Houston's liquid asset -- a house
HOUSTON | The much-loved Beer Can House shows Houston's funky side
Call it creative recycling. Or folk art. Or one man's crazy obsession. Maybe Houston's Beer Can House is all of these things, and maybe that's why the newly restored landmark appeals to so many people.
The Beer Can House is pretty much what it sounds like: a house covered in beer cans. It's also a good example of the free-spirited, creative side of the country's fourth-largest city -- a city known more for its energy industry than its eccentricities. But along with cowboys, Houston has its share of characters. And the man behind the Beer Can House definitely fell in the latter camp.
(Larry Harris/For the Sun-Times)
PHOTO GALLERY
Beer Can House
Get info at www.orange show.org/beer can.html or call the Orange Show Center for Visionary Art at (713) 926-6368.
In the late 1960s, John Milkovisch, an upholsterer and father of three, began decorating the outside of his modest bungalow with empty beer cans. Year after year, he'd add cans of Falstaff, Texas Pride and Buckhorn, the kind of beer you bought when Pabst Blue Ribbon was out of your price range.
Like a thrifty hunter using every part of his kill, Milkovisch put the entire can to good use -- including its foamy contents. He crafted long strings of garland out of cans' pull tabs (remember those?) and strung them from the trees. He draped the cans' round tops and bottoms from the home's eaves. He flattened the sides of the cans and used them like shingles, turning the bungalow's exterior into an homage to hops and barley that glistened under the hot Houston sun.
"He liked working with his hands and he liked beer," said Stephen Bridges, spokesman for the Orange Show Center for Visionary Art, a foundation that bought the Beer Can House in 2001, a year after Milkovisch's widow, Mary, passed away. Milkovisch died in 1988.
"His wife worked at a department store in downtown Houston," Bridges said. "Every day she'd come home and there'd be a little more of the house covered in beer cans. She was fine with it -- as long as he didn't touch the inside."
If Houston had a prize for the Most Understanding Wife of the Year, Mary would've been a shoo-in.
Curious onlookers have long driven past 222 Malone St. to see Milkovisch's handiwork for themselves, but the house had never been open to the public. That changed earlier this month, when the recently renovated Beer Can House made its long-awaited debut. It's now open from noon to 5 p.m. on weekends, with plans to expand those hours in coming months.
Visitors can get an up-close look at the 1930s-era house and wander through the inside, where photographs and exhibits tell the story of how one man's humble hobby turned into an attraction for tourists and locals alike.
Several years and a good chunk of change went into restoring the house to its funky former glory. A big assist came from vintage beer can collectors who kicked in some of their stash to replace damaged parts of the home.
I happened to be in Houston during a recent party celebrating the Beer Can House opening. The event attracted everyone from hipsters to housewives. Partygoers ate beer-flavored ice cream (it tastes a lot better than it sounds) and poked around the unorthodox property, where Milkovisch also covered the lawn with cement and embedded the concrete with colorful marbles and trinkets.
"He told people he just got tired of cutting the grass," Bridges said.
A lot has changed in this former working-class West End neighborhood since Milkovisch's unusual home decorating spree began. Today, tony town houses tower over the tiny bungalow -- a fitting metaphor for a city with no zoning requirements.
The house may not "fit it," but Houston residents weren't about to watch their beloved landmark disappear. It took only three days for the Orange Show foundation to raise the $200,000-plus needed to buy the home.
By all accounts, Milkovisch didn't consider himself an artist. He was just a regular guy who got a kick out of creating something irregular. In that respect, he had a lot in common with Houston postal worker Jeff McKissack, who in 1956 began building a 3,000-square-foot mazelike monument made up primarily of found objects, from wagon wheels to mannequins. For more than 20 years, McKissack continued to cobble together his quirky castle that he dubbed the Orange Show in honor of his favorite fruit.
McKissack died in 1980, only seven months after the Orange Show attraction opened to the public. To salvage the mailman's unconventional creation, Houston's cultural community rallied and created the Orange Show foundation -- whose original donors include all three members of the band ZZ Top.
It's the same Orange Show foundation that kept the Beer Can House from getting crushed. This protector of the city's peculiar side also puts on the always-popular Art Car Parade, where sets of wheels get turned into mobile works of art. Now in its 21st year, the event draws more than 250,000 spectators who line Houston's downtown streets each spring to watch 250 wild and wacky cars cruise by. It's being held May 10.
When a quarter-million people turn out to gawk at goofy-looking cars, you know you're in a place that celebrates creativity and individuality with a little kookiness to boot. No wonder Milkovisch's Beer Can House is such a hit.
"Here you have this one man, an average Joe, who created his own little wonderland," Bridges said. "It's a very Houston thing. There aren't a lot of towns where you could away with what he did."