Where the Famous Slept

While it may not boost your property value, saying that a big name - from Curt Schilling to Barack Obama, Julia Child to Amelia Earhart - once lived in your home brings joys (great cocktail conversation!) and pains (ghosts! tourists on the front lawn!).

Raising five children in a quiet section of Medford, Jim and Betty Owens never expected a call from the National Enquirer. But more than 20 years ago, the supermarket tabloid wanted to conduct a seance in the couple's historic Brooks Street home, a century-old Queen Anne Victorian where Amelia Earhart once lived. With the approach of the 50th anniversary of Earhart's July 1937 disappearance in the South Pacific, an intrepid reporter figured her ghost would be eager to talk. The Owenses weren't so sure.

"I'm thinking, If Amelia's spirit is in this house, she must be happy here and we'll leave her alone, undisturbed," says Betty. "I don't go messing with the other side." Asked what she would do if Earhart's ghost were to reveal itself, Betty laughs and says: "That's fine. We'll welcome her with open arms. And once we clear out her room, we'll let her have her bed back." Friends always ask the Owenses how much the National Enquirer offered for rights to a seance. But the two sides never entered into negotiations. "I told the caller, `We're not interested,' " says Jim.

Since buying the former Earhart residence in 1970, the Owenses have become proud protectors of the famous pilot's legacy. They keep a framed portrait of her in the front hallway, file away copies of old Earhart newspaper articles, and remain ready with Earhart anecdotes for curious visitors. Despite Jim's job as director of the National Archives Northeast regional office and Betty's as a librarian, the Earhart history was not a selling point when the couple first toured the four-bedroom, 2,200-square-foot house. They purchased the property because it fit the needs of their growing family, and the $23,500 price tag was hard to beat. Over the years, however, Betty says that she has felt "an occasional vibe" from Earhart and that the aviatrix's independent, feminist spirit has certainly influenced her and her four daughters.

In history-rich Boston and its suburbs, some realtors and owners hope the former home of a pop-culture figure, poet laureate, or professional athlete will attract buyers willing to pay a premium - especially in a slow real estate market. The Cambridge Historical Commission regularly sees realtors researching a property's history, looking for a famous connection. A place on Beacon Hill might draw more interest if Sylvia Plath or Louisa May Alcott once lived there. And the owners of Barack Obama's former Somerville digs on Broadway may soon find themselves in an apartment more marketable than originally thought.

Yet, in most cases, a famous former owner or resident doesn't raise the value or asking price of a particular property. For local assessors and appraisers, calculations are based strictly on the property and the market, not former, current, or future owners. While the current owners of these properties may not reap financial benefits, they certainly find another kind of value, the kind that inspires George Washington-slept-here claims and entertaining cocktail conversation. An incalculable cachet can come with hosting a dinner party at Julia Child's former Cambridge home, or watching Bette Davis movies with friends at the screen legend's Lowell birthplace, or writing at the Hyannis home that Jack Kerouac shared with his mother. But there are drawbacks: Owning these homes can be a pain come renovation time. Do you dare remodel the office where Robert Frost once wrote, or change the facade of a famous architect's residence? And a former famous resident may draw unexpected visitors. The owners of a home with a celebrity connection must be prepared for both the occasional ghost hunter and, more commonly, tourists with cameras or teachers with students in tow.

WHEN FORMER RED SOX SLUGGER MANNY RAMIREZ placed his penthouse condo at the Ritz-Carlton on the market for $6.9 million in late 2005, he created a media frenzy. It later came off the market and currently is not for sale. But the attention the property initially garnered was more than welcome. Despite Ramirez's testy and unpredictable relationship with reporters during his time in Boston, his real estate agent invited the press for tours of the property. While "Manny slept here" might not offer the same appeal as that of a celebrity with a stronger and longer connection to the area, his name still attracts the kind of attention that increases the pool of potential buyers. Ultimately, the true value of famous former owners may be the buzz created when one of their properties goes on the market. A recognizable name can help a property stand out from a crowd of similar or similarly priced homes.

Realtor Jeffrey Goldman, listing agent for Julia Child's former Cambridge home, calls the years the famous chef lived at 103 Irving Street and filmed her cooking show there "an interesting footnote" for potential buyers. That footnote didn't help sell the 1889 home in 2003 after a complete renovation, when it sat on the market for 16 months before going for $3.755 million, almost $1 million below asking. Currently, it's on the market for $4.15 million because of size, location, and move-in condition - not because Child and famed Harvard philosopher Josiah Royce once lived there.

