Architecture

An Old Building Survives

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The Ladies’ Clubhouse at Little Sandy Hunting and Fishing Club in East Texas is one of those hidden time warps. To walk through its rooms and recognize that time has stopped is like some eerie dream. And it’s very important that I tread quietly so not to wake it, because the last thing I want is for it to follow me into my century.

Several years ago, I worked with John Crow Miller on a 400 page historical book for Little Sandy written to celebrate a century of seasons at the club (it had just celebrated its 100 year anniversary). And at that time, there was talk that the clubhouse would have to be demolished. But now, John has written to me to say that there has been a change of heart. He also included a bit of its history.

Architecture

My Home’s Historical Marker

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In 2002, my house was one of the initial group of homes awarded a historical plaque by the Preservation Park Cities. The main goal for this marker program was to acknowledge and honor those properties that retained most of their original architectural character. Unfortunately, it does not carry any restrictions. I say “unfortunately” because I know that most folks here in Dallas don’t value historical architecture, much less a small home. And if I would need to sell (hopefully never), whoever purchases this property would most likely want to tear it down and build something bigger and badder. “Badder” does not mean “better”. It means “evil”, “bloat”, “greed”, and any other vice you can think of minus sex apeal. Well, anyway, that’s just my opinion. This plaque is just meant to give any future homeowner pause to reflect before proceeding with any possible destructive behavior in the name of immediate financial return.

Preservation Park Cities has now joined another group and is called by a really super long name, Park Cities Historic and Preservation Society. This group still awards plaques, but the design and shape of their plaque is completely different from mine. Regrettably, nothing these two groups have done, independently or jointly, has been able to stem the aggressive tide of teardowns. My neighborhood looks nothing like it did when I moved into my home in 1985. The charm and quiet are history. A beautiful memory.

Hopefully this will be the last time I write something mean and ugly on this blog. That’s not the recommended way to making friends with fellow bloggers. Or neighbors. Or fellow Dallasites. I am very aware that I’m a minority in my hood, because I’m single with no children and mow my own lawn. So if it upsets any neighbor that I don’t fit the norm, then let them be reminded nicely and with a smile that I was here first.

Now I must stop to water my garden, while performing the mosquito dance.