THE SINGLETON Home, by Richard Neutra, in Los Angeles, is an architecturally significant home.

To some extent, the mania for architecturally significant houses is simply founded in prestige. Owning one bespeaks quality, good taste—and yes, considerable capital. Like buying any piece of art, the purchase of an architecturally significant home is an investment in preserving our culture. Just as some of us donate major works of art to museums for this reason, people who own showpiece homes often open them to the public. They work with preservation organizations, such as the National Trust for Historic Preservation, to ensure that the characteristics that make the buildings special are saved for posterity. Architecturally significant homes also are, like rare art, often very good investments. An owner who takes care of one—restoring it and subsequently maintaining it—can usually garner a healthy profit when the time comes to sell.

It is one thing to add to one’s portfolio the sweeping horizontal lines of a Frank Lloyd Wright Prairie House or the unbroken symmetries of a neo-Classical mansion. It is quite another, aficionados say, to renovate and live in one. These treasures often require months of painstaking research prior to purchase, and years of work and millions of dollars of investment to restore them to their former glory.

Enthusiasts aver that these efforts are all worthwhile. “It’s fun to meet new houses, just like it’s fun to meet new people,” says John Cottrell, a Los Angeles-based interior designer who has been collecting houses by architects, including Wallace Neff, William Cody and Gordon Kaufmann for 25 years. But, as in any relationship, the labor after the honeymoon determines one’s success.

Diverse Domiciles
A house does not necessarily have to be designed by Thomas Jefferson or Frank Lloyd Wright to qualify as a masterpiece. The works of many lesser-known architects are also significant because of design, workmanship or historical value. Take, for example, the suburban homes designed by California modernist Richard Neutra; the Mediterranean-inspired designs of Palm Beach’s Addison Mizner, which launched a Florida renaissance in urban development in the 1920s; or the Spanish-style homes of Los Angeles’ Neff, which have become California icons.

Homes with pedigrees need not be limited to a particular architect’s better-known locales. While Chicago is arguably the leading city for premier American architecture—from Wright to George W. Maher and Louis Sullivan to Ludwig Mies van der Rohe—countless other regions warrant exploration. According to the Frank Lloyd Wright Building Conservancy, a preservation group, there are 350 Wright houses in the United States, spread over 32 states, from California to Connecticut. You can find the work of Bauhaus architects, such as Walter Gropius, throughout the Northeast. New Canaan, Conn., boasts a number of Philip Johnson’s International Style sleek glass boxes. And if we seek mid-century modern buildings, Southern California, perhaps better know for freeways and shopping malls, hides masterworks by Charles and Ray Eames, R.M. Schindler, John Lautner, Pierre Koenig and Cody.

Architecturally significant does not necessarily translate as avant-garde, edgy or even artsy; there is a house to suit every taste. Many 18th- and 19th-century estates and townhouses on the East Coast are recognized for their age and distinction. A fair number of residences, including Regas’ townhouse, are the supreme works or period pieces of lesser-known but highly regarded local architects, such as Adler, who worked in a number of historical styles. These can be found in every part of the country. Fine early 20th-century period houses dot the inner-ring suburbs of nearly every major city, from Atlanta to Dallas and Detroit. Parts of New England, Virginia, the Carolinas and Georgia also make prime hunting grounds for older estates.

Edifice Complex
The first step, of course, is finding our perfect house. In some cities, real estate agents specialize in what is often called the architectural market. We can also liaise with preservation groups that seek to find buyers for the important homes that they want to protect.

However, stumbling onto the right home can take months or even years. Aficionados talk of keeping their eyes on special houses for years, waiting for them to come onto the market. Actor and producer Michael LaFetra, who owns four significant properties in the Los Angeles area, says that when he initially became interested in buying a house by modernist Schindler, he compiled a list of every Schindler structure in the city and conducted frequent drive-bys until he found one that came up for sale at a price he felt was reasonable. Others emphasize the role of serendipity. Cottrell recently rounded a corner in Bel Air to encounter a Mediterranean-style home that had just come on the market. “I wondered, could this be the next one?” he says. Wall Street executive Richard Jenrette, who owns seven historic homes on the East Coast and in the Caribbean, insists, ”I didn’t set out to buy any of the houses I have.” He adds, “They just sort of found me.”

