Here’s the story

I am an only child. This often surprises people, although I’m not entirely sure why. Nonetheless, I’ve chosen to take the surprise as a compliment. There aren’t a lot of positive stereotypes about only children.

In the early years, I lobbied my parents pretty hard to gift me a younger brother or sister. When I was about 7, I was informed that my request would seriously and definitively not be granted. So I did what any reasonably tuned-in second grader would do: I adopted the Brady kids.

I have some very clear memories of being about 5 years old and sitting on our avocado-green couch in front of the TV. I remember eating fish sticks served on a green metal TV tray splattered in large yellow and orange flowers. Did I mention it was the early ‘70s? Did I have to?

It was prime time in Ohio and I was allowed to watch “The Brady Bunch” before b-e-d-t-i-m-e (one of the first words I learned to spell). It was the final season of the five that aired. The Brady kids were all much older than me…Greg looked like an adult!…but I still loved the dreaminess of having a whole bunch of friends living in the same house, with someone always available to play a board game or check out books at a make-believe library or ride on an imaginary magic carpet.

Not long after the final “Brady Bunch” episode aired, it was whisked into syndication. By the time my parents and I were hunkered down in snow-ridden Montana a few years later, I was able to enjoy my afterschool bologna sandwich while watching two…TWO…episodes of my new brothers and sisters being tattletales, getting braces, going to the Grand Canyon, playing ball in the house, swooning over math teachers and bug collectors… Soooo many sibling antics!

A couple years later, my parents and I abandoned Montana and headed to unsnowed California. I was delighted to discover that San Francisco offered two channels that competed for Brady Bunch ratings after school. It wasn’t long before three episodes were part of my daily routine, along with my mom’s not-so-veiled weariness of hearing the theme song on a seemingly endless loop. Nevertheless, when “The Brady Brides” had a brief and poorly acted run several years later, Mom was watching right there with me on Friday nights, patiently waiting for “Dallas” to come on. Mom has always been very supportive of my hobbies.

By the time high school rolled around, I was proudly able to identify every Brady episode within a matter of seconds. It was my own version of “Name That Tune.” I eagerly joined “The Brady Bunch Fan Club” started by a couple of upperclassmen at my high school. I was elected Treasurer because I was good at math. It was a pretty easy job since there wasn’t any money.

The club’s main function was to sit around and talk about our favorite Brady Bunch episodes. We also worked on a list of all of the episodes we could remember. Ahhh, the wistful, wondering days before Google refused to let questions go unanswered. I’m pretty sure we got all 117 episodes; I remember the list required several pages of yellow binder paper.

Into adulthood, my Brady fandom never waned.

I attended a seminar hosted by Barry Williams about acting just so I could see him and touch his hand while getting his autograph. He was very warm.

I bravely navigated the streets of New York City while on a business trip to see an off-Broadway stage production called “The Real Live Brady Bunch.” I gleefully sang along and shouted out dialog with the audience à la “Rocky Horror.” It was such a blast to be amongst my people.

I was one of the first to see “The Brady Bunch Movie” and laughed hysterically at the “Psychedelic Mushroom Scene” featuring the cartooned Brady Kids and Ping and Pong the Pandas. I laughed so hard, I nearly fell out of my chair and realized people in the movie theater were watching me instead of the animated pandas.

I have read every book and memoir I can find (Maureen McCormick’s is quite revealing). I have all 117 episodes on DVD, along with a DVD of “The Brady Bunch Variety Hour” featuring Imposter Jan and so much delicious Sid & Marty Krofft weirdness. “A Very Brady Christmas” is in my VHS collection and clearly must be updated to Blu-ray.

And of course, last year when HGTV decided to buy the Brady house in Los Angeles that was used for exterior shots and produce a series documenting their extensive remodel to match the interior rooms to ones I know better than some of my own childhood bedrooms…you better believe I was there for every episode and every scripted moment of supposed spontaneity and surprise reveal. Including the clunky and awkward Christmas episode that was clearly filmed in a much warmer season.

And so ALL of that background brings us to this.

TAAA DAA!!!!  OMG!!!

Yes, an absolute dream come true!!! Rob drove me to see the Brady Bunch House!! Real live and in person!! OMG!!

