If you have a history with downtown Great Barrington, you probably remember it as “that big yellow thing.” The color was a strong choice, even for the eighties. What would you call it exactly? Mustard-and-mauve? Or salmon-and-sallow? Purple-and-pink? I think they were going for “painted lady’ or blushing Victorian, but over the years her ‘makeup’ had become sunburned and chalky, peeling and flaky. Just looking at the place you wanted to wash your hands— only there was no plumbing.
This is usually where I come in. There is something in me that needs to tackle a mess: I’m a neatnik. I guess that’s why I took on 21 Elm Street—because it was such a disaster. And nobody else seemed to be up for it, so… I picked up a sledge hammer and took out a wall.
We knew from the beginning, it was a big job. Here was a grand house, almost a mansion, that had somehow washed up in the parking lot behind Carr Hardware. Over the years it had been a home, then four apartments, then offices. Was it ever a brothel? Not sure— but too many uses had left it chopped up, hallways dead-ended, with forty-year-old carpet fused to the floorboards. Each change left it in worse shape, a sad and crazy maze. One careless carpenter casually extended the building right past its foundation, a room hanging in thin air.
Overall, the place was dusty and stinky, an archaeological dig. There were moldering layers everywhere: a series of drop ceilings, bringing the rooms down from eleven feet to seven-feet-and-change. We opened up doorways that had been ‘disappeared’ and found windows we didn’t know we had. In the basement, we pruned an incredible thicket of telephone wires, illegal wiring and dead HVAC. The basement floor itself was dirt, with a ‘water feature’ – an active stream fighting its way toward the Housatonic.
We got it done in four months‑ something of a record— but that’s due to home-court advantage. By now, my partner Eric and I have fixed over a dozen houses in the area, so we have an A-team who come to work the moment we call. (Apologies to anyone who is currently waiting on a plumber.). It also helps to live two blocks from the job so you can be there to direct, cajole, and importantly FEED your people. (I can make oatmeal cookies in my sleep , and my guys expect them to be warm. Picky, picky.)
Now, five fixes later, the building has new life as Scout House, an expansive mercantile emporium and flagship for Jennifer Bianco Design.
Scout House has nine sizable parlors filled with light – something customers notice right away. We took pains to save the original wavy glass and made the bold decision to remove all the aluminum storm windows: they’re always horrible and don’t really work. Now things look like they did in 1852: tall and airy, with windows to the floor and ‘seedy’ glass lending its magic.
Construction is a series of battles that ultimately blur together, but one moment in particular stays with me. I was pulling down “insulation” in the attic —old newspapers and tarpaper. (Incredibly flammable! Whose idea was THAT?) High up on a rafter I noticed a bold inscription in charcoal: 1882. I assumed this marked the date the house was built, some veteran of the Civil War, now safe at home and putting his proud stamp on things. But I later learned: 1882 was the first time it was remodeled.
Was it worth it? Absolutely. Especially now that we’re done.
