Tuesday, August 27, 2013

Henry Ulen. Small town boy. Worldwide impact.


Henry Ulen, the small town boy with a worldwide impact.

You may not have heard of Henry C. Ulen, who briefly had a public works business in Indianapolis. But the people of Greece, Poland and Bolivia have.  
 
Henry Ulen's home in Ulen, Indiana
Ulen was born in Boone County, Indiana, in 1871. His father was a storekeeper in Lebanon. Young Henry exhibited a disdain for standard education, a strong independence and a flair for making his wishes to visit far flung places come true. He became known in Lebanon as a boy who skipped school and jumped trains. His flair for adventure was part of his early mystic; a part that didn’t particularly impress the mothers of Lebanon.

 Despite a general concern about his character, a concern shared in the Thorntown Argus by his new in-laws, Henry Ulen convinced Mary Dutch that he had potential as a mate and the couple wed at her parents’ home in Thorntown, Indiana, in 1890; their marriage would last more than 60 years, until her death.  Luckily for Mary, by 1894 Henry’s potential was being realized. That year, the kid who never completed high school passed the bar exam and began practicing law.

 In 1899 Ulen moved to Indianapolis and organized the American Light & Water Company to install municipal utilities. In 1908 he moved the company to Chicago. By 1912 he was a Chicago banker and so well known the New York Times wrote an article about this outrageous youngster who became a successful banker and businessman.

 In 1916, Ulen Contracting Co. undertook a contract to construct modern water systems for several cities in Uruguay, South America. Ulen found a unique way to bid on the project that would lead the way to an international career in public works construction. The project was funded with $5 million in bonds and set up so that Ulen purchased securities in the project.

When it became clear that transporting the necessary machinery to the project areas would be nearly impossible overland, Ulen purchased an American sailing schooner, the Alice M. Colburn, to transport the machinery to South America. Nothing stopped can-do Henry Ulen.

In 1921 Ulen Contracting signed an agreement with the Bolivian government to construct a railroad, including stations and terminals through the country. The project had an expected completion date in 1927 and a cost of $10 million dollars. With his feet wet in this large project, in 1922 Ulen organized Ulen and Co. in New York City with authorized capital of $5 million. He retained ownership of Ulen Contracting Co. and was president of both companies. He was also vice president of the Shandaken Tunnel Corp of New York. Ulen Contracting Corp. was in the process of constructing the Shandaken Tunnel, the longest tunnel in the world at the time, through the Catskill Mountains, to provide drinking water to New York City.

In 1922, a member of the Fortnightly Club in Lebanon, Indiana, decided to contact Henry Ulen in New York because Ulen had expressed interest in building a golf club in past discussions when he was in his hometown. Ulen agreed to build a $50,000 clubhouse once the site for the course was determined. He also agreed to become a member of the club’s first board of directors. In 1923, Henry Ulen and his wife bought a house on East Washington Street in Lebanon and moved, at least part time, back to their home state.

Meanwhile, Henry Ulen’s companies were gaining work across the globe. Negotiations often required Henry and Mary Ulen to travel to far parts of the world to secure contracts and check on Ulen and Co.’s progress, which given the nature of the work and the political unrest in some parts of the world, did not always progress smoothly. In 1924, Ulen began work on water and sewer projects in ten Polish cities. Arthur W.  DuBois signed on as General Manager of Ulen and Co.’s work in Poland.  In a pattern that would become the norm for many upper-level employees, Dubois went to Poland to set up housekeeping and begin work and then his family sailed to Europe – in style-- to meet him.

DuBois's son, Bill, recalled in a book about his father written decades later that their ship was the President Roosevelt.  “Our cabin was huge and mother had a big steamer trunk,” he remembered. In Poland, the family had a maid, a gardener and a groom for their horses. Ulen took care of his important employees.

A chaotic political situation led to fighting in the streets of several Polish cities, including the one where Ulen had its office. Bill DuBois personal secretary, who had traveled with his family from America, was shot and killed by a sniper’s bullet in the Ulen offices. DuBois hid out in his office for three days until things settled down.

Setbacks and tragedies did not slow the steady flow or Ulen and Co. projects. Nor did they long hinder progress on the country club and golf course in Lebanon. Although the Country Club building construction cost twice what Henry Ulen had pledged toward it, he covered the inflated cost and the club opened in 1924 -- the same year that Bill DuBois was building waterworks across Poland. The country club hosted U. S. Senator Samuel Ralston, who was at the time favored as the next presidential candidate, at an early dinner with Henry Ulen as the toastmaster of the event.

