You may have read, in Saturday’s Los Angeles Times–or Sunday’s Press-Telegram, via an Associated Press story–how the current owners of the famous Downey house where ’70s soft-rock duo Richard and Karen Carpenter lived want to tear it down?

Well, uh, they do.

When I read this on Saturday, I had better things to do (like learn to run a bandsaw) than post about it–and also The Carpenters have never been my thing, musically speaking.

But in 48 hours, this story has traveled like lightning–lightning, I say–from here to India to Xinhua, China, to New Zealand to … Florida.

And so I’m bowing to peer pressure, now I’ve had time to think about the situation and consider: Florida! Really?

My initial reaction is “So what? Who cares?” Or, in less provoking language: “Where do you draw the line?”

Because where do you draw the line in allowing ordinary people to remodel buildings which are somehow extraordinary–even if, to the untrained eye (my own) they appear to be nothing more than a late-midcentury dwelling in the once-exclusive area of north Downey?

Are we looking sideways at everyone with an interesting building now?

Because let’s be honest: architecturally significant is different than historically significant–and I personally believe these two houses belong in the latter category, not the former.

Here’s the official wording: the Carpenter family owned two adjoining houses on a quiet street in Downey–one the Carpenter parents purchased in 1963 to live in, with their soon-to-be-famous offspring Richard and Karen; and one next door to it, purchased to use as an office and rehearsal studio in 1971 when the siblings were becoming known as bona fide hit makers.

Current owners Manuel and Blanca Melendez Parra have remodeled the rehearsal studio/house and begun building a replacement; and they’ve filed plans with the City of Downey to replace the main house.

Outraged Carpenters fans and historic preservationists have already begun comparing this situation with Downey’s (successful) battle to save the world’s oldest surviving McDonald’s restaurant at Florence Avenue and Lakewood Boulevard; and its (unsuccessful) battle to save Harvey’s Broiler–a 1950s-modern drive-in, most of which was illegally demolished last year.

But come on! The Carpenters’ main house–the one they actually lived in, and which appears on the super-duper triple-fold-out interior of their 1973 album “Now and Then”–only dates to 1969, according to the Times.

And, you’ll pardon me for saying so, but it’s a nice house–but it’s not a Bunker Hill mansion, or an original Downey farmouse from the early 20th century (yeah, I think there’s one of those left in the whole city now).

It’s no Harvey’s/Johnie’s. It’s no McDonald’s. Nor is it a Bunker Hill mansion (remember those?) or a Greene & Greene bungalow or a Richard Neutra or a Cliff May modern house.

It’s not even that house in Pasadena which famous architect Wallace Neff designed and watched them build by inflating a weather balloon and spraying it with gunnite. (That place is rad.)

I know we on the West Coast have been very lax where historic preservation is concerned–but come on! 1969? The Carpenters?

I wonder how I’d feel if it were the house The Stooges lived in while they recorded “The Stooges”? Oh wait, I know how I’d feel: exactly the same as I do about this house!

At some point, don’t you just have to say: “Yeah, Parra family, you can tear down the house that so many tourists come to gawk at,” and the rest of us can go buy a copy of “Now and Then” on eBay?

After all, the Parras own the house. Not the City of Downey. Not any of us.

Tags: " Greene & Greene, " Iggy Pop, "Now and Then, Associated Press, Bunker Hill, California, City of Downey, cliff may, eBay, Harvey's Broiler, Johnie's Broiler, Long Beach, Los Angeles Times, Manuel Melendez Parra, midcentury modern, Pasadena, press telegram, Richard and Karen Carpenter, Richard Neutra, Southern California, The District Weekly, The Stooges, Theo Douglas, Wallace Neff, world's oldest McDonald's