Knock, knock . . .
Who’s there: Nick and Carol Sommers, Chico, their Havanese pup, and two cats, Sasha and Peaches.

Funny, I was drawn to this Queen Anne because of its warm mustard paint, meticulous detailing, leaded-glass windows and eyelet-trimmed curtains. It wasn’t until I was walking through the front gate that I spotted the huge cannon in the front yard. Honest.

The 1912 artillery, still owned by the U.S. Navy, is a hint at one of this home’s several lives (it had been an American Legion hall from 1927 to 1972). The Sommers – a Renaissance man and woman in the truest sense — can tell you about each of these lives in fascinating, fact-filled detail. (Please don’t skip The Snoopster’s slide show at the end of this post!!)

But back to the home’s cannon-ization: In the late 1920s, Nick tells me, a Polish-American American Legion Post bought the house to serve as its Legion hall. The Post brought the cannon to its current roost in 1934, and there it has remained (except for a brief tour of duty at Navy Pier during World War II) ever since.

A bunch of other Legion memorabilia had been blessed by being left in the attic and basement to fall into the Sommers’ appreciative hands. A World War I grenade belt, the Legion Post No. 86 flag, the Post’s charter and list of original members (Former U.S. Rep. Dan Rostenkowski’s father was once commander of the post, Nick says.) But the really breathtaking keepsake lives on in the bowels of the home: a room hidden away in the basement that is known as the “Prohibition bar.”

In this golden yellow (and surprisingly sunny thanks to deep window wells) room, a long wooden bar bears the scars of all the folks who leaned up against it while downing that then-forbidden booze. Shelves behind it house alcohol and vintage bottles unearthed when workers were repairing the street a while back.

But when the Sommers discovered this home in 1977, as it approached its 100th year, it was almost what you might call abandoned. And their mission, after many trips to the historical society, became to restore it to how C.H. Plautz, a former Chicago city treasurer, built it. Excavating layers of red linoleum in the halls until they hit the original “wood carpets” (this took more than a year); building a wall that had been knocked out.

Originals still standing: In the front parlor and master bedroom, white marble fireplaces (the downstairs one once was painted to look like fancy wood) remain. Other originals: embossed tin ceilings in the hallway; faux bois shutters in the front parlor; jeweled, beveled and leaded windows also in the front parlor; door hardware.

Enter Renaissance Man (and Woman) restorers: In addition to being well-read, well-traveled and scholarly, both Nick and Carol are self-taught stained-glass artists (“I figured if they could do this in the Middle Ages without a college degree, I could figure it out,” Nick says.) Carol made a window (see above) that reflects their love of music and gardening from bits of glass found in the ground when they took up a sidewalk. Nick made the address-marking transom over their front door and is working on a leaded-glass window for the front hall.

Nick, retired from a career writing for the chemical industry, made a bed for their son, Scott, in the rear bedroom (yes, he assembled it in the room because it was too big to get through the doorways and around the narrow stairway). Carol, who used to run the language department at Lincoln Park High School, did the false graining of woodwork. Nick repiped the original steam heating system (“It took me 30 years to learn how”).

Watercolors of places the worldwide, plein air works done by Carol on her travels (“They’re the best souvenirs,” she says) hang throughout the house. Both play cello and piano; Carol also plays violin and viola and is a gardener, master needleworker and scuba diver(!).

Victorian additions: A working harmonium, typical of Victorian times, bought at an antique fair in the Netherlands (ironically, it was made in York, Pa.). Their not-quite-but-almost Victorian sofa and chair were bought from a guy repairing potholes who recognized their interest in all things Victorian.

They take pride in the fact that they use the house as it was used in Victorian times – the front parlor dressed up for company and filled with things that reflect their travels, their lives. Rugs strategically lie over worn spots in other rugs.

A family museum: An only child, Nick inherited the bountiful Sommers family memorabilia (“My family kept everything,” Nick says as he shows off a framed photo of his grandfather on a zeppelin’s maiden voyage on May 28, 1913, the ticket affixed on the back). Upstairs, a needlepoint sampler Nick’s grandmother, Klara Marx, made when she was a girl hangs near the bathroom. In the living room, a carved-wood eagle stands atop an elaborate post, giving a decorative front to a lectern. It had belonged to Nick’s grandfather and came from Brienz, Switzerland.

A large, framed photograph of Nick’s grandfather, Carl Theodore Herrmann (above), a banker in Baden Baden, Germany, hangs in the front hall.

Collections: “All the stuff we have has some meaning to some trip,” Nick says. “We have very eclectic collections, but we have themes.”

My favorite collection: The pipes in the drawing room. One is a large meerschaum and silver pipe, circa 1870, that belonged to, sit down for this: the doctor who cared for the mistress (French singer Pauline Viardot) of Russian author Ivan Turgenev. C’mon, how do you know that, Nick? The pipe, he says, was a gift from the doctor’s son!

And now: my slide show!

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