‘Dystopian dream’: What it was like to live in the ‘Home Alone’ house in Winnetka

John Abendshien, his wife and their 6-year-old daughter had just finished dinner and were watching TV in their Winnetka home when, out of the darkness, a stranger's face pressed up against the family room window.

Abendshien leaped up from his armchair and bolted to the front door.

"There were people of all ages all over the front lawn, people peering into the living room," Abendshien recalled earlier this month.

The health care executive made his way to his backyard, where he found more people. When Abendshien barked at the intruders that they were on private property, one of them snapped back: "Sir, this is not private property, it's what they call public domain."

At least in the collective imagination, the five-bedroom, Georgian colonial at 671 Lincoln Ave., does belong to all of us. It's where Kevin McCallister (played by child actor Macaulay Culkin) is inadvertently left behind while the rest of his family jets off to Paris. In other words, it's the "Home Alone" house, a place that, some 35 years after the movie's release, still draws adoring fans.

Back in 1990, when the pilgrims first began arriving, Abendshien had no inkling that it would become a "dystopian dream" without end; no one had warned him.

"Suddenly, your peaceful suburban retreat is crawling with tourists, their eyes agog with a mix of awe and entitlement as they stare down your front door, the threshold to what was supposed to be your private sanctuary," he writes in his soon-to-be-released memoir, "Home But Alone No More."

Readers will also learn what it was like to share that sanctuary for 5-plus months with dozens of actors and crew members. Abendshien, now 78, didn't need the money (he and his then-wife, Cynthia, were paid about $65,000 in total for the use of their home). He's a soft-spoken, retired business executive who on the day he spoke to the Chicago Sun-Times looked dressed for a few rounds of golf — the sort of man who politely closes the door on a Hollywood director eager to shoot a comedy in his house.

Except he didn't.

“It was just a life adventure that we weren’t sure we wanted to turn down — what I call the fear of missing out," said Abendshien, who sold the famous house in 2012 and now lives in an apartment in Lake Forest with his second wife, Nancy Kensek.

For half a year, Abendshien and his family holed up on the second floor of the house, much of the remainder of the property rattling, banging and echoing with the cries of the two hapless would-be burglars, played by actors Joe Pesci and Daniel Stern.

“We had one shoot where we basically had to wear eye shades to get to sleep," Abendshien said.

If the neighbors were at times less than thrilled, they never uttered a word to Abendshien, he said.

"They were unbelievably patient with it all," he said.

When hungry, the family had only to trek down to a food truck parked outside. They loved watching the filming, including the famous scene in which Culkin's character whizzes down the home's main staircase and out the front door on a toboggan. A fake staircase (actually a ski ramp) had to be built because the real stairs didn't line up with the open doorway. Stuntman Larry Nichols rode the sled.

On the first try, Nichols "shoots over the (crash) pads, splats on the asphalt driveway and he’s out cold," Abendshien remembered. “I was about to call 911. After a few moments, Larry gets up and shakes his head and says, 'Let’s do it again. I missed.'”

The Hollywood invasion also included a visit from a surprise guest.

Abendshien recalled seeing a black SUV pull up, the door open and "The King of Pop" step out. Michael Jackson was there to see his friend Macaulay Culkin.

Abendshien was even more stunned when the location manager, Jacolyn Bucksbaum, asked if he'd be kind enough to entertain Jackson while filming continued. For about 45 minutes, Jackson sat in Abendshien's study, talking about the experience of being a child superstar.

"It was kind of an awkward conversation," Abendshien said.

After that first face at his window in 1990, Abendshien assumed the interest in the house would eventually die down. It never did.

“For a period of time, I was very put off by the loss of privacy. (Later), I had kind of a transformation and realized they are not there to do harm or to intrude. They are genuinely curious, and this was an adventure to them," Abendshien said.

The book is expected to publish in August. For updates on the book's release, visit homebutalonenomore.com.