SAVING THE ESTATE

The house that Thomas built is falling down.

One hundred and seventeen years of dry rot, termites, mildew, fungi, rats, raccoons, several hurricanes and the hellish Southwest Florida subtropical ether have rent a mighty toll on the finest spruce ever lumbered off Maine and barged up the Caloosahatchee to this Lee County "cow town."

That's how inventor Thomas Alva Edison described Fort Myers when he arrived here by schooner in March of 1885. Still, the New Jersey genius fell in love with a bamboo-wild 13-acre tract on the river a mile from the saloons and cowboys downtown. He purchased the property on the spot, for just under $3,000, ordered up the pre-cut Northern wood, shipped it south and started to build.

"What's Edison Doing?" screamed a headline in the Fort Myers News-Press, which covered the genius' every wink and nod in this city for half a century.

The answer: Edison was hammering tiny Fort Myers and rural Southwest Florida onto the national map.

After all, Tom was already one of the most famous people on Earth-the electrical wizard who had perfected the light bulb, the phonograph, motion picture camera, storage battery and a thousand other inventions-by the time he came to Fort Myers. "Winter Home of Thomas Edison," city signs and brochures soon bragged. Later, billboards added the name and association of automobile magnate Henry Ford, who moved next door in 1916. Energized by such resident icons, the quaint cow town grew into a beautiful Florida burg, a hideaway for a few of the rich and famous, and a popular tourist destination.

Florida's Mount Vernon, it's been called. The crown jewels of Southwest Florida. The Statue of Liberty of Fort Myers. The laid-back "paradise" where the two giants of the American Industrial Age relaxed body and mind. Among Eden-like citrus and tropical palm gardens, with hanging sausage trees dancing in balmy riverside breezes, Ford and Edison smoked cigars and hung out together a few weeks each year, replenishing their genius away from the maddening push to accomplishment that marked the lives of both remarkable men.

Now, this blessed retreat that wintered Edison-Ford family and friends for nearly half a century is in serious trouble. Structural dilemmas abound, especially in the main structures-"Seminole Lodge" (Edison's home) and the adjoining guest house-enabled by an astoundingly nonexistent city maintenance program-have sent embarrassed Fort Myers and Lee County leaders scrambling through a political mire for emergency repair and restoration funds. Stories earlier this year in the News-Press detailed millions of dollars in estate revenues siphoned off into other city funds, inexpertly manipulated by the city stewards of yore-more than five decades of inexcusable neglect and disregard.

In a desperate plea for help to Secretary of State Glenda Hood, Fort Myers Mayor Jim Humphrey used the word emergency seven times: "In short, the homes are in danger of falling down," he said.

The houses that Thomas built had not even been tented for termites. Obvious holes and outside rots were patched inappropriately. Vermin control was relegated to occasional sprinklings of poisonous chlordane on the grounds. Stunned, the Charles Edison Foundation, which owns most of the estate artifacts, threatened to take everything to New Jersey unless the city relinquished control of the estate treasury. The foundation then demanded that a private citizens' group supervise restoration of the estate and its future management.

To do it right, say historic appraisers, carries a price tag in easy excess of $11 million. The goal is to restore the whole complex-nine buildings and a botanical garden-to the look and feel of 1929, when the estate was at its peak: Edison was in his lab conducting rubber research, Ford was next to him testing the V8 motor, and Harvey Firestone, founder of the Firestone Tire and Rubber Co., was hanging out, licking his chops.

"This estate is going to be saved. And it is going to be done right," promises Mayor Humphrey, who risked his political career wresting control of the estate from the city council. A board of trustees-21 leaders and historical experts-was created last summer as the Thomas Edison and Henry Ford Winter Estates, chartered as the new managers of the decaying estate.

An able and experienced museum director, Chris Tenne Pendleton, was assigned the top job. "Private management is the preferred form of governing historic sites and museums," she says, pointing out that other famous estates, such as Monticello and Biltmore. have been privately managed with restoration guidelines for two decades. "In the past we were seen more as an attraction than a historic site, a department of the city that provided revenue for the general fund.."

