Photograph by Kathy De La Torre

Linda Barton, Harry Neal and her son, Clayton Gilly, live in a house that attracts lots of attention from passersby.

Ship Shape

Neighbors call it 'the submarine,' and residents say it's a little like living on a boat

By Suzanne Cristallo

Since the 1800s, silos in America have been used to store feed for animals and hops for beer. Airtight and sometimes 60 feet high, the round towers rise in silhouette across rural horizons like the stacks of passing ships. While they may inspire poetic phrases, it takes an artist to create function out of form, to see beyond the simile, and to make a silo ... well, a home.

Harry Neal did that. He turned an abandoned hops silo once used by Falstaff Brewing Company in San Jose into a startling, comfortable, Santa Cruz mountain retreat. It is home to Neal, his wife, Los Gatos psychotherapist Linda Barton, and her son, 17-year-old Los Gatos High School senior Clayton Gilly. "We sound like a law firm," Barton jokes, referring to the combined last names of the family.

Neal, Barton and Gilly have lived in the 750-square-foot silo house and its approximately 1,400 square feet of related structures since 1990. "It's a little like living on a boat," observes Barton of the unique structure which harbors little wasted space and uses the Pacific Ocean in the distance as a backdrop.

Every house has a story, but especially this one, which has been affectionately nicknamed "the submarine" by some locals.

The idea behind the silo house began in 1967. "It was a time of discontent and re-evaluation," Neal recalls of the '60s. "There was a sense of everything changing."

To understand the change he perceived and, perhaps, welcomed, it is helpful to understand something about Neal.


Photograph by Kathy De La Torre

The master bedroom provides not only unusual architecture, but a pleasant view.




He grew up on Julian Street in San Jose. The family home was behind the painting company founded by his grandfather in 1936. Young Neal was surrounded by two generations of family who had made the painting contracting business their life's work. And so it became his life.

At age 17, Harry Neal III spent all of his spare time learning the business which bore his grandfather's name. He married young and over the next decade became the father of six children, whom he eventually moved to a large farmhouse in Monte Sereno.

Meanwhile, a lot was happening over the mountains in Santa Cruz. Neal regarded life there as "wilder" and more interesting. "San Jose in comparison just wasn't the kind of place you'd go on a weekend," he remembers.

While other people might change their jobs to escape their discontent, Neal could not. "When you're in a family business, you can't leave, so the next best thing is to have where you live reflect what you are."

In 1967, he and his wife divorced. He left the big home to his family and embarked on a less conventional lifestyle.

He decided to buy rural land in the mountains, choosing 22 acres in Santa Cruz County below the Summit, two-plus miles down twisting Mountain Charlie Road, and a little closer to the wilder mystique of Santa Cruz. He grew a long moustache and longer hair at a time when "regular boys' haircuts" were de rigueur. "I got a lot of static from my dad," he smiles, smoothing back what is now a pure white pony tail.

Neal first saw the silo in 1973. It was one of three displaying "for sale" signs and supported by a 15-foot pedestal. It sat on 10 acres of land across the street from the Towne Theater on The Alameda. The silo had been used for storing hops at the Falstaff Brewery which had operated on the spot for decades. The brewery had fallen victim to the press for land as the population grew around it. Emblazoned with the words "A.O. Smith," makers of silos in the Midwest, and glazed a bright blue inside and out, it was quirky enough to stimulate Neal's imagination.


Photograph by Kathy De La Torre

The circular theme continues in the master bathroom.




The big tank was made of convex steel sections graduated in size through four levels from three-eighths of an inch thick at the base level to a quarter of an inch at the top. Each 5-foot by 7-foot section was bolted to the next to create a round wall with a 17-foot diameter inside. While professional dismantlers in the East reportedly would charge $15,000 to take a silo apart and deliver it, no one here knew how to do it.

That's when Neal called on Virl Norton, a steeplejack he used in his painting business. Norton was a professional mule racer from Almaden who raced his animals all over the country. It took only half a day and $2,000 for the nimble Norton, dangling in a chair from the end of a crane, to unbolt the silo with an air wrench, lower the 49 sections and pile them one inside another on a flat bed truck. The truck then hauled the load up and over the mountain, slowly winding down the nearly 40 curves of Mountain Charlie Road to be deposited on what once was a pear orchard.

Today, the reconstructed Prussian blue silo looms unexpectedly into view around a bend in the road, providing an irresistible lure for passersby who seem oblivious that it is a private place. "I hear bicyclists remarking about it, sometimes in unflattering terms," Neal laughs. He had to install a fence to keep people from touring around the house and peeking in windows.

Neal is a private person, always remaining silent about where and how he lives. Some of the news media, who hear about the place from locals, have tried to do stories about the unusual abode, only to be rebuffed. One resorted to publishing pictures without permission.

