While the White House is in limbo with the East Wing demolished and President Donald Trump’s ballroom tied up in court, a complete one-tenth scale replica of the Executive Mansion in southwest suburban Darien may be facing an even greater existential threat — the wrecking ball.
A de facto local landmark and drive-by curiosity along a frontage road off I-55, the 123-year-old building known as Castle Eden is notable both for its resemblance to its larger Washington inspiration and its own unusual history.
Built in 1903 on the once-abundant farmland of DuPage County, the White House replica was originally the summer home of noted Illinois politician Martin B. Madden and his wife, Josephine Smart. Over the years it has been a restaurant, a caretaker’s home and at one time reputedly housed a brothel.
Since 1959, it has been part of a sprawling spiritual retreat owned by the Carmelites.
A prominent U.S. congressman, Madden built the home as a 25th wedding anniversary present for his wife and dubbed it Castle Eden after a historic British mansion he admired. It somehow survived a century of suburbanization since their passing, but the little White House on the prairie may soon be relegated to obscure history.
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Set among towering oak trees, the still-regal but deteriorating home is now cordoned off by sawhorses and slated for demolition, much to the chagrin of locals for whom the White House is an integral part of the landscape and lore of Darien.
“As the word is spreading, I think a lot of local people are getting upset,” said Suzanne Valliere, 60, a lifelong Darien resident who has been trying to rally support to save Castle Eden. “They are shocked that this is happening because it has stood there as sort of a monument. We’re just all so used to seeing it.”
The house’s origin story starts with Madden, whose family emigrated from his native England to a Lemont farm in 1869, when he was 4 years old. His future was not in agriculture but rather in the area’s limestone quarries that rebuilt much of early Chicago after 1871’s Great Chicago Fire.
Madden had a successful career as a businessman, becoming president of Western Stone, a major industrial limestone quarrying company. He went on to become an influential politician, first as a Chicago alderman and later as a U.S. congressman.
Elected to Congress as a Republican in 1905 to represent the 1st Congressional District on the city’s South Side, Madden rose to chairman of the Appropriations Committee, where he earned the nickname “Watchdog of the Treasury” from his colleagues.
In 1928, Madden died in office following a speech on the House floor, garnering a state funeral, front-page headlines and praise from then-President Calvin Coolidge, who lauded his “rugged honesty and great force of character” in a condolence letter to Madden’s widow.
Madden and his wife, who died six years later, were buried in Cass Cemetery, near their beloved replica of the White House.
The home remained part of the Madden estate for years, but went far afield of its original purpose as a country retreat for the family. During the 1930s, it was rented out as a restaurant, the first of several diverse adaptive reuses. By the 1950s, the property was vacant.
In 1959, the Carmelites purchased the house and adjacent land for $65,000, making it a centerpiece of their spiritual retreat, most recently housing friars, both active and retired. But over the years, the building “suffered significant, compounding deterioration,” according to the Carmelites, who last month applied for and received a permit to demolish the building.
“For the past eight years, the Society of Mount Carmel has undertaken exhaustive assessments and inspections of this century-old building to address necessary structural repairs,” the Carmelites said in a statement. “After careful and informed deliberation, we came to the difficult decision to proceed with the demolition of the building.”
The Catholic religious order has taken something of a vow of silence on its demolition decision, declining multiple requests for comment beyond the issued statement.
But the imminent demolition has generated significant backlash among city officials, preservationists and local residents alike.
“It’s like losing a piece of our history,” said Darien Mayor Joseph Marchese, a former history teacher. “I feel badly about it, but there is nothing the city can do to stop it.”
Marchese said renovation estimates run into the millions, making it prohibitive for the city to consider acquiring and preserving the property. Without a landmark designation, the Carmelites are within their rights to demolish the property, he said.
The mayor, who is also a member of the Darien Historical Society, took a tour of Castle Eden several years ago as part of a Rotary group. While the century-old building is showing its age, he said it remains impressive.
“I’ve been inside,” Marchese said. “And it was beautiful.”
In their statement, the Carmelites said the cost to rehabilitate Castle Eden “far exceeds what is economically feasible”, making demolition the most “prudent” path forward for the religious order.
But preservationists say the Carmelites did not pursue options that might have defrayed repair costs.
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Despite entreaties from the city and the Darien Historical Society, the Carmelites never applied for true landmark status, which would have both protected it from demolition and opened it up to grants to support its upkeep.
Dean Rodkin, a retired junior high school teacher and the president of the Darien Historical Society, which recently got its own headquarters, a century-old one-room schoolhouse, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, said the suggestion that the Carmelites do likewise with Castle Eden fell on deaf ears.
“We have reached out to them in the past, asking if they wanted assistance in getting landmark status for the building, or in writing grants,” Rodkin said. “But they were not interested in our offers of assistance. It’s apparent that they want it to be gone so they can put a building in its place that suits their purposes.”
While the Carmelites have not disclosed their plans for the property, or even their timetable for demolition, they are taking steps to preserve its history by “safely removing and preserving key architectural elements,” according to their statement.
Saving the building itself, however, is not part of those plans.
“Important historical artifacts — including the Castle Eden entrance gates, stained-glass windows, dining-room wood paneling, and period chandeliers — will be salvaged and integrated into our future plans for the property,” the Carmelites said. “A commemorative plaque will be installed at the site to share its rich history.”
The 40-acre Carmelite campus includes a gift shop, the National Shrine & Museum of St. Therese and the spiritual retreat center, all of which welcome visitors. On a rainy Thursday afternoon, Castle Eden was marked off by sawhorses with no trespassing signs, as workers filtered in and out of the building with ladders and tools.
As the clock ticks toward demolition, some hold out hope for an eleventh-hour reprieve for Darien’s White House, perhaps seeking divine intervention, or maybe just a civic-minded benefactor.
The Darien Historical Society has in fact explored raising the money to buy, rehab and relocate Castle Eden, but dismissed it as unfeasible.
“That’s just beyond what we’re capable of doing, and there’s no place to put it, to be honest with you,” Rodkin said.
The city likewise has fielded a number of calls from residents who are upset about the imminent demolition and “very mad” at the Carmelites, Marchese said.
They have implored the city to do something about it, before Castle Eden is reduced to rubble and memories on a wooded lot. But like the East Wing of the actual White House, it may already be too late.
“It would be great to have it around as a historic landmark,” Marchese said. “But it’s not going to happen.”