Supervising architect Linda Stevenson, whose restoration expertise brought back the grandeur of Sarasota's Ringling mansion Ca'd'zan, welcomes the change. "Sure, the architectural setting is subdued compared to Ca'd'zan, but this is a different estate," she says. "The integration of the architecture, the landscaping, the way the site is laid out and the tremendous work Edison personally did on the property is all bundled up together to make this one of the most significant historical sites in the country."

In a corner of one building sits a stack of Edison's wood siding. Pieces of various lengths, some splintered, many caked with paint, are named and numbered. The scarred wood waits for patient men who will use the tools of a surgeon to patch, scrape, refinish, repaint and otherwise shore up each skanky, ratty snippet of siding plank. Then, after structural damage is repaired, the puzzle will be reassembled onto the historic house just like original architect Alden Frank (a railroad designer from Boston) intended.

"That's the original stuff there. If this were a normal house, you'd throw all of that away and replace it with new wood," says Harold Wheeler Sr., historic division manager of Chris-Tel and a restoration contractor at the Edison-Ford estates. "But that would not be historically accurate."

Wheeler warily eyes a worker carrying several non-historical broken boards out to a dumpster. He does not like to see anything thrown away: "Every man who works out here knows our motto: 'We throw the man away before we throw away the board.'"

Such is the anal nature of modern historical restoration. Slow, methodical, intense interest in every detail. Everything catalogued, photographed, protected, restored. Bar codes on all artifacts. Paint peeled back layer upon layer, to discern the color for the restoration year. Searching the world for matching tile. Erring on the side of restoration and conservation rather than replacement. "We are actually using very traditional techniques. Not a lot of high tech going on out there," says Stevenson. "Most everything is hand crafted with absolute attention to detail. It's all about protecting the structure and bringing it up as close as you can to current codes, then concealing the new work, integrating it into the original design with original materials."

"When historical restoration is done correctly, it is a true art," says Barry Flaherty, who has supervised several major restoration efforts on historic structures in St. Petersburg. "From what I can see, this is absolutely being conducted state of the art."

Some things will have to change. Edison's original wiring will remain in the house for "curatorial accuracy," but alongside will be installed modern, up-to-code wiring. (Edison's original Electrolier fixtures, however, will be restored, not replaced.) The buildings will have to be anchored hurricane safe. A fire suppression system will be installed. The restoration must also meet demands of the Americans with Disabilities Act.

Most seriously damaged of the nine estate structures is the guest house, also known as the Gilliland House. Termites have eaten through vertical support beams more than five feet off the ground. In the worst beams, the touch of a finger turns wood to powder. The house was roped off from tours (nearly 300,000 people visit each year) and jacked up to "stabilize the building envelope," in construction jargon. Some 50 raccoons were trapped and removed. Every wooden stud in the house has been replaced, and structural repairs are continuing.

While city leaders debated whom was to blame, who should be in charge and where to get the money, a restoration plan has taken shape. Over the next several years, if the money is available, complete renovations will include the caretaker's cottage (oldest building on the property), the main Edison house, the guest (Gilliland) house, the seawall and dock, the swimming pool/bath house/tea house complex; the botanic lab Ford built for Edison in 1928, Edison's tiny office and the clever concrete cistern Edison designed to provide water for himself and his extensive gardens.

Ford's house, built in 1911 with Lee County heart pine, is not in immediate danger. The auto baron bought the place from its original owner, Robert Smith and it remained occupied and maintained until purchased by Fort Myers in the late '80s. A two-story vernacular country-style bungalow, it was named Mangoes after Ford's favorite tropical fruit. For many years, tours of the two houses were separate; the estates were finally combined in the mid-'90s. After the Edison complex is repaired, says Pendleton, work on Ford will begin. A priority will be obtaining authentic furnishings to replace period copies now on display. "When the time comes, we'll definitely be contacting the Fords," says Pendleton.