And to think that I saw it on Mt. Vernon Street

Dr. Seuss's classic tale of a boy who balloons his imagination to inflate "a plain horse and wagon on Mulberry Street" into a grandiose procession parading down the street to beat the band is quite applicable to a recent scoop about a building I once lived across the street from. Only this time the inflation is real—regarding property values, price, and space.
 

A spiffy, spacious condo in this 1917 Georgian Revival building at 39-41 Mt. Vernon St. sold for $5.5 million, the highest offer for a Boston home the week of July 21, 2019. To boot, its pre-construction penthouse broke Beacon Hill's condo record on July 2: $15.11 million. All including 24-hour concierge, doorman, elevator, and valet parking. And to think that I faced this building from my bedroom getting up for school every morning and eyed penny-loafered girls arriving to work at its columned central archway—which symbolized career aspiration and literary tradition then but denotes nouveau riche now! Back then it housed Houghton Mifflin (HM), one of three nearby book publishers (Little Brown and Beacon Press were the others) intellectually inspiring all ilks of Bostonians from Brahmin to break-even (the Hill's demographics then), particularly with their curbside disposals of book proofs, overstocks and discards, which I scooped up eagerly.

Now, rechristened Maison Vernon to reflect its new use and target clientele, its entry has been fancily retrofit with the twirling topiary, brand-name banner, cast-iron grillwork, striped herringbone marble flooring and détails classiques befitting the haute couture française that inspired its overhaul. Regardez:

The arts décoratifs of its seven luxury floor-through flats encompass authentique French oak herringbone floors, handcrafted Français inspiré plaster moldings, and even Sélection Maison Vernon, an assortiment of wines and liqueurs "exclusively sourced in France for Maison Vernon residents," as its website boasts.

Architects Meyer & Meyer boast the equivalent on their site: "Maison Vernon simultaneously embodies the essence of historic Beacon Hill in its grandeur of yesterday, today and tomorrow. The result is seven iconic residences which we hope to leave as the new reference of Bostonian elegance.”

Yes, they've splendidly infused the interior with the classical spirit of the façade, for the outside-to-inside continuity that Houghton Mifflin's cramped offices, fluorescent lights, and piles of books awaiting shipment (or disposal) didn't allow. But this is hardly the "grandeur of yesterday" of my youth, when we lived a few doors down at 61 Mt. Vernon St. for two years in the early '70s, and later at 6 Joy St., where my parents ended up living for 20 years, and I for 17, right across Mt. Vernon from the future Maison Vernon.

First built c.1850 (as its curlicued cast-iron gate and rails with granite posts and frames signify), No. 61 was rebuilt in Beacon Hill bowfront style around World War I to accommodate five French flats extending back to Pinckney Street. This yielded the ease of one-level townhouse living without the stair-climbs traditional rowhouses entailed (further mitigated by an Otis elevator and a dumbwaiter).

But this commodity came at a price for us. Though splashed with some of Maison Vernon's delicate detailing, our first-floor condo unit had its share of spatial compromises: Two dark parallel corridors connected the foyer and kitchen with the back bedrooms, having little more use than to get us from point A to point B.

Still, this was Beacon Hill. And I had an additional rare privilege: two sizable bedrooms, courtesy of the old servants' corridor that accessed my colorfully painted, pompon-festooned "circus room" en route from the kitchen through my father's home office to the hall that accessed an unused library, my parents' bedroom, and my larger, brighter Pinckney Street bedroom.

From there, stories spun before me, from pleasing – seeing my first crush, my neighbor Celia, tomboyishly sporting a football jersey – to pathetic. The latter was as downbeat as the rain that fell on the little brother–big sister row I witnessed from my window: "I'm gonna tell Mommy on you!" "Oh? What are you going to say?" He screeched something like "Shut up!" She ran off, leaving him walking in the rain, bawling, with no head covering. I wanted to cry for him.