In 1928 Ulen & Co. landed a huge project in Persia to construct 800 miles of railroad from the capital of Teheran to the Persian Gulf. Bill DuBois became General Manager for the project. Ulen ultimately encountered problems with the Reza Shah authoritarian government and had to leave the project, seeking, but not receiving, help from the United States State Department to recover the money owed the team for the construction of the southern leg of the railroad.

By this time Henry Ulen had decided to move his company’s headquarters to the tiny town of Lebanon from New York City. The new country club may not have been enough incentive to make his top executives and board of directors happy about the move, so Henry Ulen sweetened the deal.  He began to build them a town full of high-end homes right next to the country club to help with persuasion. By 1928 several of his executives and a handful of Lebanon’s upper-crust business community had constructed a number of homes on land that Ulen had purchased.

By 1929, the year that the Town of Ulen incorporated, Ulen Co. had completed contracts totaling one billion dollars in the 30 years that Henry Ulen had been in business. Principal stockholders in the firm were American International Corporation, organized in 1915; Field, Globe and Company (a banking concern run by Marshall Field (son of the Marshall Field retail magnate)); Stone and Webster, one of the largest engineering contracting companies in the world; and Ulen Contracting Corp.

Ulen and Co. completed the construction of the all marble Marathon Dam in Athens, Greece, and its men were working on railroads and water and sewer facilities in Bogota, Columbia in 1929. The firm acted as agents of the municipality involved on a fee basis to find funding through bonds and securities, which Ulen invested in. Ulen neighbor, Charles Jones, remarked that in his later years Henry Ulen had leather satchels full of “millions of dollars” in the bonds that ultimately failed on some of these project, but at the time Ulen was pioneering a method of financing that would become a standard for public projects across the world.

In 1931 an Indiana magazine reported that Ulen and Co. was the “largest engineering and contracting corporation in the world” with millions of dollars in contracts each year. Ulen’s work had taken him around the globe 30 or more times an article in an Indiana magazine noted, which must surely have seemed exotic and extravagant to Hoosiers caught up in the midst of the Great Depression. At the time the article was written Ulen and Co. was constructing a 90-mile canal for irrigation and hydropower in Texas.

As the financial times remained hard, Ulen personally took on the mission of keeping Ulen Country Club in the black. In 1933 when loss of membership and finances forced the club to dissolve and reorganize, Ulen provided cash infusion by underwriting newly issued shares of stock in the club, almost single-handedly meeting the club’s expenses through 1938.

When the U. S. entered World War II, Henry Ulen was hoping for an opportunity for rebuilding and the potential for millions of dollars in new contracts that could rise out of the destruction at war’s end. But by the time the war ended, Ulen was no longer a major player in construction projects. An article in the Indianapolis Star referred to Henry Ulen’s work in the past tense. Ulen and Co. had “financed, planned and constructed big projects…No job was too big.” The company was still in business, but by 1950, the Indianapolis News noted that Ulen “no longer undertakes construction work.”

The demise of Ulen and Co., probably as a merger into a larger firm, took place in what seems to be a historical vacuum. No record of the end of the company has been found, although there is some indication that the American International Corporation, which had partnered with Ulen beginning at least as early as 1922, purchased the company.

The end of Henry C. Ulen is, on the other hand, well documented. Newspapers far and wide published Ulen’s obituary in 1963, including the Nevada State Journal, Montana Standard, and the Kittaning, Pennsylvania, Simpson’s Leader-Times.  Henry C. Ulen passed from the world on May 16, 1963. He was 92. His legacy was worldwide, including water and sewer works, dams, and railroads from South America to Iran, numerous philanthropic gifts, and the still swanky town, country club and golf course named for him. He is buried next to his wife, Mary, in Oak Hill Cemetery, Lebanon, Indiana.

 

 

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Avriel Shull -- finally the beginnings of a database

I've been tracking Avriel Shull for many years now. I am finally getting my files organized.  Here is the beginning of a database of Avriel Shull designed buildings.  I still have many to add from my own collection of notes, but thought it would be fun to let you all have a gander at what I'm doing.  I wrote the National Register of Historic Places nomination for Thornhurst Historic District, where there are 21 additional Avriel-designed homes, and I have records on a dozen others still to add.  If you know of an Avriel design that I don't have here, please drop me a note at connie@cresourcesinc with an address and a photo if you have one.  If not, I'll be happy to hop over and snap one.  Also, I know Avriel worked in states other than Indiana, I'd love to get photos of those buildings.  Check back, I'll be updating this page as time allows.  All materials copyright C. Resources unless otherwise cited.





