The expedition was actually pretty easy. It helps to have in-laws that live in Southern California. It also helps that traffic apps are kind enough to include historical and other critical landmarks on their maps to ensure you don’t miss seeing the very most important places.

The house is on Dilling Street; we were
on Klump which t's into Dilling.
In case you are planning a pilgrimage
of your own.  Which you should.

Knowing we would need to drive across most of Los Angeles to visit my childhood mecca, Rob and I craftily decided that mid-morning on Super Bowl Sunday would minimize our traffic woes. We were right! Gold star for us!

As we entered the neighborhood near Universal Studios in the northern part of Los Angeles, I was doubtful that a house as large as the Brady’s would be inconspicuous among the small bungalows and cottages sprinkled about. I was also surprised that the neighborhood was not a track – all of the houses had their own design and architecture.

The streets were rather narrow, suddenly making it obvious that other exterior shots of Greg learning to drive or Cousin Emma the Drill Sergeant torturing the sweatpanted Bradys on a neighborhood jog were actually filmed in a different neighborhood with much wider and more suburban-looking streets.

We rounded the corner and parked along the curb facing The House. I was disappointed the street was not actually named “Clinton Way” as it was in the series; the HGTV folks made it sound like they had changed the street name for posterity. In
fact, they had only changed it for the cameras. Boo!

Grabbing my phone, Rob and I approached Brady Mecca with the reverence and unbridled joy you would expect.

There was a large white SUV parked on the right side of the house, ruining any photos of the fullness of the Brady Abode. There was also a small sedan in the driveway and a guy sitting in a folding chair behind it. Turns out both vehicles and the guy were hired Security. There were also security cameras, “No Trespassing” signs, and bright orange pylons relegating us to the publicly owned sidewalk. My dreams of expectantly knocking on the front door would not be realized. Boo again!

THOSE HILLS!!!  And that annoying
white security eyesore.

I wasn't able to get much of a look into the backyard, which
is fine because from the HGTV show, that's the one area
they weren't able to replicate very well.

I was flabbergasted that nobody was ogling the house besides us. I expected to have to nudge my way in between other Super Fans to get a few selfies. Instead, the only people we saw were neighbors. People casually walking their dogs or pulling weeds, seemingly unaware that they were in the presence of Pop Culture Greatness. The dog walkers didn’t even look at The House as they strolled by. Not a glance or a moment of respectful silence. What the?!?

The house looked exactly like what I was expecting, including the fake second story window that Christopher Knight installed in an early episode of the HGTV remodel. I marveled at the blue sky and treed series of hills behind the house; they were exactly the backdrop I have seen thousands of times on TV.

I stood on the sidewalk and snuggled up in the thought that all of my Brady siblings had stood right where I was. Although they never visited the house while the show was on the air, the kids-as-adults all showed up to help renovate it and stood on the same concrete I was standing on when preparing to see the renovated interior for the first time. I reflected similarly years ago when I was in Ephesus, Turkey and was told I was standing on ground Anthony and Cleopatra had strolled. Being the product of 1970s American Pop Television that I am, the reflective moment standing on the Brady Sidewalk was even more mind-blowing. Sorry, Cleo.

The house was a bit smaller than it looks on TV. It fit into the neighborhood rather well. I was also dumbfounded to discover what the house backs up to. I knew that Mr. Dittmeyer lived next door; I just assumed other unnamed neighbors lived behind the Bradys. Instead, the concretely mighty Los Angeles River sits right behind the iconic suburban neighborhood. Not nearly as tranquil and idyllic as I expected.

The backyard must be super small because this hunk of
concrete was pretty much right behind the houses.

Staring at the iconic 1960s multi-colored landscape rocks, I chatted with the security guard. It had been a very quiet day so far; sometimes he had tour buses and large groups of bicyclists show up. I asked if there were tours being offered of the inside of the house.

“No, not at the moment.”

I didn’t press him for more info but I gotta say, his answer gave me tons of hope! Not at *the moment* -- suggesting that at a *future* moment, I might be able to actually GO INSIDE!!!

Rob has been informed that I will pay whatever price those tickets might be – even without a Senior Discount.

The lady and this fellow.