Still, the marketing brochure for the clapboard folk-Victorian home features an article about the renovated kitchen and a letter from the Josiah Royce Society offering to pay for a historical marker, in addition to the usual photographs and floor plans. Seeking to further capitalize on ties to Child and Royce, the listing agent publicized the property at culinary institutions and through Harvard connections. "Julia Child's house was certainly marketed as being her house," says Cambridge Historical Commission executive director Charles Sullivan. "I guess there'd be bragging rights to being able to say you were cooking your quiche in Julia Child's kitchen, even though her actual kitchen was taken out and moved to the Smithsonian."

Despite using Child's name while marketing the home, Goldman points out that he can't rely solely on that. "We're definitely marketing to the general population that is interested in a 6,000-square-foot home" near Harvard Square, he says. "The buyers that are coming to us are coming because they're looking for a specific real estate product, regardless of the prior owners' status. That is truly the bottom line. There's interesting history there, but at the end of the day, I don't think the house will be sold as a result of that history."

Former Patriots quarterback Drew Bledsoe would probably agree. He placed his Medfield mansion on the market for $9 million but accepted $4.5 million from Red Sox pitcher Curt Schilling in 2003. The property went back on the market for $8 million earlier this year, generating lots of attention and gossip but no buyer yet.

In fact, a famous former owner sometimes can deter a potential buyer. Deborah and Randall Boles loved the pink Victorian with mint-green and ivory trim on Chester Street in Lowell as soon as they saw it. The original woodwork and Tiffany chandelier only intensified their desire to buy the house. But a prominently displayed plaque beneath a front-facing second-floor window made the couple hesitate. The historical marker announced that the Victorian was the birthplace of Bette Davis. The Boleses worried the two-family house might be listed on the National Register of Historic Places. If that was the case, the couple thought they would be asked to make costly changes to restore the house to its original single-family splendor. But once they learned the property was not registered, they jumped at the opportunity to buy it five years ago for $365,000.

At the closing, their realtor gave them three Davis movies to watch in the home. "Our realtor said, `How cool will it be to sit in the living room of your Bette Davis house, watching Bette Davis films?' " says Deborah. "It was kind of surreal. The lights are dimmed. We're sitting in the room with the beautiful chandelier, and we're watching a movie of Bette Davis, going, `I wonder what she would think of this?' " Long past their initial reservations about owning a home linked to a screen legend, the Boleses treasure the property's history, particularly the craftsmanship dating to the 1890s. They invited a crew from Turner Classic Movies into their home and eagerly learned more about Davis during the filming of a biopic.

But other owners might not embrace their property's claim to fame as easily. Realtor Bob Crocker wryly and somewhat rhetorically asks, "If you're a Republican, are you going to have any interest in Tip O'Neill's house?" Maybe not. Or, offers Crocker, "Let's say a house had been owned by a famous architect. Would you feel the need to keep the house as it was? Would you feel as though you need to preserve it, or fix it up for yourself?" The fine line between caretaker and owner can be difficult for some to negotiate, especially if buying a home connected to a famous person was not part of the original plan. Although the Boleses outgrew the first-floor unit on Chester Street with the birth of two sons, they were not ready to part with the property or pay the price to return the home to a single-family residence. Instead, they decided to rent the first- and second-floor apartments to tenants, and they stay connected to the house's history though they no longer live there.

WHILE DESIGNING AND OVERSEEING THE down-to-the-studs renovation of Child's home, architect Shelly Wood Ziegelman read Appetite for Life: The Biography of Julia Child. "Reading about her life informed the whole process," says Ziegelman. "She was such a progressive spirit that our design approach embraced change." Child left a house that was historic and grand but devoid of architectural detail and flow. She had placed a first-floor bathroom near the entryway, greeting visitors as soon as they arrived. She also had installed an elevator shaft in the kitchen for her husband, Paul, who could not go up and down stairs. The elevator essentially cut off the famed kitchen from the backyard. Additionally, there was a third-floor apartment reached by an exterior stairway. Ziegelman returned the home to a traditional single-family, created an open, airy interior fit for entertaining, and adopted a European, modern aesthetic in the remodeled kitchen and bathrooms.

"Some people criticized that, but Julia would have been open to that," says Ziegelman. "She's not the type of person who would have gone back in history. She'd go forward. . . . It was important that the kitchen be a very functional, very practical cook's kitchen, not a museum kitchen. We design many kitchens where the homeowners don't cook, but it has to look good. We tried to create something that was incredibly functional as well as beautiful, something that would serve a lot of people for a house that would be welcoming and good for entertaining. Those were things Julia would have wanted, but also things that anyone else that loves people and food would want, too."