Tuesday, April 10, 2012

Blog Interrupted

This poor blog has taken a back seat to dozens of other more pressing issues lately.  It's been months since I last posted.  But I've been busy working on a few things.  Here's a window into what I've been doing lately: 

A nomination to the National Register of Historic Places for the Christian Egly House in Berne, Indiana.  A beauty of a home with nice Free Classic features that is close to original inside and out.  Christian and Anna Egly moved into their house, which the local newspaper called a "mansion on the hill" in 1899.  Christian had just opened the Berne Hay & Grain Co. The business thrived, but somehow Christian's finances didn't.  In 1914, he lost the house where his family of 5 had lived for more than a decade.  It sold for $3,370 at a Sheriff's sale held on the steps of the county courthouse in Decatur, Indiana, to Jacob Neuhauser.  Neuhauser lived in the house until his death in 1942.

Christian and Anna Egly House, Berne, Indiana





I've also been doing research in mostly online archival materials for the Indianapolis Museum of Contemporary Art.  I won't spoil their surprise, but there may be an architectural exhibit in their future.  

As always, I've been writing my regular "History 301" column in the Urban Times newspaper.  Most recently about how the City of Indianapolis historically used demolition as a precursor to progress.  And how that's not the case in the current plan to demolish 2,000 buildings, most of which are still in private hands and therefore won't be redeveloped easily.  One of the illustrations for how this city, in the past, demolished only when there was a plan for progress is the story of the deconstruction of the old Cyclorama building, which once housed a mural of a Civil War battle, to make way for the construction of the Traction Terminal and Train Shed. Designed by Daniel Burnham of the 1893 Chicago World's Exposition fame, and built to house all of the interurban and streetcar lines running into and out of the city under one huge free span structure, the trade of old for new made great sense and a good civic improvement then. Not so much these days when we're demolishing old houses to make empty lots. 

Indianapolis Star, July 17, 1903 



And I'm beginning research on Leslie Ayers, an Indianapolis architect who created the most amazing architectural renderings for the Indianapolis firm of Pierre and Wright, before branching out into his own architectural firm.  I'm just at the beginning of this research but I'm looking forward to learning and seeing more of Mr. Ayers.  His winning entry for the 1941 Indianapolis Home Show was featured in the Indianapolis Star article below.
 


There have been a few other things, like managing a Facebook page to raise awareness of the current plan for wholesale demolitions in Indianapolis. I think the name properly captures my sentiments about this plan: "Stop the Demolitions, Indianapolis."  https://www.facebook.com/StoptheDemolitionsIndianapolis


And I'm trying to be active in finding alternatives to demolition, not just complaining.  In fact, I'm about to leap into a very active role in making a bricks and clapboard alternative to demolition---partnering to buy and rehab a house that was on the demolition list.  I think she's got great potential.  No way this house should be demolished.  I'll try to keep you posed with pics as we make progress.  







 






 

Friday, December 30, 2011

Futuramic!

Ahead of the New Year, let's take a look back.  To 1948. I found these Oldsmobile ads in some old Vogue magazines.  The 1948 cutting-edge design of the cars doesn't hold up so well, but take a look at the architecture!  The "Futuramic" homes still look modern and new even to world weary almost-2012 eyes.

April 1948 Vogue featured a bright yellow Futuramic Oldsmobile and a wowser of a modern home by Chiarelli and Kirk. Their partnership started in 1944.  This home was a real construction. The text states that the house was (is it still?) built in Port Angeles, Washington.  Some more research indicates it must be the Dr. Schueler house built in that city in 1947.

The only photos I can find of the Dr. Schueler House are interiors.  http://content.cdlib.org/ark:/13030/kt1199r2zg/

The May 15 issue brought the design with a delightfully curvaceous Olds Club Sedan and a delightfully angular house by Marcel Breuer!  Look at that house!  That's in 1948. That huge car fits nicely under the cantilever at the rear and it's all view out the front through those floor-to-ceiling windows! Breuer's Bauhaus ideals are shining here.  Does anyone recognize this Breuer?  It appears to be the Gilbert Tomkins House built in 1945 in Hewlett Harbor, NY. 



