The broad strokes of our house’s history are these; it was built in 1924, the first owners were a family of musicians who deeded the house to their daughter, Harriet Wilson.
Harriet was the leader of a group called the Singing Strings:
Harriet and the Singing Strings had an evening radio show that was broadcast nationally. They played from ladies clubs in Hollywood, like the Wilshire Ebell, to the big venue Palomar… and Harriet lived in a nice house in a good section of town. Harriet dated Edgar Bergen (Candice’s father), was on the radio through World War II, met a reporter who later became an editor of the paper, got married and sold the house in the mid-nineteen forties. So, here we are, some seventy years later…
What has this got to do with a gutted kitchen? Well, it was far from original having been remodeled (I would say) about four times and things have changed, not only in lifestyle, but layout. The kitchen has a separate entrance. When we ripped out a utility closet in the laundry room we found it was once a back hallway to the smallest bedroom in the house. Separate entrance, three rooms off on their own – it’s where the woman lived who cooked and cleaned and took care of the household. Let me tell you, it’s not a particularly big house and it’s not located on the rarefied streets of Beverly Hills.
(Myrna Loy receives a manicure on set)
But, this neighborhood, like many others prior to World War II had real estate covenants. Which meant people were forbidden to own property based on race and religion. When Nat King Cole bought his house in Hancock Park it caused an uproar. When Mayor Tom Bradley moved into the Mayor’s Mansion in 1973 some people still had palpitations. 1973, not that long ago, but a world away.
Since I wrote this piece last year I have had the good fortune to correspond with Harriet Wilson’s daughter. And there are a number of corrections I’d like to make. The entire Wilson family was musical and the back bedroom with the separate entrance was for an adult son – a cellist. The house was a wonderful place full of laughter and music and Harriet inherited it when her parents tragically died before their time. He, in a car accident, and she beset by a sudden illness. They died within a span of six months.
Now I’ll tell you a story about when the Mister and I first moved into this house. It was in May, a long time ago, and the weather was unseasonably cold. Our first night here we built a fire in the fireplace and a strange serene quiet euphoria overtook us both. As if all was right in the world and our parents were upstairs asleep in their beds. I can’t describe it any better than this: where we had landed felt profoundly safe. It felt, in an instant, like home.
When I related this to Harriet’s daughter she told me that when Harriet was besieged by teenage gloom her mother would make a five minute fire – gathering up all the newspaper and torn envelopes and emptying the trash bin in a whirlwind – and they’d throw it all in the living room fireplace and strike a match and watch the fire flare and the mean reds would immediately be dispelled.
There’s something about home and hearth, babies. There really is.
THE SINGING STRINGS | BEGUILING HOLLYWOOD.