A second challenge: Owners who respect the integrity of the architectural home may want to remodel, restore and redecorate the structure to reflect the architect’s original vision. But this process can voraciously consume both time and money.

When Regas purchased Ryerson House, as his townhouse is known, in 1988, it scarcely resembled a home, let alone the architect’s master plan. It had been converted into 18 separate studio and one-bedroom apartments. To begin to bring Ryerson House back to its pristine state, Regas and his contractors (most of whom specialized in restoring period houses) first had to unearth Adler’s original drawings, then determine how the structure appeared when it was first built. The team razed all the apartments’ kitchens and bathrooms, then reassembled the space into 8 bedroom suites, 11 bathrooms and 4 powder rooms. Some 200 radiators were ripped out, and central air conditioning and heating were installed. New plumbing and wiring were hidden in the crawl spaces Adler had incorporated above the house’s plaster ceilings. Many of the renovation materials came from close-to-original sources. To rebuild interior walls, for example, Regas salvaged pyrobar (a type of flame-resistant gypsum brick that is no longer produced) from demolition sites in downtown Chicago. He finished by adorning the house with family heirlooms and antique French furniture his parents had purchased over the years.

Reconditioning Ryerson House to its former glory required at least three or four “really serious” years, Regas says. Such toil is not unusual for an architecturally significant house. Owners say finding the right architects, designers and contractors to work with—professionals who all understand and love the original designs of the houses—is vital. While most real estate agents can assist a buyer in hiring contractors, historians and craftspeople, it still takes an enormous amount of time to find the right people.

“IF YOU'RE going to go to the trouble of seeking out an architect who worked in the 1930s, you owe it to the house and to yourself to see it through.”

It is notoriously difficult to predict the cost of restoring a showpiece home. Regas initially calculated that restoring his townhouse would cost him in the neighborhood of $350,000. The final bill ended up in the seven figures. Cottrell says he spends anywhere from 30 percent to 100 percent of the original purchase price when he renovates his architecturally significant houses, many of which he then lives in for a few years before selling. LaFetra says restoring one of his Schindler homes added 50 percent to the cost of his original investment.

Bona fide dilemma
Some architecture enthusiasts may be unconcerned with a home’s creature comforts, but for those of us planning to live in our newly restored gems, this remains an important consideration. Restoring an important house to the state of its original design will often make it a less comfortable home. Many older houses were built before conveniences such as modern kitchen appliances and complicated plumbing were commonplace. Unfortunately, modernizing an antique home too dramatically risks diminishing its aesthetic and investment benefits.

George Siekkinen, the senior architect at the National Trust in Washington, D.C., tells of a young couple with children who purchased a “glorious house, an 18th-century home in Maryland, with gorgeous, original-paneled rooms. But the interior wasn’t that big. The kitchen needed rebuilding, and it only had one bath.” To balance the mandates of preservation restrictions with the needs of a modern family, Siekkinen continues, the couple soon realized they might have to convert several out-buildings into living space, while maintaining the main structure as something of a museum piece. Time, sweat and money would have eventually made the house a home, but the family decided instead to move to another, more contemporary house. Indeed, preservation restrictions may circumscribe our ability to change a house in any material way, which in turn may affect its resale value. “You have to do due diligence, check out the restrictions, and see if you can live with them,” Siekkinen recommends.

Even with modern homes, the architecturally correct decision may be the one that provides the least comfort. Crosby Doe, a partner at Mossler, Deasy & Doe Realtors in Beverly Hills, says the firm’s newest listing, a $6 million Neutra in Bel Air, offers sweeping views of Los Angeles and massive glass walls that slide open to reveal the lush hills surrounding it. But the house also has excruciatingly tiny bedrooms and built-in plywood furniture—details any true Neutra devotee would be loath to change. Doe is hoping to find a buyer who appreciates the Neutra touches as they are—one, perhaps, like LaFetra, who has been immersed in renovating a Schindler home for nearly two years.

LaFetra’s work has actually made his dwelling smaller: He tore out several additions the previous owners had built, decreasing the size of the house by about one-sixth, to 1,600 square feet. The changes he made to the house’s kitchen would no doubt baffle most observers. “They had granite,” LaFetra says, showing off a digital photograph of the old kitchen, with its sleek, black stone countertops and brushed aluminum appliances. “It’s all linoleum now,” he grins. “And it’s beautiful.”