And I really cried, on two occasions: when my father announced we were moving up the street to a rent-controlled apartment at Joy and Mt. Vernon, and when its deferred maintenance woke me up in horror one night (more about that later). Dad explained that this cheaper situation would enable us to "afford more things, like the Encyclopedia Britannica" – which we hardly ever used when we got it, but at least he could now afford to send me to college. After all, his architecture career had tanked when he was fired from three jobs, forcing us to move to bargain digs.

Our first-floor two-bedroom apartment at 6 Joy St. was in the Lyman-Paine Mansion, built in 1824 from an odd-windowed Greek Revival design by Alexander Parris. And it had all the looks of Boston Brahmin nouveau riche: varnished woodwork, a working fireplace, crown moldings, a private bath for each bedroom...

...and a vast, beautiful back yard, enriched with a honey-locust tree, daylilies, a garden plot, a garden wall, lilac shrubbery, chirping birds, Beacon Hill views all around, and free parking in the cobblestoned Mt. Vernon Place along the fence.

Plus an ideal corner location: brisk walks to the Boston Common and Downtown, two public transit lines, the West End Library, and shopping on Charles Street. All for a meager $725/month, all utilities included. This situation fooled a lot of people into thinking we had it all, but, as I mentioned, a major stumbling block came with the territory: deferred maintenance.

We had a bad landlord, Ralph, that my father frequently complained about but took little legal action against, fearing eviction and being too proud of this "bargain Brahmin" situation. The reality of its slum conditions struck me like falling debris when a leaking downspout right outside my bedroom woke me up one night.

So I confronted Dad about Ralph. Dad revealed everything: The illegal pied-à-terre Ralph kept next door. The illegal workshop his handyman, "old bleary-eyed Brendan," ran in the basement. The time Ralph had badgered my mother and left her in tears. The polite but unanswered requests for upkeep Dad had sent Ralph over a year.

To top it all off, Dad had to turn the boiler on manually every morning because it didn't work automatically. And Ralph had sent us an eviction notice in retaliation for providing evidence in a housing court hearing that our market-rent upstairs neighbors (their living room, left) had arranged for him because of the boiler and other deferred maintenance.

The list went on and on. And Dad hadn't told me diddlysquat about any of it. And he had kept us there. Because it was a bah-gain, in Boston jah-gon.

Now I was in tears. Which finally convinced Dad to send Ralph to housing court. Some but not all of the work was done. But I was crying just as much over Dad's decision to sell our condo as I was over him letting Ralph get away with so much criminal activity. Now I would have no real estate – let alone Beacon Hill real estate – to inherit.

Besides, we were "fake rich," giving the impression of Beacon Hill wealth without owning the property, and being at the mercy of a slumlord. Of course, this bargain-basement fantasy ended when rent control was barely voted out by popular ballot in November 1994, sending my parents packing, with still no prize real estate to pass onto me. 

(Dad had a shot at that when Ralph lost the building to foreclosure. But Dad didn't act fast enough; Ralph's wife bailed him out and he got the building back, slum property and all.)

Photo courtesy of the City of Boston Archives

Consequently, Mt. Vernon Street had much more for me to cry for. A few more doors down what Henry James deemed "the only respectable street in America" is the stately second home of Boston lawyer, statesman and grandee Harrison Gray Otis at No. 85. Designed by Charles Bulfinch in 1802, it was the last of the freestanding Federal mansions the Mount Vernon Proprietors had conceived for Beacon Hill until rising land values made rowhouses the norm of the neighborhood. 

The well-proportioned beauty of the house's tall living-room windows, Corinthian pilasters, oriental cast-iron balcony fretwork, classical balustrade, octagonal cupola and cobblestoned entrance court made me envy David, the schoolmate who had the privilege of playspace unlimited. Nor did I feel he deserved it, after the time he taunted me and stuck a piece of tape on my knapsack as I passed by on the way home from our school.

Another enclave of envy was here at No. 87-89, first built in 1805 by Bulfinch, and demonstrative of the gradual mansion-to-rowhouse transition that evolved Beacon Hill as its land values increased. No. 87, the only remaining Bulfinch original, echoes No. 85's diminishing fenestration according to the importance of the rooms on each floor. Its bracketed lintels (also used on Otis's third home on Beacon Street) add touches of class that befit the intellectual depth of its occupant, the Colonial Society of Massachusetts.

