On Bayou Boulevard, tucked beneath dozens of old live oaks, sits a home that has seen more than a century of Pensacola history pass its windows.
The Bayou home was built in 1913 as the Phelps residence, but is most remembered as the home of Roy Philpot and family. Mr. Philpot was a Councilmember and former Pensacola Mayor as well as a yachtsman, equestrian, and serial entrepreneur, owning the Pensacola motor lodge, service station and grocery store. Today, the house is all that remains, a quiet survivor of a different Pensacola.
And this week, it began its next life.
Not by staying where it stands, but by being lovingly taken apart, piece by historic piece.
“Some people think I’m crazy for doing this, and maybe there’s a little truth to that,” laughed preservationist and Chandler & Co Construction owner Nannette Chandler. “But I couldn’t let this history be thrown away.”
When Nannette learned the home had sold and that demolition was imminent, the first call she made was to her friend and realtor, Shaye Martin.
“As soon as I found out her client was buying the house, I reached out and said, ‘What can we do?’” she says. “Thanks to realtor Shaye Martin with Abbott Martin Group, we got a meeting with the buyer and negotiated full access for architectural salvage.”
Nannette tried everything to save the house whole, including exploring moving it to a nearby lot, but the power lines and historic oaks in the neighborhood all hang too low to facilitate moving the structure, and there was the question of whether the infrastructure under the roads could bear the weight as well.
“I was devastated at first. I wanted to preserve it exactly as it is. But once we realized it couldn’t be moved, salvaging became the most respectful, meaningful option,” said Nannette.
Sometimes, saving history means letting go of walls, and holding onto what gives them meaning. This isn’t just wood and nails.
Its heart-pine flooring milled from slow-grown timber you simply can’t find anymore. It’s beadboard ceilings with the tight grain of old forests. It’s rafters, joists, hand-cut trim, time-marked, lived-in.
And it’s all headed somewhere important.
“When you salvage historic material, the era matters,” Nannette explains. “Wood harvested in the 1890s is different than wood harvested in the 1920s or 1950s. The grain got bigger as trees were harvested younger. You can’t recreate this. You honor it.”
Where some see debris, she sees DNA and the bones of Pensacola’s story.
Nannette has already secured another historic home at 211 West Cervantes, one that was stripped of its character and stability long before she arrived.
“The previous owners didn’t know how to work on it properly,” she says. “They threw away everything historic and compromised the structure. It breaks my heart.”
One house couldn’t be saved, so it will save another.
“So everything we take from 500 Bayou, all these pristine pieces, will go to 211 West Cervantes. We’ll rebuild that house as it was meant to be.”
One thing we know for certain is that this work is not easy. It’s dusty, physical, emotional and deeply human. The kind of work someone only does when they believe in something bigger than themselves.
“I just try to find the win in what I’m able to do,” Nannette says.
“And the win here is making sure nothing is wasted, nothing forgotten.”
“I’m profoundly grateful to the new owner, Wade Wilson, for allowing me to salvage this home. We had a great conversation, and while this home is not the aesthetic he envisions for this property, he understands the importance of what I do and was willing to help me carry out my vision for preservation within the district where there are protections in place for homes like these. I think the bigger lesson here is that we, as neighbors, don’t have to share the same vision to help each other and to appreciate the value another person brings to our City.”
The house may leave Bayou Boulevard, but it won’t leave Pensacola.
It will live again in every board reinstalled, every window re-hung and every creak that whispers its age unapologetically.
