Gladys Woodhams considered herself a "radical preservationist."

She dedicated her life to saving historic buildings - either by buying them herself or by persuading someone else to restore them. Once she paid $5 for a derelict farmhouse in Redwood City and had it moved to her property so it wouldn't be torn down. She talked San Mateo County into buying an 1872 mansion owned by the county's first assessor and turning it into a museum.

When Woodhams died Nov. 7 at age 90, she left her five children a wealth of historic properties. She also left them a dilemma: how to make sure her century-old, nine-bedroom Palo Alto house, which is on the National Register of Historic Places, survives intact for future generations.

"My mother insisted that the integrity of the house be kept," said her daughter, Judith Collas. "She had a terrible fear that someone would put white paint on her woodwork."

In addition to her home, Woodhams left her children two smaller historic houses in Redwood City and dozens of antique paintings and pieces of furniture. And she left behind an inspiration for others who care about keeping our local heritage alive. In the 1970s she started the Redwood City Heritage Association, which now runs a museum in one of the houses she helped save. In another rescued building she ran an antique shop like a matchmaking service, finding the right owner for each piece.

Woodhams loved history. And she loved a good fight. She battled unsuccessfully to save a Julia Morgan house in Palo Alto, but succeeded in persuading the Palo Alto Medical Foundation not to expand in her historic Professorville neighborhood.

"When she was defending something she believed in, she was utterly fearless," said her son, Richard. "It was that passion that kept her going."

Woodhams had other passions. She loved art, architecture and music. She and her husband started the California Youth Symphony in 1952. Richard Woodhams grew up to be a renowned oboist.

"I suppose playing classical music is a kind of historic preservation," he said.

I'll miss Gladys Woodhams. She used to call me to chat whenever I wrote about preservation issues. We shared a disdain for people with too much money and too little taste, who were razing lovely old homes so they could build McMansions.

One February afternoon, she invited me over to her rambling Melville Avenue house, built in 1905 by prominent Oakland architect A.W. Smith. I love old houses, so it was a treat. The house is a Craftsman gem - wide porches, natural beamed ceilings, leaded windows, a lovely cantilevered staircase.

Woodhams and her husband Clifford, who ran a title company, bought the house in the 1950s and filled it with antiques - and children and grandchildren. Clifford died in 2003. Last month, as Woodhams battled cancer, four generations gathered to celebrate her ninetieth birthday. It would be their last time together. She died three weeks later. The family is planning a private memorial service next month.

Now her children are trying to decide what to do with their mother's accumulated treasures. While each will keep some of the pieces, no one has room for the 40-by-20-foot Oriental rug in the living room or the giant oil painting that once hung in Rudolf Valentino's mansion. They're thinking about holding an estate sale and donating the proceeds to preservation causes.

"These people who are building these big monster homes must need big monster rugs and paintings," Collas said.

As for the 8,000-square-foot house, it will probably be sold. It's worth at least $4 million, and none of the heirs has the resources to buy and restore it. For sure, it could use some updating. There are more fireplaces than bathrooms, the kitchen is from the Dark Ages and the wiring is 100 years old. Because the house is on the National Register, it is reasonably safe from demolition, but the heirs are determined to find a buyer who will love it as much as their mother did.

"We'll hold out until we find exactly the right person," Collas said.

Someone with Gladys Woodhams' passion for preservation.

As she used to say: "If we don't understand and honor the past, what hope is there for the future?"