End Of The Line -- This 750-Square-Foot Cottage Looks The Same As It Did When It Was Built 85 Years Ago

IN 1907, THE SEATTLE Electric Company introduced streetcar service between downtown Seattle and Fauntleroy, providing frazzled urbanites with a bucolic refuge just 45 minutes from downtown. According to legend, the streetcar's first conductor, W.C. Fonda, used to holler "end o' line" as he approached the turnaround near 45th Southwest and Southwest Roxbury. The name stuck, and to this day, the neighborhood is known as "Endolyne."

Among the summer homes that sprang up around the streetcar terminus was a modest structure that now belongs to Christian Grevstad, an interior designer, and Terry Draheim, the co-owner of a wholesale furniture showroom.

Dwarfed by the more contemporary houses surrounding it, the 750-square-foot cottage looks much the same as it did when it was built 85 years ago. A broad front porch laced with wisteria and clematis overlooks the street, while a towering river-rock chimney anchors the sunny south wall around the corner. Casement windows bracketed by multipaned borders afford panoramic vistas of Puget Sound and the Olympics from nearly every room.

Inside, the rustic plank wainscoting and river-rock fireplace are offset by refined European furnishings, suggesting the faded elegance of an old Russian dacha. Given its two tiny bedrooms, single bathroom and lean-to kitchen (that really leans), the house might feel claustrophobic were it not for the spacious room at its center.

"It's a small house with a large space," observes Grevstad, scanning the 19-by-19-foot room that serves as a living, dining and work space all rolled into one. The owners change the room's appearance each time they change its function, so that it seldom looks the same two weeks in a row.

"We get bored with it if it's the same way too long," Grevstad says.

"We're change artists," Draheim adds. "That's the nature of what we do."

On any given day, the space may be taken over by Grevstad's office, or dotted with intimate seating groups and a cozy corner dining table. By sweeping the furniture to the side and setting up several round tables, the men can seat as many as two dozen for dinner.

"Most of the stuff is small enough that it easily moves around," observes Draheim. Exceptions are the pair of antique chests flanking the fireplace, and the 19th-century French armoire, whose ample interior is laden with Indonesian and Chinese relics.

The rest of the furnishings vary from fine (an antique French daybed favored by the owners' wire fox terriers) to funky (a pair of armchairs purchased for $50 on a trip to Hawaii).

"We don't buy analytically, we buy intuitively," says Draheim. "If we like the form . . . and it's within our reach, we buy it." The eclectic mix seems to fit the home's country-cottage atmosphere, suggesting the casual accumulation of objects over time.

When Draheim and Grevstad bought the house back in 1984 it was decorated in shades of orange and green. The kitchen was particularly oppressive, with its avocado paneling and appliances, self-stick floor tiles and glaucous cabinets. Unwilling to invest in a costly remodel, the owners installed new cabinets from Ernst and covered the walls with plywood exterior siding. They brightened the surfaces with white paint and track lights, installed second-hand appliances, and placed shelves over the counter.

After covering the floor with particle board, Grevstad and Yakima artist Leo Adams painted on an abstract design inspired by tatami mats. Sealed with a couple coats of polyurethane, the floor adds considerable personality to the room (and helped keep the cost of the renovation under $5,000).

The owners performed similar magic on the bathroom. They stripped away the turquoise tile and aluminum shower door, replacing the latter with a plastic liner concealed behind a generous floor-to-ceiling curtain. Halogen track lights, new laminate countertops and a wall-size mirror help brighten what was once a dark, uninviting space.

In the summer, activity spills out into the large, landscaped yard. When the owners moved in, the weed-choked hillside still bore vestiges of a once-thriving orchard, and river-rock retaining walls outlined a network of pathways and planting beds. Grevstad and Draheim repaired the walls and added a few of their own, creating a tranquil terrace under the outstretched boughs of an old apple tree.

While the owners succeeded in preserving some of the landscape, they were not as lucky with the house. Three years ago, they applied to the city building department for permission to enlarge the structure. Unfortunately, it was so unsound and poorly insulated (the walls are nothing more than 2-by-4s laid on their sides) that adding on would be difficult, and would have required the owners to bring the old house up to code. After spending more than $25,000 on inspections and fees, the pair reluctantly decided to raze the structure and build a new home in its place.

The new house will look very similar to the old, but will be several times larger. Although Grevstad and Draheim are still talking to someone about moving the old house to another site, hopes are not high. It seems likely that 1996 will be the "end of the line" for this slice of Endolyne history. ----------------------------------------------------------------- Fred Albert reports regularly on home design for Pacific Magazine and other publications. Benjamin Benschneider is a Seattle Times photographer.