Mark B. Perry Screenwriter & Novelist

Gather round with the beverage of your choice. I have a story to tell. A story about family. A home. Legacy. Tradition. And transition.

My friends know, and those who’ve been to my home can attest, there are two inanimate objects I love with an unexplainable passion, both proudly on display in the same space. The 1950s era ocean liner the SS United States, and my home in the Los Feliz neighborhood of Los Angeles. I love this house almost as much as I love my husband, my family, and my friends, and for the past 25 years I’ve joked that the only way I’ll ever move is when they carry me out in an oblong box. I am writing a short memoir about the house and its history, so I won’t go into those details here, but I want to share a little tidbit—an amuse-bouche, if you will.

I bought this house in 1999. It was the first place the realtor showed me when I told her I was looking for an older home in the area. I didn’t mention my love of art deco or my ship collection or any criteria other than “something that hasn’t been badly ‘Home-Depoted’ over the years.” The first home she showed me turned out to be the last, and was such a new listing no sign was yet posted in the yard. It was built in 1938 by Dr. Clyde Emery, an oncologist, and his wife Edith who was a college English teacher. They raised two sons, Clyde and Cedric, in the house, which is a streamline moderne style designed by a man named Louis Dixon in consultation with the very famous machine age designer Richard Neutra. Dr. Emery lived in the house until he passed in the early ’90s then interim owners bought it and made only a few modifications but mercifully nothing drastic. In the wake of their breakup, I entered the front door and knew instantly I was home. I remember working to hide my enthusiasm and play blasé because I didn’t want the seller to know I would have paid anything to live there. If you’ve read my novel And Introducing Dexter Gaines, you might recognize some of the house’s details I wrote into producer Milford Langen and his movie star wife Lillian Sinclair’s fictional moderne mansion in Hancock Park. Such as the steel fireplace mantel with a milk glass surface that lights up from underneath, and the outrageous streamline banister I’ve dubbed the “Fred A-staircase” because it looks like a perfect setting for one of his tap dance numbers. The architecture is evocative of the great liners of the 20^th century, so you get the idea.

To boot, it had a pleasant vibe and felt like a happy home. A place that has always been filled with love. I was the first to make an offer and was over the moon when it was accepted. The minute escrow closed, restoration began with the greatest reverence for the original period details and fixtures (all of which were presumably designed by Dixon in consultation with Neutra).

My neighbors and cherished friends, Jillian and Bill, have lived across the street for many years and were quite fond of the Emerys. In fact, Jillian told me Dr. Emery was like a surrogate father to her. She still gets a little crack in her voice when she speaks of him. Shortly after I’d moved in, around 2000 or so, she told me she knew the family would be thrilled to hear someone was really taking care of the house, and asked if she might invite them to come up and see the work I had done. I enthusiastically agreed and a few weeks later, Clyde Emery, Jr. and his lovely wife Nona appeared on my doorstep along with his step-mom, a sprightly 90-something named Gay who had been the doctor’s last wife and lived in the house with him until his death.

Clyde Jr. marveled at seeing his childhood home again, and paid me the highest compliment imaginable. “You know, my dad absolutely loved this house and put so much thought into the design and construction down to the fussiest details. And I want you to know there is nothing you’ve done here that he wouldn’t’ve smacked himself in the forehead and said ‘why didn’t I think of that?!’” He told me a lot about the house’s history, and it was obvious he loved it probably even more than I do.

I’m happy to say we stayed in touch and emailed periodically. He’s the one who told me the original furniture was designed by Neutra and that the architect had consulted with Neutra on the plans, along with some other fascinating details and stories.

I’m hoping it’s clear by now I’m crazy in love with this house, so I was hesitant to write and tell Clyde Jr. I’d just last year made the decision to downsize and sell, but he’s quite the pragmatist and understood. I’ll be looking for a kindred spirit buyer who’ll respect the place, but the time has come for Mark and me to downsize and settle into cozier digs for Act Three. As I said, I’m writing a short history (with tons of photos) and will have some amazing stories to tell, but for now, if you’re still reading, you have all the context you need to understand just how magical yesterday turned out to be.