Here's a photograph of the Tomkins house from http://trianglemodernisthouses.com/breuer.htm .  Same house, yes?


In June Vogue gave us a cherry red Oldsmobile and a cheer-worthy piece of architecture by Vincent Kling.  It's a beach house, but there's no location noted. Kling was a Philadelphia architect.  Anyone have a clue as to where this house might be? This one is so futuristic I can't believe it was constructed. But I hope it was and I hope one of you readers can tell us where.  Here's Miss June 1948 and isn't she a beaut?

 

1948 was a very good year for good design. In 2012, let's celebrate good design from all eras. 

Cheers to you in the Futuramic New Year from C. Resources and INArchitecture! 






Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Demolition ain't Development.

We can all agree that Indianapolis has an abandoned home problem. The City has identified 4,500 buildings that are abandoned.  Some burned out, abandoned homes in Indianapolis would probably never be rehabbed or repurposed as anything other than housing for squatters.  Most of us are ok with those houses being demolished.  But the City's new plan to demolish 1,200 buildings by the end of 2011 and take down an additional 800 -- a total 2,000 ---  by the end of 2012 has preservationists and neighborhood advocates rightfully concerned, even outraged.

Looking for a quick fix with a sudden influx of money from the water utility sale, but without any redevelopment plans in line, the City/County Councillors and the Mayor allocated $15,000,000 to demolition and $0 to any other options that might save some of these homes and fill them with new neighbors.

If you have a gut feeling this isn't a good plan, you're right.  Here are just a few of the salient reasons why.


1. All Smart Growth and New Urbanism tenets say that urban density is the best way to achieve a sustainable city.  Empty lots between houses is counter to urban density.  Empty lots lower walkability scores, don’t make the highest use of urban infrastructure and don’t use the embedded energy of the existing buildings. 

2.  While many houses may need to be demolished, clearly many on this list are not unsafe and many are saveable.  The buildings were not surveyed by structural engineers.  Health and Hospital, the agency that makes the "unsafe" call, does not do interior investigations. The decision of which buildings to add to the list was based on a wide variety of criteria, which may or may not include a hole in the roof, a hole in the foundation, tall grass, and/or police runs.  But, many structural issues are repairable and demolishing a house should never be based on police runs.  The bad tenants will just move to another house.  We can't demolish every house they live in until they eventually move out of the county.  Or at least, we shouldn't.

3. Right now, the City owns only a tiny percentage of the buildings to be demolished.  Which means that any future development would be reliant on the absentee landlords being found and willing to sell the lots to developers.  

4. This plan is a quick fix that will result in empty untended lots still in the possession of landlords who have already failed to maintain them.  Health & Hospital will be putting thousands (or more) of extra dollars into maintaining these 2,000 lots after the demolitions.  More money down the drain.

5.  According to Reggie Walton, Assistant Administrator of the Abandoned Housing Initiative, the great majority of these properties are “severely delinquent” in property taxes.  This means the City could take the properties and make them available for purchase. But the City has no intent to take the properties, which means little to no potential for development.  [See Point 4]

6. Few if any of these properties have been offered up for sale.  At least some might sell if the City would take the property and put them on tax sales or find other ways to get them into the hands of new owner/occupants. 

7. Once the demolition has occurred the lien for demolition goes onto the property.  Unless the original landlord is willing to pay the demolition cost, or the City is willing to forgive the fees, any new owner would have to pay off the cost of the demolition lien, as well as buy the property, adding even more cost to the properties and making their eventual reuse even more unlikely.

8. The bond was written to allocate all the money for demolition. It could and should be rewritten to allocate some for uses that are positive, such as rehab grants, stabilization programs, urban homesteader grants, and $1 house programs (such as the one introduced by Republican mayor William Hudnut). 

9. In most cases, even neighbors who complain about the abandoned homes would rather see them filled with new homeowners than see them demolished.  Alternative programs could use the same monies now designated for demolition to bring urban homesteaders into these buildings. 