Neal broke his tradition with this interview for the Los Gatos Weekly-Times. "It's also my wife's house now, and she thought it would be fun," he smiles.

The silo house is a work of art, and built entirely by Neal. Yet it wasn't until just one year ago that Neal acknowledged he was an artist. Anyone walking through the fascinating structure will admire the interlocking curves, ovals and spheres of the silo and the creative spirit that made it habitable.

Neighbors sometimes call the house that Harry Neal built 'the submarine.'

Photograph by Kathy De La Torre





Neal spent almost 10 years to make the silo livable. Before erecting the tower, he constructed a garage with the rear wall built underground into the side of the hill. At first, he came out on weekends to work but later converted the garage into living quarters.

He had no preconceived plan for construction. "It was designed on the spot," he says, explaining he really couldn't anticipate a shape until he learned to draw or had to work around a problem.

While much of the structure is spontaneous, he commissioned Palo Alto architect Bill Logan to formalize the design. Logan had designed a number of rule-breaking beach houses in the Pajaro Dunes.

The silo was built as it had been dismantled, one metal section at a time, bolted together and gradually rising four levels from a three-foot-deep footing. Neal did it all with a crane brought to the site.

The former "underground" garage is now the main living area, a gentle crescent-shaped room housing a lounging area with a free-standing, stainless steel, hooded fireplace, walls of book shelves and art, and the kitchen and dining areas.

It is connected to a greenhouse where plants and sculptures reside, and which conforms to the roundness of the silo on one end and rises to the height of two of the silo's four levels.


Photograph by Kathy De La Torre

One of the auxiliary buildings is this geodesic dome which serves as the guest house.




Up a flight of stairs and through a set of curving double doors, one enters the bathroom, which sports a deep, Japanese soaking tub. Up another curving stairway is the den. A large, eight-foot-high tube extending from the wall of the silo provides ventilation and light. There is room for relaxing in stuffed chairs and a grand view of the garden.

The master bedroom sits atop another flight of stairs with another window tube cradling the queen-sized bed and the vantage point for a view of a golden bamboo grove and the forest beyond. The sound of water echoes from a waterfall cascading into a deep koi pond in the Japanese garden below.

The ground level of the silo houses Clayton's room, filled with books, a computer and evidence of his interest in photography.

From the silo, a 40-foot-long covered walk leads to outer rooms devoted to the family's avocations. One serves as a studio for the bronze art Neal is creating, another houses the camping gear and paraphernalia he uses on the travel tours he leads. Eleven pairs of skis hang in one corner. Another room is devoted to Barton's ceramic art. A large kiln and shelves of green and glazed-ware surround the room with a comfortable clutter.


Photograph by Kathy De La Torre

The geodesic dome provides interesting angles inside the guest-house bedroom.




Each of the rooms is 10 inches higher than the preceding one, following the upward curve of the land and built entirely of recycled wood. "The reason for the curving and lots of spaces was to diminish the impact of it. I never liked big barn structures, which are boring in their uniformity," Neal says.

The roof of each section dips toward the center, making the ceiling inside concave. "It wasn't the reason for the shape, but it's great for drainage," notes Neal.

Outside, Homer, the family's pet burro, which has the run of the place, accompanies visitors to a large, six-sided steel structure Neal is turning into a foundry to make his bronze sculptures. It is made from the top of a sawdust burner from a lumber mill up north. "I got it from Virl Norton, who had planned to use it as a training corral for his mules," Neal notes.

Down the hill, the formal garden, enclosed with fencing to keep out deer and the curious, surrounds the geodesic dome- shaped guest house. The deck curves around a hot tub and a tall pine Neal planted in 1964. Ceramic art dots the decks.

Asked if the house has fulfilled what he hoped for in his life, Neal reflects on the past quarter century. "Initially, I was busy with work, spending time there only to sleep, and on weekends," he recalls of his 14 bachelor years on the property. "[The house] was one of those dreams, but it doesn't solve the problems of life or what you want out of it. It was merely a way to express myself."

Homer, the family's pet donkey, has the run of the place, according to his owners.

Photograph by Kathy De La Torre







Neal met Barton while he was leading a kayaking trip she joined to Baja California. Since their marriage, Neal feels the silo has finally become a comfortable home, a result of the "fine tuning" Barton did to tie everything together.

An active man who thrives on projects, Neal now is creating art. He pursued bronze sculpting full time a few years ago after retiring from the painting business he ran for 46 years. He is commuting to California Sate University at Hayward two times a week to study what is considered one of the most complicated art forms and to obtain his degree.

He has won awards at the college for his sculptures. His bronze pieces hang in various parts of the house, delicate and detailed. And finally, he thinks of himself as an artist.

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