House Design Copied in San Rafael, and Other Disputes
By Carol Acquaviva
Around 1905, noted San Francisco attorney Frank Madison was seeking to establish a home in country, and chose San Rafael for its attractive climate, beautiful scenery, and the proximity to his fellow connected members of high society. Madison purchased a lot in the Coleman Tract around 1905, a site in today’s Dominican neighborhood, and asked his friend, respected and well-established San Francisco architect Edgar Mathews, to design a house to suit Frank, his wife, and their three young children. Madison envisioned a simple shingled country home. Mathews responded that he would instead enjoy creating something more interesting, and Madison agreed to this. Although Mathews was designing a house using his established and well-received style (he had designed many San Francisco houses), Madison took pride that his new country home would be special and unlike any other in the neighborhood.
Building of Madison’s house was delayed due to the San Francisco earthquake and fire of April 18, 1906. For nearly a year, no progress was made in the house’s construction, in part due to the shortage of building materials and manpower. In fact, Madison had to wait until permission was given to build the home, as permits post-earthquake were at first limited to public buildings, businesses and office structures. Ultimately, Mathews followed through, and Madison was elated and proud to move his family into their new estate.
As Madison’s house was nearly completed, Armond de Courtieux (or Decourtieux)— a wholesale butcher with a branch market on the corner of Fourth and D Streets in San Rafael — bought a nearby lot. Upon seeing Madison’s house, de Courtieux decided the same design would be just perfect for he and his wife, and asked Mathews to design the same for him. News spread around San Rafael of this pending “duplicate” house. Madison immediately filed suit, claiming that Mathews violated professional ethics in supplying the same plans to another resident of the same city.
The only changes to the proposed new home were minor differences: the size of a gable and a dormer window. Still, Madison felt strongly that replicating the unique design of his house would cause significant devaluation of his property.
Mathews found this lawsuit against him to be absurd. “He thinks he has a copyright on green paint!” he said. “I’ll laugh it out of court.” The architect also remarked that “Madison has been so enraptured of his house since it was built, he has laid awake nights worrying for fear someone would use some of the ideas I put into the house and which he has the notion are all his. He has been very tragic about it all.”
Needless to say, the longstanding friendship between Madison and Mathews was over. A running joke about town was that one dare not construct a duplicate bay window or they too would be slapped with a lawsuit.
In May 1908, Mathews took the stand in his own defense, and admitted that there were similarities between the Madison residence and the designs for de Courtieux home. Marin Superior Court Judge Thomas J. Lennon looked very closely at sets of plans, photographs, and other drawings for both houses, and ruled that the architect “has a certain personality which he expresses in the houses he builds and to restrain this personality by an injunction would mean to deprive him of his means of livelihood and stifle art.”
The case drew attention beyond Marin and San Francisco, and the ruling in favor of Mathews was even cited in the St. Louis Architect and Engineer and The American Architect and Building News.
There was talk of Mathews counter-suing Madison, but instead the two gentlemen shook hands in the lobby of the Marin County Courthouse and went their separate ways. The Marin Journal noted that the people of San Rafael could now visit the street on which both houses appear and guess which belonged to the attorney, and which belonged to the butcher.
This wasn’t the end of architect Edgar Mathews and the subject of duplicate architectural plans. In May 1914, George Kelham won a $60,000 prize for his proposed drawings for construction of a new million-dollar San Francisco municipal library. Kelham was chief of the department of architecture of the upcoming 1915 Panama Pacific International Exposition, and a well-liked personality.
Mathews, who had also entered the contest, claimed that the plans Kelham had submitted were a replica of those followed in building the Detroit Public Library. Cass Gilbert, architect of the Detroit Public Library, had been one of the three jurors to select Kelham’s plans. Mathews argued that anyone could see the two were so similar it was hard to distinguish one from the other, pointing out columns, arched windows, friezes, and other details that he said were “stolen” by Kelham. Kelham responded, “This talk is childish, and I don’t wish to engage in any controversy.” Mathews provided the San Francisco Library Trustees with drawings of the elevations of the two buildings. As in 1908, two sets of plans were studied, compared and contrasted. The library trustees called the accusation unfounded and dismissed the charges of plagiarism. Mathews and the other architects not chosen still received $1,000 each for their submissions.
The San Francisco Examiner said of Mathews’ defeated claim:
‘The Plagiarized Renaissance Elevation, or the Loot of the Architect’ may be the title of a volume that ultimately will be published by Edgar Mathews, but it will be on the index expurgatorius of the San Francisco Public Library.
A year later, Mathews was asked about the controversy surrounding notorious fellow architect Willis Polk. Polk had designed the First National Bank building at 1 Montgomery Street in San Francisco. In 1921 William H. Crocker intended to expand the building in harmony with the original design, but hired Charles E. Gottschalk for the job, instead of Polk.
On the occasion of the formal reception held at the opening of the addition, Rudolph Spreckels, one of the bank directors, said to Polk, “Isn’t this a peach of a building?” Willis Polk folded his arms and said “I must admit it, since it is the child of my own brain.”
Polk sued the bank directors for $29,750 on the grounds of piracy and plagiarism. (It should be noted that D. H. Burnham was the originator of the plans in 1906, after the earthquake and fire. Burnham gave the designs to Polk who completed the building in 1919.)
Polk eventually lost his case. Mathews, when asked about the situation, replied, “I am not engaging in any public discussion over architecture or architects. It is like the pot calling the kettle black.”
The next day, Mathews expanded his statement:
The past is a mine of wealth from which we all draw — the source of our inspiration. But to deliberately crib from a contemporary artist who has produced a masterpiece after years of toil, study and effort is, plainly speaking… stealing. … Modern architectural geniuses seem to be helpless.
Armond de Courtieux was involved with the courts several times, in business affairs. He failed to pay creditors thousands of dollars owed, in 1910 and 1919, and settled the suits out of court. Also in 1910, Marin’s Judge Lennon decided in favor of de Courtieux in 1910, over the lease of an ice chest.
De Courtieux’s successful business as a wholesale butcher included a stall at the California Market. On September 15, 1911 a warrant was issued for his arrest, after it was alleged that he had registered to vote with his home address as “The Poodle Dog Hotel & Restaurant,” San Francisco, even though it was alleged that he was living in San Rafael. Under election laws, this was a felony carrying the punishment of one to three years in California State prison.
Also charged was young attorney Alfred Lee Atwood, who claimed he resided on Haight Street. Investigators found that house had been vacated, and claimed that Atwood actually lived in Mill Valley. Atwood canceled his registration, surrendered the next morning at the City Prison, posted bail, and said he was “disgusted with the whole thing.”
De Courtieux had the means to post bond, and stated, “My clothing hangs in the closet in room 26 [of the hotel above the Poodle Dog], where I sleep when I am in the city.”
The cases of Atwood and Armand did not go to trial, and an indefinite continuance was granted by a judge, in part because it had been impossible to obtain the necessary paperwork from the Marin County Clerk.