Experts, historians and homeowners often disagree over the extent to which an owner should be allowed to update an architecturally significant home. Some, like LaFetra, are hard-line purists. “If you’re going to go to the trouble of seeking out an architect who worked in the 1930s, you owe it to the house, and to yourself, to see it through,” he says. Daniel Schneider, who lives in a steel-and-concrete John Lautner design in the Hollywood Hills, agrees: “You’ve got to enjoy what the architect gave you. You might come in and want a bigger bedroom, but you may not need it. Give it a chance. We come in with preconceived notions, but the architect has already sorted out a lot of things in his head. You have to appreciate what they’ve done before you change it.”

TOP VIEW When we invest  in a house designed by a noted architect, we make a conscious decision to embark on a journey into the sophistication, elegance and culture of the past. But maximizing our investment—and transforming house to home—often requires ample amounts of cash, patience and passion.

Maddening Crowds
Architecturally significant houses are neither for introverts nor misanthropes. Aficionados will beat a path, quite literally, to one’s door.

Jenrette is one of the rare architecture collectors who welcomes the public into his many homes. He purchased his first dwelling, Charleston’s 1838 Roper House, in 1968 for $100,000. In the decades since, he has added six more historic properties: a 1784 plantation house in St. Croix; 19th-century Greek Revival and Federal-period houses in South Carolina, North Carolina and New York’s Hudson Valley; and two New York City townhouses (which are more contemporary, but have been painstakingly restored and filled with antiques).

Jenrette has already shared intimate portraits of his homes in his 2000 book, Adventures With Old Houses. His North Carolina home, Ayr Mount, is a full-time museum; and he estimates that more than two dozen groups tour his other six houses each year. “I think it would be mean and hateful not to let anyone in to see them,” he says. After his death, Jenrette, who once served on the board of directors of the National Trust for Historic Preservation, plans to bequeath his houses to his foundation, the Classic American Homes Preservation Trust, which is set up to maintain them in perpetuity.

Fortunately for Jenrette, the admirers who visit his homes almost invariably show up while he is elsewhere. But in many cases our desire to share our masterpieces with the world will clash with our desire for privacy. Random visitors have walked in off the street, says Schneider, who often finds “troops of architecture students” knocking on his door. Cottrell recalls that he was once jolted awake from a nap by a group of matrons who strolled into his Gloucester, Mass., estate. There is no simple answer to this often vexing situation. Some owners, like Cottrell, have erected fences. Others, like Jenrette, have hired curators to screen requests for tours and managers to turn away strangers who simply show up.

Home Economics
Buyers commonly spend millions to purchase architectural residences and millions more retrofitting them, but they usually make a profit when they sell (although the quirks that can make these houses so endearing often slow their uptake on the open market). “I always make money,” Cottrell says. “Real estate keeps going up and up and up.”

Fine architecture is a savvy investment because of the straightforward laws of supply and demand: There are a limited number of architecturally significant houses in the world. When a renowned name like Wright or Neutra is attached to a home, the price effect is multiplied. “These houses are taking on a value that’s more in line with how art gets priced than real estate,” explains Doe. Owners note that they have been able to sell their architecturally significant houses at premiums ranging from 15 percent to more than 100 percent over houses of similar size in their neighborhoods.

The decision to sell can be wrenching, but architecturally significant houses still have to function as homes—and no matter how much we love them, we can still outgrow them. Regas travels frequently, and his increasingly mobile lifestyle no longer suits a life in Ryerson House. With plans to spend more time at another home in Florida, he recently put Ryerson House on the market for $12.5 million. Regas is convinced he will make a profit on the sale, but he asserts his decision is not motivated by the potential for capital gains. He says that owning the townhouse has been an investment in less tangible assets—assets that he hopes the home’s next owner will also appreciate. He has raised a young niece in the house, and has thrown dozens of parties and fund-raisers in its halls over the years, garnering millions of dollars for charity. He has also become an advocate for the work of Adler, whom he describes as “a genius.”

Regas regards his stewardship of the house as an investment in a lifestyle. “These houses—this house—is a Golconda diamond. It is not an average space; it is not for average people. When I’m here, I’m in this incredible Fabergé egg. When I walk out, I’m part of the human race again.” 

Photos by Tim Street-Porter