Art: The Great Romantic

San Francisco, a city that cherishes its eccentrics, has never had a greater one than the late Architect Bernard Ralph Maybeck. Until his death a year and a half ago at 95 (TIME, Oct. 14, 1957), scrag-bearded Bernard Maybeck cheerfully held court in the house he built for himself of gunny sacks dipped in pink cement in the Berkeley hills, delighted his visitors by ripping off hunks of the wall to prove that they were light enough to float. Barely 5 ft. tall in his home-knitted tam-o'-shanter, Maybeck was a sartorial seventh wonder. He blueprinted the clothes for his wife Annie...

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