Architects and contractors involved with homes where famous people once lived often must help owners establish a balance between a respect for history and a need for practicality. Vestiges from the past like low ceilings, small rooms, multiple hallways, massive chimneys, and obtrusive decorative flourishes usually diminish a property's appeal. The way people lived yesteryear or even yesterday is not the way people live today. So, the space-sapping built-in bookshelves along two walls of Robert Frost's Cambridge study were removed, the bulky marble sink once used by Earhart in a firstfloor powder room now sits in a corner of the basement, and view-obstructing Greek columns that once flanked the front door of the Beacon Hill home of renowned architect Asher Benjamin are gone. "One has to take a deep breath, sit down, and live with the issue," says Patrick Hickox, whose firm, Hickox Williams Architects, handled the Benjamin house remodel. "Then one can experiment with different scenarios of what might be a way of respecting the former character, use, or habitation of a house. How does one retain the best character of a building? It's not assuming that anything is absolutely sacred." Even an ardent preservationist like Sullivan, who has recommended Hickox for jobs on historic homes, sees the need for change. "You can't put too many demands on a property owner," he says. "I'm a firm believer that houses have to be adaptable to modern conditions."

Ziegelman believes Child's storied kitchen belongs in the Smithsonian. In the absence of the kitchen, with its aqua cabinets and pans outlined on pegboard, the architect felt her creativity freed inside the home. And it is the interior where new owners typically take the most passionate interest in remodeling. They often want a happy compromise between a historic facade with period detail and a modern arrangement of space inside. "Many times, in terms of interiors, they're concerned with the functionality of the space," says Don Foote, the contractor who handled the Child renovation. "Interior-wise, people are more interested in making the house work for them as a social space as much as a working space. Kitchens used to be just a working space; now they're social spaces." Fittingly, the only culinary memento kept from Child's time are the simple pine wine racks in the basement with Paul's handwritten notes on different vintages.

WARREN "RENNY" LITTLE plunges headlong into a third-floor closet at his Cambridge town house, rummaging through dry-cleaning and winter coats for hidden treasure. "Wait a minute, wait a minute. That's it," he says. Little emerges from the closet with a small black vest covered in plastic, a piece of a larger coat-and-tails ensemble. He peels away the plastic and bends back a corner of the vest to reveal a J. Press clothing label. It reads: "Robert Frost 3/26/57." Little believes the vest was worn when Frost recited the poem "The Gift Outright" at the John F. Kennedy presidential inauguration in January 1961. When Little and his wife, Jean, moved into the former Frost residence on Brewster Street in 1994, it was virtually unchanged from the poet's 22-year stay. The intervening owner, the Flanders family, spent little money renovating the home. When the Littles arrived, a large wood stove and 1957 refrigerator remained in the kitchen, a coal bin stood in the basement, and two impractically narrow bathrooms were located on the second floor. Frost's secretary had had a bathroom with shower installed because Frost had difficulty climbing into a ball-and-claw tub during his later years. Little found a suitcase with Frost's formalwear on the third floor, a thank you letter from a Midwestern college behind bookshelves removed from Frost's study, and keys to classrooms at the Bread Loaf Writers' Conference at Middlebury College, where Frost taught.

New owners often hope to discover the kind of treasures Little found scattered throughout the former Frost residence. Deborah Boles uncovered a pair of old boxed baby shoes tucked away in a corner of the attic and still wonders if they belonged to Davis. "There's definitely a part of you that thinks about stuff like that when you go up into the attic," says Deborah. For the Owenses, the real treasure was living across the street from Earhart's younger sister, Muriel, until she passed away in 1998. From a nearly three-decade-long friendship with Muriel, the Owenses gained a wealth of knowledge about Amelia Earhart. They learned a detached garage was built next to their home for Earhart's Kissel sports car, nicknamed the "Yellow Peril," and they heard how much President Franklin Roosevelt cared for Earhart. When talking about rumors Earhart was shot down for spying on the Japanese, Betty Owens recalls: "My friend Muriel denied that she was ever a spy. She told me that Eleanor and Franklin were too fond of Amelia to put her in any kind of danger." Betty still keeps the notes on her conversations with Muriel in her Earhart collection. "In no way, shape, or form can we claim the legacy," she says, "but we're students of the legacy."

Since purchasing his house, Little, a retired museum administrator and educator, has become a Frost aficionado. "You have to be for a number of reasons," he says. "People do stop and come up, from one person wandering around and seeing the sign, to whole groups of students. If I catch them, I stop and talk about the house." But it is the quieter moments inside that give Little the greatest thrill. He has listened to a record of Frost reading his most well-known poems in the same sitting room where it was recorded. For a historian, it was a unique and priceless experience, a kind of time travel where two lives could overlap. Betty Owens enjoys standing in front of the fireplace where Earhart composed the poem "Courage," reciting the opening line. In some ways, Owens and Little are creating a sense of shared experience with the famous people who once lived in their homes. But poetry is not required.

"Anybody who lives there for any period of time and has a major life change go on, you're also building your own history in that house," says Deborah Boles. "It becomes a house of many histories."

Shira Springer is a Globe reporter who writes enterprise and investigative sports stories. E-mail her at springer@globe.com.