Clyde Jr. recently turned 90, and his daughter-in-law Heidi got in touch with Jillian and made a very special request. She was wondering if Jillian would ask me if we’d join the Emery family for brunch at a nearby restaurant, then allow the family to come and visit their patriarch’s childhood home. I enthusiastically agreed. Again!

And oh boy, am I glad I did.

Lunch was an hilarious family circus. Clyde and his brother Cedric and most of their kids and grandkids were there, 15 of us total. The Emerys are casual and love telling stories on each other and poking fun and Jillian, Mark, and I felt the warmth of being included. In fact, we were also asked to wear custom tee shirts they’d made in honor of the occasion. It was obvious this is a tight-knit family infused with love and humor.

After lunch, we moved the party to my/their house. Only Clyde’s sons had seen the place before, so the grandchildren and their spouses were experiencing it for the first time. Their reactions to seeing what their very cool great-grandparents had created together were a joy to witness. I’d printed out a bunch of photos I’d scanned years ago of the house in its Emery heyday (thanks to Clyde’s late wife Nona who trusted me with a family album). Many of these they hadn’t seen before.

Jillian and I supplied the birthday cake, and after we sang to Clyde (for the second time, the first at the restaurant over a candlelit brownie), I gave tours and let folks wander freely and take as many pictures as they wanted.

I got to tell them all my favorite stories—and there’s one very true (and jaw dropping) tale in my repertoire about patio furniture of all things that left them speechless. Clyde’s granddaughter Hallie, who couldn’t hide her adorable excitement over my kitchen because she loves “vintage stuff,” showed me the goosebumps on her arms. (And don’t ask me about the story because I’m saving it for the book.)

They wanted to know about my ocean liner obsession which isn’t exactly hidden, and without prompting asked me to show them my favorite piece. I warned them it was a bit naughty, then mischievously retrieved an item from my beloved SS United States and told the tale resulting in exactly the big long laugh I’d hoped for. The Emerys made me feel like George Carlin on a good night.

Then Clyde called his family into the living room and said he had some things he wanted to impart from the perspective of a 90-year-old. He’d even brought visual aids along. We all settled in and placed a chair (from the SS United States Cabin Class Smoking Room) underneath the “observation lounge” sign so Clyde could hold court. I’m so happy I thought to record the whole thing. He was funny, self-deprecating, loving, and at times emotional as he talked about his childhood in the house, including stories of being friends with Walt Disney’s daughters. The Disney house is still a short walk down our street, a gorgeous Tudor style mansion, historic landmark, and neighborhood showplace. He told us about a man who had lived catty-corner across the street (also named Walt, but not Disney), who was an animator at Disney Studios, and Clyde Jr. and his brother Cedric were invited to test screenings of the studio’s newest animated movies because Walt Disney wanted to know how children would respond. Just imagine! He went on to share more about his parents, his late wife, and even revealed a couple of “family secrets.”

When he was done and I stopped recording, I was surprised to see he’d spoken for just over an hour, and we’d all lost track of time in the simple beauty of his stories.

This house, an artist’s creation of wood, stucco, and metal was again infused with the alchemy that makes a home. As the day dwindled and the family braced for long drives home, Jillian asked Clyde if it felt strange to return to the place where he grew up. He smiled and said, “Not really. Because as much as we loved this house, it was only our home when the family was here. That’s what makes a home.”

I’ve been sad about a lot of things lately. The loss of both my parents, the loss of a decades long dream to see my beloved SS United States repurposed and restored above the water, and now the looming transition from this house. I don’t know what I was expecting from yesterday, but what I got was some much-needed, unexpected, and profound closure. Almost as if I’d been given permission to relinquish my position as curator of its legacy to someone new. And hopefully, someone who’ll love it as much as I do. Good news is, I’ll be gaining a new home where I’ll spend the rest of my days with Mark, and we’ll be just down and across the street so I can still keep an eye on what will always be the Emery/Perry house.

To the Emery family: I feel so blessed to know this place I cherish brought us into each other’s lives. To everyone: Hug your friends and family. Tell them you love them. Life is a glorious but all too short ride, and we only have each other to stay buckled in. Enjoy the photos. I sure do.