Falling for Mr. Wright

Jim Kimsey Rescued an Architectural Gem, and Eventually Loved It

"If I wanted to have a romantic dinner," says Jim Kimsey, co-founder of AOL, "I wouldn't do it in my house, which is ostentatious. I would do it in the Frank Lloyd Wright house."

There would be "a fire, cocktails and music" -- as if the house, one of three Wright residences in the Washington area, needed a boost. Jutting from a steep, wooded hillside, the Potomac River below visible through an 80-foot-long wall of windows, the space somehow marries treehouse to sleek yacht. Ceilings and cabinetry are rich mahogany, the concrete floor polished a gleaming red. An expansive sofa is strategically sited in front of the enormous fireplace.

Rescuing this neglected architectural jewel in McLean has itself been something of a romantic fling for Kimsey. The multimillionaire bachelor and philanthropist had already built a 21,000-square-foot mansion on the adjoining property. Gazing down from his master bathroom, he hated seeing the forlorn edifice with five-foot weeds rising from its gravel roof.

Eight years ago, when work started on the big house, Kimsey had no clue that the neighboring structure had been designed by one of America's most celebrated 20th-century architects. He found it an eyesore until an emissary from the owners set him straight: The cinder-block house, finished in 1959, had been commissioned by two devoted Wright admirers, National Geographic writer-photographer Luis Marden and his wife, Ethel, who were living there still. As decades passed, age and infirmity took a toll on the couple and on the house they loved.

In 2000, with Luis in a nursing home, Kimsey bought the property for $2.5 million. The deed barred him from razing the house or substantially altering the exterior and attached garage. It also stipulated that Ethel could live there as long as she liked; when Luis died in 2003, she moved to a retirement community.

"If it hadn't been a Frank Lloyd Wright house, I would have torn it down. It just happened that the right thing to do was restore it," Kimsey says.

The more he learned about this Usonian house -- Wright's term for the modest, modernist open-plan structures he designed of glass, steel, concrete, cinder block, brick and wood -- the more he was smitten .

Everywhere were built-in shelves, cabinets, seating, desks, even matched closet drawers. And everywhere, too, were windows: some seven feet high, some eight inches wide, some partially covered by ornamental concrete or woodwork.

"Wright purists were horrified that I might renovate the interior," says Kimsey, 67, whose custom French Provincial house nearby includes four guest suites and enclosed parking for 40 cars. "I didn't need the two-car garage. I could have turned it into a bedroom. Of course, I don't need any more bedrooms either."

He spent 18 months and "well over $1 million" reclaiming the 2,576-square-foot space. Mold was removed, a bright copper roof replaced the offending gravel, and outdoor lights were installed to illuminate the raging river at night.

"The house was bad, but it was intact and had not been altered," says contractor Bailey Adams of Chevy Chase, who oversaw the restoration. Cinder-block walls were water-stained; concrete floors were cracked. Planters on the terrace that runs the length of the house were so filled with dirt and debris that "it all was in danger of pulling away from the hillside," Adams says.

Adams restained living room cabinetry bleached by a half-century of direct sunlight. Every ceiling panel, including those in the garage, was removed, cleaned and refinished. The floors, murky with layers of wax and polish, were hand-scraped with razor blades. From officials at Johnson Wax -- whose company headquarters in Racine, Wis., was designed by Wright in the 1930s -- Adams got "the perfect cleaning and sealing products."

Today, the house is a showplace.

The living room is dominated by the cinder-block fireplace with a four-by-six-foot hearth. Banquettes hug the walls, and built-in cabinets hide a big-screen television. An original wooden sconce is more sculpture than light source. The dining area is defined by a new concrete-top table and eight 1950s chairs by Danish designer Hans Wegner, just steps from the original mahogany wet bar. The rest of the elongated public space is anchored by a wall of shelves and cabinets -- one containing Wright's plans for the house.

The end of the room forms a point like the prow of a ship. "It's probably the most perfect place in the world I have been to sit and read," Kimsey says, pointing to a Wegner "Papa Bear" chair and ottoman under shelves lined with National Geographic issues featuring Luis Marden's work.

Behind that wall of shelves is the master suite: a bedroom facing a hillside stand of soaring trees, a full bath and his-and-her closets. In the kitchen, worn red laminate countertops and dated appliances have given way to concrete and stainless steel.

While the built-in furniture survived, a pre-restoration snafu resulted in a few free-standing Wright pieces leaving the house, which Kimsey laments: "I couldn't get it back for a million dollars." He still has a small Wright-designed table and two reupholstered ottomans near his reading corner.

He can seat as many as 20 for meals but prefers to use the house for more intimate gatherings with such friends as soprano Renee Fleming, singer Patti Austin and Queen Noor, widow of Jordan's King Hussein.

"The only people who have spent the night here are Patti -- she said it felt 'very Zen-like' -- and my son Roy and his wife, Petra," Kimsey says. "I think this is where my about-to-be-born third grandchild was conceived."