Crestwood Hills: American suburbia need not have been the isolating experience it sometimes was
Tim Abrahams explores a bohemian community created in Los Angeles by a group of musicians.
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Los Angeles had a good war. Not only did the Californian city become home to the American aviation and munitions industries following the Second World War, but with the heavy throughput of GIs travelling across the Pacific, it gathered a new working population after the conflagration ended, drawn by the work as well as the incredible climate and light of the city they had passed through.
A large number of those who made it back from the horrors elected to stay in Southern California rather than head back east. Among them were a group of musicians returning from service, who determined to build themselves homes together, creating a special community.
'They used to say Crestwood Hills was a wonderful place to either raise a family or have a nervous breakdown'


That community was the Mutual Housing Association and soon the pool of interested parties rapidly expanded. Crestwood Hills, as it became known, was close to UCLA and was of interest to a new generation of academics: obstetricians and therapists mainly. ‘ They used to say Crestwood Hills was a wonderful place to either raise a family or have a nervous breakdown,’ says the architectural historian and current resident of the development, Cory Buckner. The original members found a large 800-acre site in the very north of Brentwood on the fringes of the Santa Monica Mountains, sitting on a ridge above Kenter Canyon. It had dramatic views and the mountains on its doorstep; though its steep terrain would later introduce significant financial and construction challenges.
How architecture might embed itself in the landscape became central to Crestwood Hills’ identity. After scouting around for architects, the association opted for a joint venture led by A. Quincy Jones, Whitney R. Smith and structural engineer Edgardo Contini. Jones would go on to become a key figure in Californian Modernism, building several Case Study houses and designing Eichler homes, a series of high-quality tract homes, privately sold, across California, which probably brought the values of modernism — use of lightweight modern material; dissolution of barriers between interior and exterior, furniture integrated into partitions — to the highest number of people in the history of the USA thus far. It brought Frank Lloyd Wright’s values of light and substance to groups of houses rather than one-offs. A noble goal.
The success of A. Quincy Jones’ Eichler homes emerged from his experience at Crestwood Hills, which are wonderful in their own right: standardised yet flexible modern house designs that residents could select and adapt. Post-and-beam structures organised on a strict seven-foot module, with open plans, indoor-outdoor living, exposed materials and extensive use of windows. Concrete masonry blocks, plate glass and redwood were left largely unfinished (although later inhabitants painted theirs). They used plywood ingeniously as well, the material of the age, which was used heavily in aircraft manufacture, but Jones was innovating using it in Crestwood’s buildings.
'The architectural result, however, was incredible: homes oriented at varied angles, set on irregular lots, and shielded by privacy walls that created a sense of openness without sacrificing intimacy'



The lessons were hard won and the project had its troubles. Adjacent to affluent areas including Bel Air, Crestwood Hills encountered opposition, including discriminatory deed restrictions imposed during development. The story goes that it was Henry Fonda’s wife who bullied the realtor into inserting a clause to ensure that there would be ‘no Chinese or Blacks’ allowed in the development. These restrictions conflicted sharply with the founders’ values (‘pinko commie’, says Buckner) and caused some members to withdraw, although many stuck around as they believed a Supreme Court judgement would render any such clause null and void, as was the case.
The main problems came when contractors underestimated the complexity of the built-up post-and-beam framing on hillside sites, nestled amid foliage. The first 30-house phase operated at a loss. The second contractor only got through six houses before he went bankrupt. The architectural result, however, was incredible: homes oriented at varied angles, set on irregular lots, and shielded by privacy walls that created a sense of openness without sacrificing intimacy. Clerestory windows and floating rooflines give the impression that the houses are floating among the trees and each other.
What is so successful about Crestwood is the way in which it balances the need for seclusion and community in a way that shows that American suburbia need not have been the isolating experience it sometimes was. While not all the shared facilities at Crestwood were realised, the park, clubhouse, preschool, and credit union became lasting symbols of the project’s communal spirit. As Buckner says of the original inhabitants, ‘they felt that a moderate-income family should be able to experience architecture the way a wealthy family does — that there’s no reason why good design can’t transfer down all economic strata.’



Tim Abrahams is an architectural critic and writer. He has written for The Critic, UnHerd, Architectural Record and elsewhere. He was also the chair of the judging panel for the Carbuncle Cup.