Feature: bungalow heaven

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A new culture was brewing in Charleston in the early 1900s. Rampant poverty and corruption had replaced centuries of unmatched fortune; wealthy planters and merchants, who once dictated—even shaped—the economy, no longer flourished. Instead, blue-collar workers began settling in the city with newly created factory jobs. And as tighter budgets mingled with a slow, but certain opposition to poorly manufactured goods, a brand of downtown home unlike any of its stately predecessors arrived, ushering the Arts & Crafts movement into the heart of the city. Servants’ quarters and endless piazzas were replaced by cozy, economical bungalows—it was a matter of necessity and a rebellion all at the same time.

Nearly a century later, 66 Barre Street serves as that occasional relic of a transitional era, one of only a handful of examples of the once-nouveau style on the peninsula. But if the house is indeed a vestige of sorts—a remnant in a museum of a bygone brand of architecture—it is one that seemed to have gone missing for a while. It was molded, altered, even discarded, before being put back into its place. And for its latest owner John Liberatos, who bought the downtown bungalow nearly a year ago, getting it back there was no small feat.

“I was initially drawn to this house because it had kid-friendly written all over it. Everything’s on one level, so I figured my kids could move around easily, and I could keep an eye on them,” recalls Liberatos, who owns a local real estate company.

As for the integrity of his two-bedroom purchase, it was an emblem of the storied Arts & Crafts Era in bones only. “By the time I bought it, much of the original interior had been sacrificed,” he explains.

In its near 100-year-old existence, the circa-1910 structure had earned its keep as a doctor’s office, short-term rental, renovated residence—essentially, it had been worked on, worked over, updated, even downgraded. Original brick fireplaces were covered with sheet rock, the simple, six-room floor plan abandoned in favor of awkward subdivided spaces. But it wasn’t until Liberatos discovered heart-pine paneling along the original interior walls that the significance of exposing the home’s aforementioned bones really sunk in. Another renovation, he quickly decided, wasn’t what this house needed. After all, hadn’t that been done—several times—before? “The more we uncovered, the bigger this project became. Full restoration was the only way to do this house justice,” says Liberatos.

restoration drama

Together with Troy Bode of Bode Construction and interior designer Jenny Keenan, Liberatos began filing the tasks for the project into three categories: existing elements of the home that would be restored, details likely to have existed that they would speculate upon, and the features that simply needed a bit of touching up, such as paint and landscaping. “Finding the wood panels was the beginning,” says Liberatos, “but if we were going to do this right, there was a lot more work ahead of us.”

Copies of century-old documents in hand, Liberatos traced the home back to its original builder, woodmill proprietor LeRoy Halsey. “Halsey Lumber was right down the street,” he explains, adding that a primary tenet to the Arts & Crafts movement holds that local materials be used to outfit a home; the heart pine he unearthed—quarter-sawn wood flooring and paneling—was almost certainly milled in the neighborhood by its original owner. “This would be very difficult to find today,” he says, noting that the tight pin stripes in the grains have no visible knots, and each plank extends the length of the room.
Of course, finds like these come at a price, paid in meticulous labor over several months. “Restoring the paneling was the most time-consuming part of the entire project,” recalls Liberatos. “We had to get rid of the sheet rock, which led us to layers of paint—then we removed each of the panels and numbered them before stripping them.”

The result was rich, natural walls that set the tone for the rest of the home, namely the wood floors, which needed only to be refinished to their original luster. “A heavy, high-gloss look wouldn’t have existed in this house—what we
did was much more natural,” he says.

Among other existing elements waiting to be revived in the early 20th-century abode were the original, single-pane windows in the front rooms, long ago painted shut, brick fireplaces that needed to be exposed and repointed, and the original interior lines of the home, which had to be reassessed. A laundry room and several closets, added in a previous renovation, had to be deleted in favor of the original footprint of the home and with respect to the movement’s fundamentals in space conservation. “These types of sub-enclosed spaces eat up a lot of room and were considered unnecessary,” says Liberatos. “I keep most of my clothes in a compactium, which is basically just a man’s armoire.”

true to form

“Everything here needed to be organic—nothing fussy or ornate,” says Keenan, whom Liberatos charged with ensuring that the furniture and interior elements would reflect true Arts & Crafts style. “We started with restoring the home’s original elements, but the furnishings really needed to follow suit. We just kept things simple, practical.”

“It’s a blessing that these bungalows are so small,” jokes Liberatos, who had to leave behind all the mahogany furniture from his previous residence. “Jenny wouldn’t let me use any of my very traditional antiques, so we had to find all new furniture.”

In keeping with the style’s shift from factory-made products toward hand craftsmanship, Liberatos and Keenan opted to outfit the living area with custom cabinetry. Designed by the owner’s brother, a classically trained architect, the cabinets would exactly match the floors while conserving space—the need for extraneous furniture would be eliminated with designs like the window seat in the dining room built with extra storage underneath.

According to William Morris, renowned writer and textile and furniture designer of the period—and considered by some to be the father of the Arts & Crafts movement—everyday furniture should likewise be basic and unadorned, “livable.” Among other period furnishings—a trestle dining table and Mission-style oak partner’s desk—most notable are three Morris armchairs hand-crafted from quarter-sawn oak, including a push-button recliner, that Liberatos and Keenan found for the den and bedroom.

details, details

If the discovery of hidden authenticities of this back-to-basics bungalow was the jumping-off point for the home’s transformation, thoughtful speculation of the era’s trademark details was the point at which the restoration took flight. “There’s no recessed lighting here, as it’s not true to the period, and we eliminated any mass-produced fixtures or shades,” says Keenan, who searched from Chicago to North Carolina for lamps, hanging fixtures, and sconces that fit the earthy and hand-crafted mantra of the movement. Mica lamp shades and hanging glass fixtures, many with stained glass, now illuminate each room, including “art lights” in the living spaces by local lighting designer Ann Yancy of Y Designs. “In the evening, the whole place has a warm yellow glow,” says Keenan.

Nearly every piece of hardware in the home is handmade, including hand-hammered copper door handles and copper push-button switch plates. Gingko leaf, dragonfly, flower, and oak tree motifs mirror the organic-centered writings of Frost, Emerson, and Thoreau.

Liberatos’ own collections mirror the home’s turn-of-century aesthetic, among them bottles salvaged from local privies that adorn shelves in the kitchen, 18th-century architectural engravings and watercolors lining the paneling in the hall and bedroom, and a compendium of rare books in the living room.

And there is a certain amount of symbolism that extends beyond the refurbished paneling and period details, to the very heart of the Arts & Crafts movement. Outdoors, a deck frames an enormous oak behind the bungalow. “It is what I initially fell in love with,” comments Liberatos. “I envisioned my kids playing up there and having a fort or a clubhouse. So I had steps built off of the trunk going up to the platform that sits in the branches.” Older than the builder of the house himself, the tree commands attention and reverence, once again diverting the focus back to nature.

“My goal was to be able to walk into this house and feel transported to 1910,” says Liberatos, who admits that there are some elements that don’t exactly jive with the era in which it was built. Pointing out a flat-screen television suspended from the bathroom wall, he adds, “I do have to live in this house.” But among the sacrifices associated with the decision to restore—rather than simply renovate—were living without closets and within the constraints of a smaller space. “Overall, I’ve found I’m starting to keep only the things I need and getting rid of those that aren’t as important on a day-to-day basis,” he says. “I’m definitely living more simply now.”