Remaking History

The McCools could have lived anywhere. As an MIT-bred software guru in his thirties, Dave McCool was already in a position to retire to a leisurely life with his wife, Catie, and their two young daughters. Many of their equally successful friends had moved to the “W towns” west of Boston, into newly built 8,000-square-foot manses with sunken living rooms and enormous master suites. But the McCools, both midwesterners, loved the older, more modest houses on the Massachusetts coast. “And besides,” says Catie, an avid equestrian and amateur artist, “I hate wasted space.”

Living historic had been a 14-year ambition for the couple. After they married, they tried buying in old Newburyport, but, priced out, they settled in Haverhill. A few years later, they were able to afford a small place in Newburyport, then a larger one built circa 1800. Much of the old moldings, baseboards, and flooring in the latter property had been replaced or rehabbed, and it also featured a 20-something-by-20-something great room and obligatory supersize master bedroom with giant bath. “It had been done to sell, and it wasn’t in keeping with the original house at all,” Catie says.

Then, in 1999, the house across the street became available. Built in about 1800 as a single-family, over the years it had been turned into four apartments through a series of haphazard additions, creating multiple staircases and kitchens, and dead-end hallways. The 5,000-square-foot mishmash of period details showed how tastes and means had changed over time in the town. From the front of the house to the back, the floorboards got steadily narrower—from 10 inches to 3 inches wide—and the moldings, baseboards, and doors varied in style and size. The oldest room (now the McCools’ dining room) had a huge hearth, with dimensions like those found in colonial Salem. Even the “original” floorboards had older nail holes in them, indicating that they’d been taken from a building predating this one. Outside, there was a large yard—rare in Newburyport—that would be an ideal place to host little girls’ tea parties or train recalcitrant puppies. The McCools were sold.

Of course, the house would need a lot of work in order to return to its single-family layout. Fascinated most by its historic details, the couple resolved to keep as much of the existing structure as possible and to salvage or recycle what they could. “Not to be sentimental, but you only own a house for a short time,” says Catie. “Dave and I agreed that it was important to leave some [of the history] for the next generation.” In Cambridge architect Frank Shirley, the McCools found a passionate and patient designer. The principal of Frank Shirley Architects, he serves on the Cambridge Historical Commission and lives in a big Victorian with his young family; when he started the McCools’ project in 2000, he was just formulating ideas for a book about adding to period homes. In the end, the renovation would cost more than $2 million and take a little over two years.

Shirley, who’s worked on 100-plus historic renovations in his 16 years in the business, marvels at the level of skill that went into building the original house. He gushes over such details as the elaborate scrolling on the thumb latches, blacksmithed with great care, and the fine, flat plaster walls. “How they got those walls so smooth with a trowel is a mystery!” he says.

But renovating a 200-year-old house takes a strong stomach—and it’s the stuff you can’t see lurking behind the walls that can cause the most trouble. “When we walked through the second floor in the back before the renovation, the floor felt a little bouncy,” says Shirley. “I figured during a previous renovation someone had inadvertently cut a structural beam and all we’d have to do is replace it.” As workers began peeling off the sheathing, though, they were shocked to discover the inner walls were completely charred. “Turned out, the back wing of the house had been in a major fire in 1920s, during an ice storm when the hydrants were frozen,” he says. “Instead of rebuilding, they’d just covered up the damaged structure. It’s amazing that that part of the house was still standing.” With help from Danvers-based contractor Roger Charron, the rear wing was taken down and meticulously reassembled, costing an estimated $90,000.

 

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