If you agree that this wholesale demolition is a bad idea, please join the Facebook page,  https://www.facebook.com/StoptheDemolitionsIndianapolis.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Now for something completely different: Gene Fowlkes -- Indianapolis Jazz History

EUGENE (GENE) FOWLKES

            Eugene (Gene) Fowlkes was born in 1930.  He grew up in an African American neighborhood on the Eastside of Indianapolis where he went to public schools 56, 37, and 26 before attending the all-black Crispus Attucks High School.  Gene is a tall, still-handsome, lanky man with long arms, legs and fingers. He laughs a lot.
As a child, Gene was intrigued by his oldest brother’s trombone, but his arms were too short to play the instrument.  “That could be the reason that later on I just decided to get one [of my own].  I went to Sack’s pawn shop that was on Indiana Avenue . . . bought a trombone for either $50 or $75.”  That was in 1947.
            Gene’s first musical influences were the well-known trombonist, J. J. Johnson, and Johnson’s wife Vivian.  It was Vivian who introduced Fowlkes to Johnson’s recordings and the stories of their lives in New York City.  When Gene began to play his pawn shop trombone he practiced by playing along to J.J.’s recordings loaned to him by Vivian.  He played those 78s so much he wore deep grooves in them. 
Playing trombone turned Gene’s life around.  “I don’t guess I was pretty much no different than the 17, 16, 17 year-old kids now, just want to hang out. Then I heard about the Hampton family. Now that was the turning point of my whole life.”  How’d you hear about them? “I went over to McArthur’s Conservatory of Music (on Indiana Avenue) that’s how I met the Hamptons.”
            Gene paid for his lessons at McArthur’s with his G.I. Bill, a benefit he received at an early age.  At the end of World War II, Gene enlisted, faking his age. When his mother sent the Commander Gene’s birth certificate showing he was only 16, he was sent home.  But his benefits kicked in anyway affording Gene a chance to train at the premier music school in Indianapolis.  Soon he started hanging out with Buddy Montgomery at Wes Montgomery’s house on Cornell Street in Indianapolis.  “So between the Hampton family and Wes Montgomery, Buddy, and Monk  . . . I just fell in love with jazz,” he says.
            Because the trombone was not an essential instrument in most jazz groups, Fowlkes rarely had a steady job in a house band, but he stayed relatively busy playing in quintets or larger groups whenever he could land a gig. His work ethic matured when he started at the Cotton Club in Cincinnati.  There he played in a group that also included left-handed trombone player Slide Hampton (of the Indianapolis Hampton family). “I remember one morning in particular . . . I heard him practicing and I was so inspired. Now, here’s a guy that played better than me, now he’s up practicing, I’m laying in the sack. So I got up, shook my head and put my clothes on and went down and I started practicing.”
            When Gene returned from his second stint in the armed forces--this time he was drafted--he got a job at the Turf Club at 16th and Lafayette Road.  Drummer Sonny Johnson formed a group with tenor saxophonist Pookie Johnson, Monk Montgomery, on the just-introduced electric Fender bass, Gene Fowlkes on trombone, and Carroll DeCamp on piano. It was a “wonderful, wonderful gig.”
Unfortunately for Gene, Sonny Johnson eventually decided to change the group. He "fired" Carroll DeCamp and replaced him with Buddy Montgomery, “fired” Gene  and replaced him with guitar phenomenon, Wes Montgomery.  The new Johnson-Montgomery Quintet became the hot jazz band in Indianapolis. "For people old enough to remember what that group was, you know, and how they sounded, man that was really good,” Gene says years later, despite his own bad luck in situation and an intervening period of admitted sour grapes.  The change in band also made the two outcasts, DeCamp and Fowlkes great friends with a shared disappointment, both in losing their jobs and knowing how much better the group was after they were kicked out.  “We talked about them like dogs,” Gene says with a laugh.  But even the outcasts knew there was something very special in the chemistry of the Johnson-Montgomery quartet.
            After losing that job at the Turf Club, Fowlkes went on the road with Jimmy Coe, Earl Van Riper, Mingo Jones, Earl Fox Walker and Bill Boyd in Indianapolis band leader Jimmy Coe’s band.  They were the opening act for an all-black group with a rock-and-roll hit. Gene no longer remembers the name of that band nor their song.  But he’ll never forget the dismal segregation of the South.  He saw first-hand separate water fountains, separate lines at ice cream stands, and when they played in Dallas, Texas, “There was one big rope tied right down the middle of the room. The blacks on one side and the whites on the other side. You couldn’t cross the line.”
            In 1957 Gene fell in “LUV” [his pronunciation and emphasis] and passed up the opportunity to go on the road with the Lionel Hampton group. Instead he got married and took a factory job at Western Electric.  He didn’t give up music but about that time he decided to switch from the trombone to the bass, figuring he could find more work on the weekends as a bass player.  Because both instruments are in the bass clef he didn’t have a problem reading the bass part; says he had to slow his mind down for the bass, because the trombone “is faster and quicker.” He learned the new instrument from other bass players in town at the time, several of whom went on to make very big names in much bigger cities: Leroy Vinnegar, Larry Ridley, Monk Montgomery, Philip (Flip) Stewart.  A bass player from Detroit, Bill Yancy, who was playing at George’s Orchid Bar on Indiana Avenue, taught Gene the correct hand positions, which made him a much more controlled player. He was no longer “just grabbin’” at his new instrument.
            As a bass player Fowlkes worked with Wes Montgomery whenever Monk was out of town, and went on the road with the famous Earl “Fatha” Hines.  Though a testament to the skill he had developed, that road trip also turned Gene away from his musical career.  Earning $400 a week in the late 1970s, he found it nearly impossible to live in Los Angeles and make enough money to pay his mortgage in Indianapolis.  He says he barely managed to pay his dog food bills to fellow musician Claude Sifferlein, who was dogsitting for the recently divorced Fowlkes. 
            Tired of hiding from bill collectors, when Gene returned to Indianapolis he took a full-time job with the CETA program in the purchasing department at the City/County Building.  While there he saw a posting for a position as a correctional officer.  It paid $12 an hour, so he decided that would be his next job.  On his first day of work at the Indiana Youth Center in Plainfield, he “saw so many of my old buddies. Boy it was like old home week.” When he found out he could be a parole officer if he earned 15 hours of college credit, he completed an associate’s degree, and began to look for a new position.  Never one to believe that racial discrimination held him back, Fowlkes plainly states that it was age discrimination, not his race, which prevented him from finding a position as a parole officer.  But he continued to work in the corrections field and eventually retired at age 62 from his job at the men’s work release center.
            During these years of working the midnight shift in corrections, Gene had to give up playing gigs.  Although he missed it for a long time, he doesn’t anymore. Now, he loves to stay home with his dog, Sheba and grow flowers. He plays music, keeps the remote control “duct-taped” to his wrist so he can stay up-to-the-minute on sports, and works on his house. At age 70 believes Gene Fowlkes says he’s had one wonderful life.
Connie J. Zeigler
3/10/01

