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The Arroyo Register

Houses, hills and paperwork along the Arroyo.

the desk answers one slip at a time

The Houses

The bungalow court form

A reader asks about a dozen small cottages sharing one planted walk: the slip explains the bungalow court form and why it survived a century.

A row of small stucco cottages facing a shared planted courtyard in a Los Angeles bungalow court.
A row of front doors opens onto one garden path, and the path belongs to all of them. Photograph: Cornelia Ray Vann
Shelf
The Houses
Call number
HOU-003
Filed
Reading
5 min

The question came up the stair street before it reached the desk. A reader had climbed one of the concrete flights that step over the slope between Figueroa and the arroyo, turned at the landing, and looked down on a scatter of small roofs: eleven by their count, low and shingled, strung along a single planted walk. One mailbox at the curb held the whole row of names. They wanted to know what they had been looking at, whether that many front doors on one path could possibly be legal, and who owns the path itself. We printed the parcel report, clipped the handwritten note to it, and opened a file. What the reader found has a name, and the name has a shape.

The Bondgate Gazette reads its own old block the same way: form first, then the paper that explains it.

The slip, as filed

The card reads, in full: "A dozen small houses around one garden walk, one row of mailboxes, no driveways in front. What is this called? When was it built? If one of the cottages sells, what exactly changes hands?" It sits in the drawer under courts, on the shelf between the courtyard apartment and the bungalow itself, and the last line is the real question. A cluster of cottages around a shared walk is not only a curiosity of layout. It is a legal arrangement, and the arrangement is what has kept the roofs on. The short answer at the desk: this is a bungalow court, a house type old enough to be the quiet ancestor of the apartment buildings around it.

What is the form, exactly?

A bungalow court is a row or horseshoe of small detached houses arranged around one pedestrian walk, planted down the middle, offering the street nothing grander than a low wall, a gate pier, or a painted sign. The houses are modest by design: single story, low roofs with wide eaves held open by knee braces, tapered porch posts resting on clinker brick or stucco piers, an end unit with a sleeping porch built for the months before air conditioning. The walk does the organizing. Every front door faces it, no cottage turns a blank wall to its neighbor, and the shared garden reads as the largest room on the parcel. Courts went up across Southern California mostly in the 1910s and 1920s, on lots deep enough for the arithmetic to work: a dozen small rentable houses where four or five larger ones would otherwise have stood.

What does the public record say?

Start with ZIMAS, the city's parcel report, because it settles the first thing the reader asked. The printout shows whether the eleven doors sit on one parcel or several, the zoning the court lives under now, and the lot depth that made the long walk possible. The county assessor's roll carries the parcel forward year by year, and its improvement count should match the doors. For the shape itself, the Sanborn fire insurance sheets, digitized by the Library of Congress, draw the small footprints around the walk and put a date on the ink. Where a court stands inside the Highland Park-Garvanza HPOZ, the LA City Planning preservation plan says so, and says whether the cottages count as contributing features. Read together, the record establishes the essential point: the cluster is original intention, not an accident of infill.

How does one cottage change hands?

This is where the court stops being scenery. When a unit in a court that was later subdivided sells, the preliminary title report is the document to read slowly, and the contingency period is the time to read it in. The report lists the recorded covenants that govern the walk: who repairs the retaining wall where the slope gives way, who prunes, what share of the path each unit carries, how the trash is handled. When a court still sits on a single parcel, there is one escrow number for the whole, and the buyer takes an undivided interest, which the assessor's roll reflects in its dry way. Either way, the buyer acquires a piece of the path. In a court, the garden is never scenery. It is a line item.

Why did the form last a century?

Most house types this old survive as photographs. The court survived as housing, and the reasons are unglamorous. The cottages are small and separately roofed, so one leak is one repair rather than a building-wide event. There is no lobby, no corridor, no elevator to bind the owners into an association with a budget. The walk is cheaper to share than a driveway is to widen. Units this modest stayed within reach of tenants while the blocks around them repriced, so the courts stayed occupied, and occupied buildings get maintained. The Los Angeles Conservancy's material on the form makes the point gently: the court is the ancestor of the courtyard apartment, and both endure because the open middle does real work. Where the preservation overlay applies, contributing cottages gained a further protection, but that came late. The form did not survive because it was protected. It was protected because it had survived.

Where the record stops

The parcel report says where the doors are, not who opens them. Nothing in the file names the gardener who kept the walk planted through the lean years, or the tenant who glassed in the sleeping porch on the end unit, or the builder, unless a permit card survived in the city's microfilm. The assessor's roll gives the year the county first noticed the improvements, which is close to the build date without being it. The HPOZ minutes capture the later arguments about fences and windows, and they are worth the reading, but they begin decades after the last key was cut. The record explains the container, in other words, and not the contents. The card goes back in the drawer with a pencil line under the answer.

Take the paper up the stairs

Print the ZIMAS report for the parcel at the top of the stair street, then climb it again at the hour when the light comes over the arroyo. Count the doors against the parcel lines. Find the retaining wall the title report worries about, the gate pier with its clinker brick, the knee braces holding the eaves off the porch posts. If the questions keep coming, the planning counter will pull the HPOZ sheet, and the file will be here. The Bondgate Gazette reads its own old block the same way: form first, then the paper that explains it.

See also, from the drawer