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URBAN RENOVATION EVOKES STRONG EMOTIONS AND HEADACHES
Mr. HandyPerson is, sensibly, at the beach today, and Mark A. Hetts is filling in with one of his commentaries.
I have the dubious distinction -- after my move two years ago a few blocks uphill from my former San Francisco home of 32 years -- of living in one of the city's more upscale, exclusive hilltop neighborhoods. From my desk in a neighborhood of large, stately, well-maintained older homes, most well over 100 years old, I have a breathtaking view of downtown towers, the Bay, Oakland and Mount Diablo 20 miles to the east.
It is also a neighborhood being transformed by people who, frankly, even in this economy, seem to have more money than sense (or conscience). As this area of solidly middle-class folk from the years after World War II has gradually seen a good proportion of the former homeowners die of old age, they have been replaced, starting in a rush with the great high-tech boom of the late 1990s, by middle-aged and younger millionaires.
The old houses are large, well-built of mostly old-growth fir and redwood, and have been well-maintained. This is not a redevelopment area by any stretch of the imagination. But block by block, house by house, I have witnessed roughly a fifth of the homes in the immediate neighborhood undergo what I think of as the "gut, dump and rebuild-new" process. No one really likes having his neighborhood torn down around him and rebuilt with modern buildings, so the city has laws and permit processes that discourage tear-downs, and attempt to preserve building facades. The "look" of the neighborhood has altered very little, but behind the familiar facades an astounding amount of destruction, demolition and waste -- thousands of tons -- has occurred, with new materials used to build new structures behind the traditional fronts. Look downhill, and things look much the same. Look uphill, and one is met by walls of floor-to-ceiling glass, wire-railed decks and balconies, "outdoor rooms" and vanished backyards.
Before I moved here, there were two solid years of demolition, waste and construction for my late friend Irene's house on the south side of this one. I have written about it and the pain of watching her beautiful old home being gutted and rebuilt almost entirely, the tons of prime lumber, trim, doors and windows tossed in the debris box daily, her backyard butterfly garden replaced by a hideous, poured-concrete "outdoor entertainment area" with a huge, elaborate "water feature" (looking like a brutalist, concrete horse trough, which scares the birds away when turned on).
As I moved in, the house on the north side formerly belonging to Jack, who died at age 96 a few years ago, went through an almost identical two-year process, only recently completed. It was equally annoying (two years of scaffolding and construction noise, the appalling waste of materials), but bodes further ill since the new owners have successfully subdivided the large lot containing Jack's extensive garden and fruit trees and will soon begin constructing a three-condominium building and underground garage. In addition to the noisy, messy construction phase, the building will block all views from our backyard, patio and first floor. The homes on both sides, longtime residents, will have all side-access daylight blocked. It is legal.
Last week, I was at my desk when work began on a house directly below ours, one block down. What first appeared to be a roofing job has turned into the virtual disappearance of the entire large home behind the front facade and portions of the sides. I had tears in my eyes as I watched them tearing off 18-foot-long, inch-thick roof boards, cut them up, and toss them to the debris box. Debris boxes were moving out twice a day. Yet someone else has paid millions of dollars for a fine old home that they are now destroying and replacing with millions of dollars of new construction in its footprint. What they bought was the view.
I know, I know. Life is change. San Francisco has a decent system for sorting and keeping many reusable materials out of the landfill, and that helps in minor ways to mitigate some small portion of the indecent waste.
Still, I find myself disinclined to pop over to my new neighbors' home with a welcome basket of hot cinnamon buns and fresh, home-grown lettuce. Just cranky, I guess. But maybe I should rethink this, as they'd probably just give the stuff to their household help, people I might actually like.
