Paint it Black
Stonington, Conn., turned back the British. Can it handle an architect from New Jersey?
By Cathy Alter | Online Only | July 25, 2001
The Borough of Stonington has a long history of defending its turf. The sleepy little peninsula on the southeastern shores of Connecticut sent a fleet of British invaders packing in 1775. Again in 1814, two onshore American 18-pounders managed to extinguish all 160 cannon of a British naval squadron.
Unmellowed two centuries later, Stonington continues to stand its ground, only this time the intruders are from New Jersey. Just a block from Cannon Square, in a residential neighborhood of architecture styles with no apparent rhyme or reason, stands a small clapboard cottage owned by George and Lynn Kimmerle. They want to enlarge and renovate it.
For three years, the Kimmerles, primary residents of Mendham, N.J., have been battling the planning and zoning commission and the Stonington Historical Society over how the couple's plans would alter views from the neighboring 160-year-old Stonington Lighthouse, a beloved granite tower and keeper's cottage that draws thousands of tourists to the area each year. The borough has relied on an arsenal of zoning regulations. The owners have retaliated with untraditional weapons.
The Kimmerles' original plan, submitted in 1998, called for a 30-foot-high addition (the borough's height limit) to the 1,700-square-foot house, reputedly built early last century of lumber salvaged from a burned hotel. It would also introduce a contemporary exterior, most noticeably large windows facing the lighthouse. The commission rejected the Kimmerles' plan, and others were glad of it.
It was "lacking in any kind of aesthetics," insists Michael H. Davis, president of the historical society, which owns the lighthouse. "It just didn't blend in with the community."
When the commission continued to oppose the couple's increasingly scaled-back plans and the historical society solicited donations to oppose them, the Kimmerles responded with something that really stood out. Last fall, they slapped a coat of black latex paint on their house and hung a sign over their fence. It read: "Our decision to paint our home black is an individual and personal expression of the terrible pain and sense of mourning we feel because of the toll that the empowered few of the community have extracted from our lives."
The Kimmerles also paid a Hollywood set designer $5,000 to draft a life-size mural depicting the facade that, if executed, would face the lighthouse. As soon as they draped it over a scaffold, the borough invoked a sign regulation and ordered the trompe l'oeil removed.
The Kimmerles' tactics haven't exactly endeared them to the community. Letters posted on the Web site of the local newspaper, the Stonington Intelligencer, and on the Kimmerles' own www.ctblackhouse.com read like an update of Peyton Place. "How dare you cast your lustful eyes upon our community," begins one, "and then assault us in this unforgivable way."
Many residents consider the New Jerseyites part of a disturbing trend: Wealthy weekenders looking for second residences are buying and tearing down houses once owned by Portuguese fishermen and factory workers. The bigger, more ostentatious houses clash with older properties and often block precious water views. Seasonal residency in the borough has reached 72 percent. "New money is coming in, and the natives are fighting back," declares Robert Baum, who lives in Manhattan during the week and owns a house next door to the Kimmerles.
Last January, after 14 revisions of the Kimmerles' plan, the planning and zoning commission approved a version, with a few stipulations, including a reduced roof height of 25 feet 2 inches. But the dispute isn't likely to end anytime soon.
The reduced height, Baum contends, would still block spectacular views from his glass-fronted third-floor dormer, decreasing his property value. He has appealed the board's approval and is also resurrecting twice-failed efforts to establish a historic district in the borough. "A historic district is needed to preserve the character that attracts people to the borough," Baum says. "You would get a book of rules, and if you find that too restrictive, then don't move to Stonington."
Meanwhile, the Kimmerles press on with lawsuits against the town, the historical society, and Baum. "In Stonington," says George Kimmerle, an architect who owns a firm, "it has less to do with preservation and more to do with the politics of a small community." The couple has no plans to leave town, he says, although construction delays did cause their general contractor to walk. "We have never had any agenda other than to fix up our little house," Kimmerle says. "We're just going to try and go on with our lives."
Perhaps a fresh skirmish will divert Stonington. Architect Philip Johnson, whose modern Glass House lies a stone's throw away in New Canaan, recently presented plans for a new borough fire station. Asked why he would take on such a comparatively minor commission, Johnson reportedly answered, "Because it would be interesting to do something in Stonington."
Cathy Alter is a writer based in Washington, D.C.
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