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^landings dream house turns into nightmare Film classic puts fu n into home-building mishaps th e sales pitch of an agent named Smith, left (Ian Wolfe), turns out to be most persuasive for Jim and Muriel Blandings (Cary Grant and Myrna Loy). M wdhM M M i WHM Editor's note: This is one in a series on films that depict fictional members of the real estate industry, with comments provided by members of the local real estate community. Bv LEIF WHITMORE__________________ REAL ESTATE WRITER These days, many enter the home-buying process hoping to cash in. The home is where the heart is — as long as it yields an investment return. So, the 1948 comedy “Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House” could be considered a Zeitgeist since it harkens back tot a time when a man built a home on his own blueprint of dreams, sparing no expense. Cary Grant personifies the hapless title character with equal amounts of bright-eyed naivete and dogged patience. A New York City ad exec who makes “$15,000 a year” (quite upper class in 1948 dollars), Jim Blandings decides he and his family have outgrown their “four-room cracker box” in a crowded Manhattan high-rise. Enticed by the lofty visions on a real estate brochure he finds on his desk one day, Blandings believes he should “Come to peaceful Connecticut” where he’ll find his own personal castle. Blandings and his wife Muriel (Myrna Loy) are soon suckered into buying a crumbling, uninhabitable two-story relic left over from the Revolutionary War. Before the film’s halfway mark, they have to tear it down and start build­ing a new home from scratch, while bills from home sales agents, carpenters, architects and structural engineers re­mind Mr. and Mrs. Blandings that a dream home can mutate into a financial nightmare. Ray Landry, Pardee Homes assistant vice president of sales, maintains that the fic­tional Blandings blundered into home buying with the pur­est and best motives. “They bought and built the house for the right reasons,” Landry said. “They did it for their family and their quality of life. That is a house to them, not an investment. Given the changing part of the market in Las Vegas, for example, that is not the case for most buyers. “In the beginning, he was driven by his career to buy the house. But in the end, he i doesn’t even care if he loses ? his job — his house and family are priority.” Before the end credits pop up, Blandings has, in fact| built his dream house. But even Cary Grant’s impeccable comedic timing cannot over* come the maddening frustra­tions that we vicariously expe-j rience with the Blandings. First, Jim and Muriel in­spect their possible new home in Connecticut with “Smith,” a sales agent who “knows aj sucker when he sees one,’* according to the film’s nar­rator (Melvyn Douglas, who also plays the smart-alecky Bill Cole, Jim’s best friend and attorney). Smith injects generous portions of grease into his sales pitch, stating that the home, known as the “old Hackett place,” is part of “American history” since Gen. Gates used to water his horses on the property during the Revolutionary Wan Phis while observing Muriel’s re­actions ever-so-closely, Smith also notes the house is ideal for a “woman’s touch.” And of course, Smith gushes about the tranquility of the property’s nice big haybam, as well as its fruit orchards and trout stream, while emphasiz­ing its 58-minute distance to/ SEE HOUSE PAGE 1 8 M ? Film shorn how not to build m u n s s e 6 a A s e i p u e l e u j n o r - M a j A e y s e 6 a A s e n { 31V1S3 way } S 0 0 £ ' £ £ A j e n u e f V t e p u n s • |AIZ e6e<| ment and growth as an oppor­tunity to make a living selling the eggs and poultry they pro­duced on an infertile-looking patch of caliche in the north­western Las Vegas Valley. Having moved in 1920 to the ftrea now known as Centennial P ills, more than 200 m iles from the nearest major city, they could see in the distance the town of roughly 20,000 that started out more than a dozen miles away slowly grow toward them. “It finally came rolling over thlf hills,” said Bill Gilcrease, which sprouted up as readily as the houses that have since replaced the crop. Gilcrease shows off a photo of him­self and his brother in their younger days — wearing bib overalls, of course — standing in an enormous field of stalks. Their mother, Elda, was a Reno woman who loved city living and hated her first years in Las Vegas, but was not about to walk away from the investment she made of her inheritance. Ultimately, she lost patience with her Gilcrease said. As many after her would discover, Elda Gilcrease found the valley to be an acquired taste and grew to love it. For years, the family scratched but a difficult existence, work­ing their fields during the day and tending to their coops by candlelight. Gilcrease takes a ride from Ms current home at the sanc­tuary, a miniature zoo with llamas, goats, reptiles and thousands of birds large and small, among other critters, to the southern edge of his up with owner Bill i Gilcrease. The orchard, | which is open to the public, sells seasonal fruits and vegetables,! as well as j juice from j apples grown o n -1 site. abandoned structures and a lot of debris. Looking around the site, it appears the brothers never threw out anything. Growing up in the Great Depression, they learned to make what they needed, especially the self-educated Ted, whom his brother said manufactured whatever equipment they needed from whatever parts they had on hand. Offering a back story on the SEE FARM PAGE 1 5 M ? Family owned since 1920