Houston’s history, gone with the wind
The Clark Gable house has been demolished, and our city loses yet another local story
In 2010, when I moved into my Montrose bungalow, one of the first facts I learned about my new neighborhood was that the house across from mine was called the Clark Gable house.
Before his days as Rhett Butler in “Gone With the Wind,” Gable had lived in the house across from us. When we toured the house, the Realtor mentioned Gable. When I met my new neighbors, they mentioned Gable.
Soon enough, I learned that when a neighbor asked me where I lived, the best descriptor was to say, “Across from the Clark Gable house.” The house was part of local lore, adding a richness to the neighborhood. The house itself was unusual — a Tuscan-style villa, three stories high, with gray walls and a greenish-blue trim, located on the same lot as a run-down fairy-tale house, complete with turrets.
According to the local lore, the original owner of the Clark Gable house had been injured in World War I. While recovering in Italy, he fell in love with the houses and decided to build a similar one once he was back in Houston. Later, it became a haven for artists.
A few months ago, the Clark Gable house sold to a developer. It was located on a large corner lot, prime real estate for the heart of Montrose.
I braced myself for the worst while holding out hope that perhaps the buyers would recognize the storied house for the treasure it was and make the decision to renovate it, rather than tear it down. Then, before I could even process what had happened, the demolition crews came on a Thursday morning.
First, they tore down the house next door, giving me a brief moment of hope that the Clark Gable house might be renovated. But early the next morning, the demolition crews came back, tearing down the walls. Within 48 hours, it was all gone, leaving my neighbors and me staring at an empty lot, with only our memories of what had been there before.
What had once been a Montrose landmark, a place that enriched our history and gave depth to our neigh-
borhood, was nothing more than a dusty patch of ground, ready for yet another complex of cheaply built townhouses, designed to last only as long as an owner’s whim and builder’s liability.
Less than a day after the Clark Gable house was torn down, I flew to Rome to attend a friend’s wedding. I spent two weeks traveling through Italy surrounded by history. A recurring theme for Italian history was preservation and adaptation. Rather than having been torn down and replaced with something completely new, most of the structures had a varied history. I saw ancient monuments that were later adapted by popes, ancient buildings that were turned into cathedrals.
The Senatorial Palace in Rome, designed by Michelangelo during the Renaissance, sat atop the Tabularium, which once housed the records for ancient Rome. While designing the Senatorial Palace, Michelangelo made the decision to use the Tabularium as a foundation, all so that an ancient building could be preserved while making room for a new structure. What this created was a rich layer of history, stories layered upon stories.
I found myself wanting this layered history for Houston. Our history may be brief, but it is chock-full of quirky characters and interesting stories, all of which add depth and nuance to our city. Here in Montrose, we have an abundance of homes that, though old, were built with care. My own home is no different, having weathered 100 years of Houston weather — and bad do-it-yourself renovations and absentee landlords.
In spite of all that, it’s a solid home, and a peaceful one, with old wood floors, high ceilings and cozy rooms. The old homes here in Houston were built to be lived in, built to be enjoyed, built to stand for years. These were homes where people lived their lives, turning Houston into the city it is today. These are homes that, given some care and attention, add a richness to our city.
But almost every day brings news of more structures like these being torn down. We’ve lost the Shelor Motor Company Building downtown, and the Kirby Mansion is threatened. That’s not to mention countless smaller buildings and houses that no one’s ever heard of. These structures are our city’s history, but every time another one is torn down, we have no choice but shrugging and moving on, accepting whatever cookie-cutter structure gets put up in its place. Before we know it, we’ll become a city that looks like nowhere in particular.
Is this really who we are?