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"Just before we bought our home in 1993, I told my realtor that I wanted a city neighborhood where I could walk outside my door and not have to hear music blaring, or cars and buses screeching," said Bernstine, who, together with partner Matt Ogden, shares an attractive four-bedroom split-level Eichler home along the Heights' Amber Drive. "I told him all I wanted to hear was tweet-tweet, tweet-tweet. And that's something that's hard to find in the city. And that's also a reason why a lot of people don't like Diamond Heights. They say it's too suburban."
Flanked by the Noe Valley lowlands and Glen Park canyon, residents of Diamond Heights are reminded of their urban setting mostly by a pair of distinguished San Francisco landmarks that rise above all else - Mount Davidson, a controversial cross resting tentatively at its peak; and Sutro Tower, the menacing eyesore jutting skyward from behind Twin Peaks.
In 1960, the crests and slopes of Red Rock Hill, Fairmount Hill, and Gold Mine Hill, which comprised most of what would become Diamond Heights, were one of the few remaining open areas of undeveloped real estate in San Francisco, and likely the last with such a commanding view.
A year later, when the San Francisco Redevelopment Agency unveiled its proposed master plan for the "well-designed and harmonious neighborhood" of 3,000 new homes in fledgling Diamond Heights, Red Rock Hill represented the first parcels of land designated for auction and bid to prospective developers.
With styles of modern architecture more in harmony with the then-emerging burbs, a host of developers laid plans for a contemporary mix of single-family homes, town houses, duplexes, apartments, and community facilities, including a shopping center and schools. Heading the list of developers were Eichler Homes, Hayman Homes, Galli Construction Company, American Housing Guild, and General Electric.
What followed was the forging of a community without the usual metropolitan trappings, both romanticized and otherwise, tied to San Francisco tradition. No noble Victorian heritage, no tall tales built on generations of native lore, and no mom-and-pop corner groceries. Not even one thin overhead power cable to support the local bird population.
"Diamond Heights has a suburban feeling because it's a modern-style tract development,in fact, one of the only modern tracts in the city," claims Bernstine. "I've lived in the suburbs, and that's not where I want to be now. But I do like having suburban peacefulness outside my own front yard. And I think it's kind of special being tucked away, kind of undiscovered."
For Bernstine and 300 of his neighbors, their tranquil hideaway on the western slope of Red Rock Hill is their diamond in the rough. Among them, the nearly 100 single-family homes built by Joseph Eichler are an Eichler Homes' anomaly of the highest order. When the big city way of life converges with the Eichler suburban dwelling, it's indeed a most peculiar breed.
Beginning in the early 1950s, when it was still uncommon to find merchant builders engaged with architects, Joe Eichler aligned himself with a progressive, empathic design stable that practiced Modernist principles. The first hired was the San Francisco firm of Anshen (&) Allen, then Jones (&) Emmons of Los Angeles, and later Claude Oakland's East Bay company. As regional architecture suited for the Bay Area's benign climate, their Eichler creations typically befuddled the traditional masses, emphasizing boldness, optimism, and change through an indoor-outdoor lifestyle marked by imposing walls of glass, cozy radiant heat flooring, and a room-sized open-air atrium facing the kitchen.
By the time he reached Diamond Heights in 1961, Eichler already had carved out more than a decade of new construction in suburbia - from San Rafael, to San Jose, to Walnut Creek - on his way to producing more than 11,000 single-family homes of critically acclaimed design. Since Eichler's death in 1974, his legacy has snowballed into a curious phenomenon, especially among the suburban homeowners, many of whom share an uncanny comaraderie built on passion and pride for their mutual lifestyle.
Over a three-year period, from 1962 to 1965, Eichler developed at least seven different Diamond Heights floor plans, most under the guidance of architect Claude Oakland, on Amber and adjoining Amethyst Way, Cameo Way, and Duncan Street. Unlike his usual suburban homes, most are split-level and two-story constructions. A few traditional single-level models stand on Cameo, and a pair of custom Eichler projects are rumored to exist on nearby Turquoise Way.
"I remember Joe Eichler as being pretty cagey promotion-wise," recalls Damon Lum, an original Eichler owner who has lived across from the Bernstine-Ogden home for the past 32 years. "He had some effective sales tricks. He would paint two adjoining homes the same color to give the illusion of one huge house to prospective buyers. And for their model home, Eichler decorated with small Danish furniture that made the rooms look a lot roomier than they really were."
The retired lithographer does have a few complaints - the flat roof and some fine construction details are his favorite targets - but he doesn't plan to ever pack his bags.
"I'm 67 years old, and this is only my second home," offered the proud San Francisco native. "I don't like to roam around, but if I sold my home right now, I would sure look for another Eichler. The main thing I love is the design, those beam ceilings. And when you look out my windows, from the bedroom down to the backyard, it has such an open feeling. You don't feel like you're enclosed. As for Diamond Heights, it's a perfect match. It's dead center in San Francisco, and in reach of everything."
Lum's neighbors, Mindy Goldman and Gregg Sanders, became the newest settlers of Amber's Eichler row when they pulled up in their moving van in June. Having lived for the past eight years in a rental apartment on Diamond Heights Boulevard, all of two blocks away, Goldman has become well acquainted with the appeal of the Heights.
"We were also looking in Glen Park and Miraloma Park for our house, but Diamond Heights was our first choice all along," said Goldman, 35, whose physician's role at UCSF brought her from Maine to the Bay Area in 1989. "We have wonderful views here, and it feels more like a small town. And there's an incredible camaraderie right around us. Since we've moved in, several neighbors have come up to say hello and invite us over."
Goldman's partner, the Texas-bred Sanders, 43, likes the notion that Diamond Heights offers the best of suburbia without the drudgery of daily rush-hour traffic processions in and out of town. For that advantage, he doesn't mind strapping on a tool belt to shape the couple's new house into their home.
"We were looking for an up-and-coming neighborhood and a house that needed fixing up," added Sanders, a remodeling general contractor for the past two decades. "Our Eichler matched the criteria - it had been abused as a rental for the past six years. Now we can look to build our investment through sweat equity."
A veteran of 15 years in real estate, Jack Bernstine also likes the potential for the investment dollar in Diamond Heights, where he occasionally campaigns for increased neighborhood awareness of remodeling and home maintenance projects carried out in the spirit of the builders' original designs.
"I'm bullish on this neighborhood, which is probably the best value in the city in terms of space for the money," said Bernstine, currently an agent with Zephyr Realty of San Francisco. "Our own home on Amber is 2,000 square feet. For the price we paid, we might be able to buy a dilapidated Victorian half that size in Noe Valley. I also have a special fondness for Eichlers and like how their designs have promoted a better quality of life. A while back I sent out a newspaper article on Eichlers to all my Eichler neighbors with my own headline: You don't need to own a Victorian to share in San Francisco's architectural heritage. Pride needn't stop at Alamo Square.
Bernstine certainly seems proud of his own home, built around four bedrooms and a courtyard at the street. Although a lovely touch, the courtyard design has taken a bit of the thrill out of Bernstine's other pride and joy - that long, black Lincoln.
"My car doesn't even fit in my own garage," confessed Bernstine. "I regret having settled for such a tiny garage, but definitely not the car. I've been renting garage space for it away from home for so long, it's become part of my lifestyle. "For me, the car represents a style, a design, and a functionality that doesn't exist anymore. Just like the '50s and '60s. In fact, just like our Eichler on Diamond Heights."
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