Considering the works of Wurster, the architect may have preferred conservation to preservation, himself.
It is best, we think, to know our grandparents before we bury them: who they were, their beliefs, passions, accomplishments, and loves. But what if it is not one’s time to be buried? And what if no one remembers who you were? With “historic” architecture, such forgetfulness rarely occurs. But when it comes to Modernism, beware. Inflammatory words are muttered every day: “It’s not Victorian; it’s not Spanish; I do not like it; I think it’s ugly; how can it be historic?” Well, it’s Modern.
The Hunt
If this mystery building had any local historic value, the city didn’t want to hear about it. But for my part, a simple visit to the Cal Berkeley Environmental Design Archives was all it took. The assistant curator said the research would be easy, since the cataloging of the Wurster, Bernardi & Emmons (WBE) collections was recently completed.
“What’s the name of the town?”
“Niles.”
“Let’s see what’s in the database.”
Bingo!
- Dr. Eugene Grau Residence, 1941
- Dr. Eugene Grau, Medical Office, 1941
- Schuckl Plant No. 1, 1944
I had all the information needed to prove, to whomever was interested, that there were, in fact, three(!) Wurster buildings in Niles— one of which the city wanted to demolish: the Dr. Grau Medical Office Building.
William Wurster, Grau Medical Office Building, Niles, California, 1941, photo by Paul Welschmeyer.Would Anyone Listen?
Knowing that cities sometimes seem like machines of unaccountable madness, I called a city council member to discuss the “find” over a cup of coffee—hoping a little newfound history and pride could have a positive effect on stopping the demolition plans. Not surprisingly, the council member had never heard of William Wurster, but when I mentioned Sunset magazine and California outdoor living . . . the door opened: a grand smile appeared. Connections were made with the Cal Berkeley College of Environmental Design, the dean at MIT. Wurster’s achievements were discussed, and the council member was enlightened.
Now, the need to demolish this Wurster building was related to plans for a new fire station. The perplexing part was the selected site. Niles has at least five empty lots large enough to accommodate the new neighborhood fire station, and these other sites were actually better situated to serve the community.
The public design meetings on the new Niles fire station were well attended: three to four meetings over a few months, with approximately sixty attendees at each session. Yet, although the community requested repeatedly that the fire and planning departments look at the other empty lots in town, the same project would appear at the next meeting, on the same lot, with no additional research, and no good reason. What was going on?
It all became clear to me during the council meeting in which the city staff presented the site selection and their community outreach process. After the public input was over, during the council’s deliberation, I joined members of the fire department at the back of the council chamber.
“Why are you so hell-bent to build where no one wants you to, and destroy this building?” I asked. Silence. Then, a sincere gaze— and a whispered answer: “It is not us!” An inconspicuous gesture toward the city council said everything.
So, whom do you trust, whom can you talk to? Thank goodness for CEQA.
William Wurster, Grau Medical Office Building, Niles, California, 1941, plan.Remember . . . It’s Modern!
To be clear, all of the debate around the new fire station did not focus on the Wurster building. Remember, it’s Modern, and many within the community were stupefied that it could be considered historic. But after the city publicly had become aware that it had potential historic significance, CEQA required an evaluation. Three months later, San Francisco architectural historians Page and Turnbull, Inc. delivered their findings.
It was red-hot historic, and in addition to confirming the significance of William Wurster, the report also brought to light the role of his client. Dr. Grau (1901-1971) was not only a prominent leader in the Niles community, but also a company doctor for the Pacific States Steel Mill, and a member of the University of California Art Council, the Stanford Alumni Association, and the Alameda-Contra Costa County Medical Society. His office building was basically a one-man hospital, as it was the only medical facility between Oakland and San Jose, and could be considered the predecessor to the Washington Hospital system in Fremont.
His wife, Ethel (1905-1988), was the daughter of Manuel Valencia (1856-1935), a tonalist landscape painter from San Francisco. Her uncle was General Gabriel Valencia, the administrator at the San Francisco Presidio. Ethel studied art at the California School of Fine Arts and the California College of Arts and Crafts, became known for her watercolors, and exhibited her work at the Oakland Museum, the San Francisco Art Association, and the De Young Museum. The city council changed its story.
William Wurster, Grau Medical Office Building, Niles, California, 1941, photo by Paul Welschmeyer.What’s It Worth?
What had happened? Who now suffers and who gains? Has something been preserved, conserved, or worse? And does the general public actually care?
In this case, what would it mean to the property owner when his building was identified as “historic”? The city walked—who else would?
At the onset of this discovery, and acutely aware of the pitfalls of owning a historic structure, I took the time to get to know the building’s owner. I explained the history. I didn’t get much of a reaction. He wondered what all the fuss was about and actually didn’t know any more than anyone else had. He wouldn’t mind selling it to the City, he admitted, at a fair market price!
Then one day he called me. “Paul, I’ve been on the Internet for the past three hours— it’s amazing,” he gushed. “It didn’t sink in when you told me, but I can’t believe it—I just can’t believe it! I know who this guy was. I remember . . . all that outdoor living stuff. I own a Redwood Bob building, I actually own a Redwood Bob!”
Well, “Redwood Bill,” actually. But pride comes in many forms. And that is worth preserving.
Author Paul Welschmeyer, AIA, is an East Bay native whose professional experience began with Ratcliff Architects in Berkeley and continued with Studios Architecture in San Francisco. His private practice began in 1991. Currently his practice revolves around custom residential and commercial interiors, both of which include a focus on adaptive reuse, historic conservation, and sustainability. He is a Niles resident and was a member of Fremont’s Historic Architectural Review Board (HARB) from 1991 to 1998. He thanks the staff of the U.C. Berkeley Environmental Design Archives and Richard C. Peters, Professor of Architecture Emeritus, U.C. Berkeley.
Originally published 3rd quarter 2006 in arcCA 06.3, “Preserving Modernism.”
