Robert Venturi’s iconic Chestnut Hill cottage is a pioneer for a new form of housing

David Lockard’s compact, two-story house in Chestnut Hill seemed plenty big enough when he bought it in 2016. Then came the pandemic. His partner, who normally lives in Dallas, decided she would wait things out in Philadelphia. It wasn’t long before their adult children, along with their significant others, were clamoring to join their pod. At the height of the lockdown in 2020, seven people and a dog were hunkered down in the house’s five tiny rooms.

This was not just any small house, mind you. Lockard is the latest person to inhabit what is probably the most famous residence in Philadelphia, the pop art cottage designed by architect Robert Venturi for his mother in 1964 — a work of architecture so significant, it was honored with a U.S. postage stamp.

Since moving in, Lockard has faithfully accommodated himself to Venturi’s vision, arranging his furniture as Venturi suggested, stacking his books in the cases Venturi designed. The billboard-like facade, with its distinctively cleft-peaked roof and wink-wink historical references, remains the exact shade of greenish-gray that Venturi prescribed in the original plans.

Still, during those long months of forced togetherness with his blended family, Lockard, like many American homeowners, couldn’t help dreaming of ways to gain more space. He knew that any addition that involved breaking through a wall or raising the roof was out of the question. Even if Lockard had wanted to mess with the legally designated architectural landmark — which he didn’t — it’s hard to imagine the Historical Commission would allow such tampering.

It turns out there was a simple solution to Lockard’s predicament, and it could provide a template for other Philadelphia homeowners.

» READ MORE: Philadelphia architect Robert Venturi led the rebellion against modernism

Lockard has requested a zoning variance for a second residential structure on his property, a two-bedroom cabin that would be located a discreet distance from Venturi’s icon. Once known as a granny flat or in-law suite, such backyard apartments now go by a more formal, and formidable, name: Accessory Dwelling Unit, or ADU. Although the form has been on the books in Philadelphia since 2012, when the zoning code was revamped, not a single ADU has been built to date, according to Paul Chrystie, a city spokesperson.

That statistic may come as a surprise given all the attention that ADUs have received in recent years. Advocates, like the Philadelphia writer Diana Lind, author of Brave New Home, have argued that ADUs are a necessary response to changes in the way Americans live. With more multigenerational families, more blended families, and more boomerang kids, the basic single-family home no longer suits everyone. Many believe ADUs can make it easier for older people to stay with their families and age in place. They also have a role in creating affordable housing because granny flats and backyard apartments can be a politically palatable way to increase density, especially in suburban areas where rentals are virtually nonexistent. They’ve even gotten a boost from heritage groups like Philadelphia’s Preservation Alliance, which believe the rental income from an ADU can offset the cost of maintaining historic homes.

Maybe because ADUs offer something for everyone, they’ve been relatively uncontroversial, at least compared with other kinds of low-cost housing. So far, 98 of the 350 towns in the Philadelphia metro area have legalized the form, according to a survey conducted by the Delaware Valley Regional Planning Commission. “We were surprised by the number,” Karin Morris, the agency’s director of community planning, told me. Still, it’s not clear how many units have actually been built.

She noted that Portland, Ore., which was an early and enthusiastic supporter of ADUs, has produced very few granny flats so far. Los Angeles, which faces a dire housing shortage, has only just started to see the numbers rise. One of the big challenges, Morris said, is that most lenders don’t have a way to approve mortgages for ADUs, forcing homeowners to finance them with cash or a home equity loan.

Those constraints explain why stand-alone ADUs, like the one Lockard hopes to build, are so rare. Most granny flats are carved into existing structures, like garages, gardener’s cottages, and finished basements. While not officially considered ADUs, you can find apartments in some old carriage houses in Mount Airy and Chestnut Hill. But those were probably approved under the old zoning code, when such properties were zoned as multifamily dwellings. Philadelphia’s ADU law, which was amended in 2020, and again in 2021, is maddeningly complex, which is one reason that Lockard still needs a zoning variance. Four City Council districts restrict the location of ADUs, and two others don’t allow them at all.

Lockard, a lawyer, was hardly expecting to be a housing pioneer when he decided to build his ADU. Even before the pandemic, he and his partner, Jing Ling-Tam, a professional musician, had been trying to figure out how to fit a piano into the Venturi house’s small living room. Lockard was also worried about his 94-year-old mother, who now lives in New Hampshire. And he knew it wouldn’t be long until one of three adult children made him a grandfather.

“This isn’t a great house for little kids,” he said, with a wave at Venturi’s narrow staircase.

With nearly an acre of land, Lockard had plenty of room to build. The challenge was to come up with an 800-square-foot design that didn’t compete with the iconic house. After long discussions with neighbors and architectural historians, the project’s architects, Juliet Fajardo and Donna Lisle, selected a spot at the far corner of the site, next to the driveway, where it won’t interfere with the postcard view of the Venturi house facade.

“We didn’t want the people in the Venturi house to see another Venturi house,” explained Fajardo, and that area “was kind of a dead zone.”

Deferential didn’t mean the structure couldn’t be elegant. Fajardo and Lisle looked to Japanese wooden houses, which are know for their understated details, for inspiration. They settled on a long, low structure, set on a slab, then gave it a gently pitched roof to hide the mechanical systems. On the side facing the garden, they cut in a glass-walled niche that will let light into the main rooms. Keeping with the Japanese aesthetic, they intend to plant a dwarf maple in the opening. The exterior of the ADU will be clad in a grayish New Zealand pine, which should harmonize with the grayish-green facade of the Venturi house.

The ADU’s interior was organized to accommodate the widest variety of people — single adults, couples, small children, and elderly parents. Each bedroom is treated as an independent apartment, with its own bathroom and private entrance. The architects also made the larger bedroom accessible to people with physical disabilities. While the living room is sized for two pianos, the kitchenette is bare bones — just a small fridge and cooktop. Thanksgiving dinners will still have to be prepared in the main house.

Now, Lockard just has to get the project approved. The Historical Commission has already given the Fajardo-Lisle design a thumbs-up. But that’s just the beginning.

If Lockard were simply building a single-family house, it’s likely that no one would have asked him who its occupants would be. But because it’s an ADU, he had to stipulate to the Chestnut Hill Community Association that he would never use it as a short-term rental on Airbnb or other services. Once he made that promise, the project received a warm reception. It still needs to pass two more levels of community association review, however. Then it’s on to the Zoning Board for variances.

Ironically, the project wouldn’t have needed those variances if Venturi had built a garage on the property for his mother back in 1964,since it could easily be converted to an apartment. But Vanna Venturi didn’t drive and didn’t want the expense.

When Lockard started the project, he had no idea he was wading into the great debate on the future of American housing. “It’s been a long process,” he told me with a sigh. “All these administrative hurdles become financial hurdles. I can afford the delays, but it would be nice if ADUs could be developed more expeditiously and less expensively.” There’s no doubt he’s gotten this far because he hired good architects who produced a quality design.

Because of the Venturi house’s renown, Lockard’s project could help raise the profile of ADUs, assuming it’s approved. And, then, this pioneering work of architecture could become a pioneer for a new kind of housing.