As my wife and I go through the wonderful and insane experience of
renovating a circa 1920's Foursquare, the most troubling issue that we have
run into so far is dealing in a coherent, logical and cost-efficient manner
with the windows in our house. If I were to rewrite the quote above, it
would read, "An idiot is an old-home owner who replaces the windows on his
house and doesn't expect to be chastised, vilified, demonized, and run out
of town." Nothing invokes the wrath of a neighborhood more than replacing
windows in an old house -- I assume that if I painted my house neon pink and
lavender, the neighbors would revolt, but I don't think it would be as
controversial as replacing my third-story windows.
A little background: When we bought our house in July 1999, we knew that we had a home that had not been substantially altered since it was built. The home was owned by one family and the last resident had been the 97-year-old family matriarch who lived in the home alone for at least the last 15 years of her life. After she passed away, the home sat empty for three years. After finalizing the purchase, we proceeded to replace the roof, add central heat and air, and update some of the wiring and plumbing in order to make the house livable. All of this was being done under a HUD FHA 203(k) Rehabilitation Loan and our timetable was somewhat cramped.
Our third story is one large room approximately 22' by 37' with a 10' by
10' dormer looking south. Due to the intense Oklahoma summer heat, no
insulation, and a lack of routine maintenance, the plaster and lath walls
of this room were beyond salvaging. As soon as the roof was replaced,
demolition of the plaster and lathe commenced. The entire demolition,
reframing, rewiring, and insulation occurred very quickly and I became
somewhat complacent in the idea of the room being finished by Christmas
1999.
One thing I did note, however, was that the walls and framing surrounding the windows appeared to be quite "wicked" looking. The framing was bowed, warped, stained, and mildewed. While I was somewhat concerned, I was much more concerned with finishing the room and proceeded to the drywall stage. After the drywall and plaster veneer had been completed, I turned my attention to cleaning up the trim and reinstalling it. At this point in time, I contemplated the window situation.
Although I always knew the windows weren't great, I hoped to keep them and
merely clean them up with some paint and TLC. Naivete doesn't last long. A
carpenter friend took one look at the windows and pronounced, "They ain't and
never will be water-tight." I had the Edsel or Pinto of windows -- inward
swinging casements. Although a good idea, in practice they cannot keep the
water out of the wall cavity for any period of time. Because of the way
they are built, water collects on the sill and rots it away, allowing access
to the wall cavity and room by the weather. No matter the fix, water still
seemed to seep into the wall cavities. After receiving an old photograph of
the house from the 1930's, it became apparent that these inward swinging
casements were installed by the owner sometime in the 1940's or 1950's. It
wasn't a good choice on their part.
Obviously, I didn't want to believe him. I diligently took the windows apart, shored up the wood with consolidant, fixed the glazing, sanded, primed, and painted the windows. As I began the reinstallation phase -- the truth struck. This beautiful room I was re-creating would be flawed if I reinstalled these obviously wrong windows. Moreover, the money, time, and sweat that had gone into the room would be wasted. I did some quick calling around to different home centers and custom window manufacturers and I was flabbergasted by the cost of replacement windows. If I wanted wood windows that simulated the look and feel of the original windows, I would have to spend thousands of dollars -- money that had never been in the budget.
So what did I do? I sulked. I pouted. I cursed Norm, Bob, Steve, and all
the smiling happy renovators we see on TV. I had a problem and not enough
resources to fix it the way that appeared to be easiest -- hire a carpenter
and build some windows. Well, I got realistic, and necessity being the
mother of all creativity -- I started my window search. My window search
put the third-floor renovation on hold for 3 months. During this period of
time I searched the web for window manufacturers. I ordered specifications
and literature. I visited window manufacturers in my area (Pella and
Marvin). I accumulated 3 boxes of quotes and requotes. I changed the
configuration of the windows more often than I changed my socks. I started
calling neighboring states to check on specialty manufacturers I might have
missed. I became a very cranky, nasty and moody individual. My pride and
joy had become "The Money Pit." My co-workers began to slide work under my
closed office door.
What did I learn from this process? Plenty. If I had to distill it down
to one guiding principle, it would be that "To thine own self (or house) be
true." While I wished that I could replace the windows with exact
replicas -- my finances would not allow me this luxury. I knew something
needed to be done -- but I didn't want to settle for anything less than
exactness. In a nutshell -- I was insane. My home is not a historically
significant home. It has and will always be a simple family Foursquare with
clean and 'middle-class' styling. It is a home that is intended to be used
and not house a museum collection. To this end I came up with four basic
guiding principles: (1) the windows must be made from wood; (2) the windows
must simulate realistically the divided lights of the originals; (3) the
windows must fit in the same opening and be similar to the pattern of the
originals; and (4) the windows must be less than $4,000.
With these "guiding principles" in mind, I reevaluated my quotes and narrowed my choice to Anderson, Marvin and Pozzi windows. My final decision was made on the basis of pattern and style. Out of all the window manufacturers I reviewed, Pozzi was able to make a wood window with aluminum cladding (the house is aluminum-clad for now) in a style that was comparable to the original windows. The cost also fit my budget. Unfortunately, there was an eight-week fabrication lead time for the windows -- they are truly custom built. Although I needed the windows in a hurry -- I had to wait. Fortunately, once the windows arrived, they fit in the wall cavities perfectly - except that the factory had failed to install the extension jambs. Oh, well - nothing my amateur carpentry skills couldn't fix. That was 8 months ago -- the jambs are only half finished and half the trim is done. Unfortunately, the budget and time constraints were somewhat inflexible during the summer.
How would I sum up my first window experience? Research, research, and
more research. Research what your own priorities are for the house -- to
thine own self and house be true. Research the different manufacturers and
possibilities -- it was the 40th manufacturer I contacted who was able to
provide me what I want. Finally, research the incidentals surrounding the
installation of the windows -- how will it change the trim, does the budget
or timing require certain decisions to be made. With regard to the
neighbors, most love the windows and the work we have been doing, but there
are a couple of people who have complained. I actually think one of the
complainers liked the fact that the old windows leaked rainwater. "After
all," he said, "at least you wouldn't have to drag buckets of mop water up
to the third floor." I wonder if he was the original carpenter to make the
windows.
