Brooklyn's Progress
June/July 2006

Otis Pearsall serves on the Art Commission of the City of New York as the representative of the Brooklyn Museum. A lawyer and preservationist for more than 40 years, Mr. Pearsall spearheaded the campaign that led to the designation of Brooklyn Heights in 1965 as the City’s first historic district. Mr Pearsall sits on a number of boards and has received numerous awards for his work.

This is a real treat for me to chat about the culture of Brooklyn townhouse living.  And there's no denying that this is indeed a time of testing.  On the one hand, Brooklyn's townhouses have never experienced such demand.  Just witness the pricing.  But, on the other hand, the very success of the townhouse is attracting high-rise development that threatens the historic fabric, the open space and the scale that, in essence, account for the astonishing success the rediscovery of townhouse living has proved to be.

The basic building block of this cultural phenomenon is, of course, the townhouse itself.  In everyday parlance all townhouses seem to be called "Brownstones," in deference to their large numbers, even though so many are in fact brick, limestone, or even frame, if we add in Victorian Brooklyn south of the Park.

Our earliest, of course, are the relatively few survivors in the Federal style, generally just 2-1/2 stories above a basement, and brick.  These are descendants of the classical Georgian, filtered through the vision of Robert Adam and his contemporaries, that arrived following the Revolution around the outset of the 19th Century and, in Brooklyn at any rate, date pretty much to the 1820's.

The Federals were succeeded in the 1830's, and up to the Civil War, by the larger, brick Greek Revivals and, by the 1840's and 1850's, a scattering of Gothic Revivals, in either brick or brownstone.  These are now three stories above a basement and, in the case of the Greek Revivals, a considerable number survive, primarily in the older sections – Brooklyn Heights, Cobble Hill and Boerum Hill – with over 300 counted in Brooklyn Heights alone.  And then, starting in the 1850's come the rows of brick Italianates, differing little from the Greek Revivals, and the brownstones variously described as Italianate or Renaissance Revival and, toward the end of the century, a few Queen Annes and Romanesque Revivals, culminating in the limestones which overlap the 20th Century.

For a very short, self-conducted course in the architectural history of the Brooklyn townhouse, just drive south the five block length of Willow Street in Brooklyn Heights, turn right on Pierrepont a half-block, then right on Columbia Heights heading north the same five blocks, and within this short distance you will see splendid examples of all of it.

Interestingly, throughout these stylistic variations over nearly 100 years, the basic townhouse layout-both practical and flexible-remained essentially fixed, and it has proved both practical and flexible to this day: a basement 1/2 or 2/3rds above ground with dining room in front and kitchen to the rear; a parlor floor reached by a high stoop, with front and rear parlors and a multi-use space behind the stairs; and, above, generally two bedroom floors and an attic.  Over successive generations, the combinations and variations in which these generous spaces have been used are limited only by the imagination.

The Brooklyn "Brownstoning" phenomenon got its start in Brooklyn Heights about 1955-56 when, for reasons never really explained, there arrived that first trickle of young professionals in search of a more gracious way of city life, and perhaps for the first time ever in this country a declining downtown neighborhood began a spontaneous turn-around.   The movement gained momentum with the 1965 designation of Brooklyn Heights as the City's first historic district (there are now more than 80) and, like throwing a stone in a pond, concentric circles spread out to Cobble Hill, Carroll Gardens, Boerum Hill. Fort Greene, Clinton Hill, Park Slope, Prospect Heights and beyond, and are continuing to spread out even now through the detached-house communities of Victorian Brooklyn south of the Park, and elsewhere.

The Brooklyn townhouse lifestyle flourishes, I think, because – far more than simply a nice place to live – it embraces and engages us on so many levels, in so many ways.  While not necessarily demanding our active participation, it tends to draw us in, bringing out latent interests and stimulating altogether new ones.

At the outset it makes us renovators because often a lot, but always something, will be required for the newly acquired townhouse, forcing us to study and develop pride in period details to which we might normally be oblivious.  It makes us history-conscious, because, no matter how slicked up, our surroundings exude a comforting continuity with the past.  It makes us designers and decorators as we capture to our individual tastes how best to utilize the space and character our house affords.  And it makes us gardeners because enjoyment of the out-of-doors, both front and rear, is both a special privilege and creative challenge of our townhouse ownership.

Importantly, it makes us good neighbors because there's nothing like the interdependency of a shared wall, garden fence, and common façade, or of taking in packages, keeping keys and helping protect each other's massive investment in so many ways large and small, to build a relationship and even friendship.  And because in a townhouse the street is always there right through your front door, you take an interest in what's up on your block, the next block, the neighborhood, and soon you're joining the association and maybe even offering a little help on the street-tree committee.  Then, of course, there are the schools, churches, historical societies, libraries, museums and charities; you pitch in, join boards and, without conscious decision, become part of a living, breathing local community, enjoying every minute of it.  A village in the midst of a city!

Or, you can pretty much skip the whole thing and just enjoy the pleasures of your own townhouse--it really works either way.

Finally, a word about challenge, because the survival of our townhouse culture is not entirely without it.  The irreducible essentials for its survival, not just in designated historic districts but in those that should be but are not yet, are, first, the preservation of the historic fabric, second, preservation of open space both of the doughnut within the block and elsewhere, and, perhaps most important, preservation of the low-rise scale.  Unfortunately, the development pressures with which we are all familiar threaten each of these key elements. 

That is why the "14 Houses" newly ornamenting State Street between Smith and Hoyt are so inspiring for our future.  If only they might serve as the development model, the integrity and continuity of our townhouse districts might be declared safe not only for our own enjoyment but for generations of townhouse lovers to come.