With David Andrichik, owner of the Chatterbox Jazz Club, filming them, I completed 16 oral histories with jazz musicians inducted into the Indianapolis Jazz Hall of Fame between 1998 and 2002.  Gene Fowlkes was one of my favorite subjects. He was funny and modest and irreverent.  I wrote this short biography a couple of years after our interview.  The taped interviews and their transcripts belong to the Indianapolis Jazz Foundation.

Eugene Fowlkes died on February 25, 2005.

Wednesday, July 20, 2011

Gunnison Homes -- The New Miracle

I've written about Gunnison Homes before in this blog. See: http://cresourcesinc.blogspot.com/2010/07/former-gunnison-factory-new-albany.html.   Running across a newspaper article while I was doing research gives me an excuse to post up a bit more information. 

Gunnison Magic Homes was the first really successful pre-fab housing firm in the United States. By 1940, this Indianapolis Star article claims that it was the "nation's largest home builder."  In the pre-World War II era that may have been true. It's safe to say that the company sold thousands of homes over the course of its history.

From his factory, which still stands in New Albany, Indiana, Foster Gunnison produced pre-fab homes built with insulated plywood panels in an assembly-line system. Forbes called him the "Henry Ford of housing."  Raw materials arrived at the front door, the walls, ceiling and floors were factory finished, doors hung and "windows installed, washed and screened" as the panels moved along the conveyor belts and out the rear door onto trucks headed all across the nation.

This September 29, 1940, article introduced a new line of Gunnison Homes, the Miracle Home.   Demonstration homes were already built by this time in Indianapolis, South Bend and Jeffersonville, Indiana.  Unlike the Deluxe Home, which came in nine standard sizes ranging from four to seven rooms and retailing from $4,000 to $8,500, these new Miracle Homes were all four rooms. They could be installed with or without a basement and were sold on installment plans, approved for FHA loans, for $360 down and $25.60 monthly payments, including insurance and property taxes.

Indianapolis builder, Robert L. Mason was the local rep for the Miracle Homes.  It's hard to know how many of these little Miracles were built in the city, but the demonstration home shown in the picture at the bottom of the article and located in the 3500 block of North Keystone Avenue, still stands as you can see in this google maps pic. I wonder if its owners know the history of their house?