No. 89 was rebuilt in brownstone in the 19th century and redesigned in brick in 1925 to make it more "Beacon Hill." At first I was fooled into thinking it was a Hill original; the giveaways of its age are the anachronistic lintel arches, the equality of the window sizes on the top two floors, and the three-door garage, designed for the unheard-of in the Hill's heyday: the automobile.

Which made it an ideal setting for the aptly titled but ineptly scripted 1975 TV series, Beacon Hill. Modeled on Upstairs, Downstairs, this short-lived show concerned an upperclass family, the Lassiters, at the time of Prohibition in the 1920s, and their up-and-down relations with their servants, with whom they shared a common Irish heritage, slightly narrowing the caste gap.

The evening the show debuted, my other upstairs neighbor Chris was staying overnight with a friend nearby, which put Chris in the right place at the right time to be a handful of Beacon Hill residents interviewed by The Boston Globe on their reactions to the show. With the unusually effete eloquence for an 8-year-old only child I envied him for, Chris told the Globe that the characters were "a boring class of people who don't get on with each other." ("Did TV find 'Beacon Hill'?", The Boston Globe, August 26, 1975) Which may have made him a spokesman for the Hill's viewers in general, for the show was canceled after 11 of its 13 episodes.

And now, as a correspondent for Boston Homes magazine who writes about pricey luxury properties for sale in Boston, I can't say that I can find Beacon Hill either—because I can no longer afford it.

Thank you for visiting. I welcome your comments!

Sources:

"A historic stroll through Boston's Beacon Hill," Beyond The Miles Travel Blog, November 9, 2020, https://beyondthemilestravelblog.com/2020/11/08/a-historic-stroll-thru-bostons-beacon-hill/

"Beacon Hill (1975) Forgotten Television," Balladeer's Blog, March 20, 2025, https://glitternight.com/2025/03/20/beacon-hill-1975-forgotten-television/

Bilis, Madeleine, "On the Market: A Mind-Blowing Penthouse on Beacon Hill," Boston Magazine, July 21, 2016, https://www.bostonmagazine.com/property/2016/07/21/beacon-hill-penthouse-otm/

Grissom, James, "The short life of 'Beacon Hill,' as told in the pages of The New York Times," Facebook, June 24, 2026, https://www.facebook.com/FolliesofGod/posts/the-short-life-of-beacon-hill-as-told-in-the-pages-of-the-new-york-timesbeacon-h/1568755095261560/

Hall, Elton W., "87 Mount Vernon Street," Colonial Society of Massachusetts, 2017, https://www.colonialsociety.org/House

Katz, Marni Elyse, "Luxury in the City: What you can get for nearly $7 million-plus," The Boston Globe, updated January 15, 2025, https://www.bostonglobe.com/2025/01/15/real-estate/luxury-in-city-boston-7-million-plus/

"Lyman-Paine Mansion // 1824," Buildings of New England, December 26, 2025, https://buildingsofnewengland.com/2025/12/26/lyman-paine-mansion-1824/

"Maison Vernon," digital brochure, https://maisonvernon.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/07/MV-Brochure-Digital.pdf

"Maison Vernon," Meyer & Meyer Architects, https://meyerandmeyerarchitects.com/project/maison-vernon/

"Second Otis House, 85 Mount Vernon Street," Historic New England, https://otis.house/deepzoom/second-harrison-gray-otis-house-85-mount-vernon-street/

Speed, Kellie, "Quick Hits Boston: A Haute Look Inside Maison Vernon," Haute Living, April 7, 2017, https://hauteliving.com/2017/04/quick-hits-boston-a-haute-look-inside-maison-vernon/632262/

Tyler, Ralph, "CBS's 'Beacon Hill,' " The New York Times, November 16, 1975, https://www.nytimes.com/1975/11/16/archives/cbss-beacon-hill-the-making-of-a-lemon-beacon-hill-the-making-of-a.html