Inside Su Casa

By Charles Poling

Bungalows are a world all their own. They’ve even got their own magazine, a fine one, called American Bungalow. As I contemplated assigning a story on Albuquerque’s historic bungalows, I worried they would not fit the prevailing aesthetic upon which we have built Su Casa.

I envisioned the Southwest Style Police swarming in my grand sala, demanding an explanation. Have pity on me—this is the type of thing editors think about.

Admittedly, bungalows are a visible link to an important part of the history of Albuquerque (and Santa Fe, and Roswell, and . . . ). Health seekers from colder, damper climates migrated to the Southwest during the early 20th century in flocks, or possibly droves. Maybe even herds.

Nonetheless, I needed something sturdier than this skinny historical rope to bridge the gap between bungalows and Southwest style.

How about this? The towering godfather of Santa Fe style, John Gaw Meem himself, came to the City Different to recover from tuberculosis.
Okay, now I’ve got a swinging suspension bridge made of vines.

Trouble is, as an imported, non-native architectural form that originated with the British raj in India, the bungalow is typically devoid of the stylistic trademarks that characterize Southwest style. You won’t find vigas or corbels, brick floors or kiva fireplaces, tin roofs or latilla ceilings in your typical bungalow. Yet despite their lack of Santa Fe style ornamentation, bungalows have a deeper connection to this region. In fact, they are an outstanding response to place, the product of human need interacting with local climate and geography.

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With their sleeping porches, vast banks of windows, and emphasis on ventilation, bungalows were ideally suited to the requirements of TB patients for fresh air in the days before air conditioning. Bungalows also conveniently exploited the indoor/outdoor living opportunities here in the mild Middle Rio Grande Valley (a few snowstorms notwithstanding.)

These arguments at least replaced the vines with cable, but I would keep looking for a sturdier crossing.

Then I read a striking sentence—given my frame of mind—in Chris Wilson’s new book, Facing Southwest: The Life & Houses of John Gaw Meem. Wilson notes that “the majority of Santa Fe–style houses in the teens employed the compact, nationally popular bungalow floor plan.”

Eureka! I’d found the concrete bridge I sought.
And we can all be thankful no one coined the term “Puebungalow style” to describe them.
Okay, that’s enough chewing the fat under the shady portal. C’mon inside. The door’s open.

Eureka! I’d found the concrete bridge I sought.
And we can all be thankful no one coined the term “Puebungalow style” to describe them.

Okay, that’s enough chewing the fat under the shady portal. C’mon inside. The door’s open.