Forty five
years ago, my friend Dana’s parents bought investment property in a nice
Petaluma neighborhood, in the hills on the edge of town. The property lacked
curb appeal – the house was all but hidden from the street by a massive sandstone
outcropping. But once past that wall, you were greeted by a gem, a Craftsman-era
cottage masterpiece. It was tiny and needed TLC, but the three-acre parcel was spectacular,
with a tree-lined stream and expansive views from the rear deck.
Dana’s folks
hoped one of their kids would someday move in. Meanwhile, they were satisfied
to rent it out “as is” to the occasional bohemian. One of them, a German
carpenter, dubbed it “Goldenes Holz”, and fashioned a little sign to adorn the
front gate. As the years went by, Goldenwood came to be vacant all but a few weeks
a year. The long time neighbors regarded Goldenwood with indifference.
Dana and her
two brothers inherited Goldenwood in 1992, mortgage completely paid. Her
brothers, both successful professionals, had already settled elsewhere in the
state, and they agreed Dana and her family could live there. She applied for permits to add a bedroom for
the kids, and take occupancy. That’s when the trouble began.
A few years
back, a wealthy retiree had bought the eight acres just next door, and built a
sprawling mansion less than a hundred feet from Goldenwood. He made it no secret
that he wanted to own it. First he made a low-ball offer to buy the property
outright. When Dana rejected that, he somehow convinced Dana’s brothers to
trade it for a larger property down the hill. But Dana had fallen in love with
her inheritance and held firm – no deal.
The
neighbor turned to a new strategy: prevent Dana’s family from ever visiting
Goldenwood again, much less remodeling the cottage and moving in. He hired
consultants who claimed the 500 square foot addition would endanger the
wildlife that frequented the area, and claimed that her family barbeques would cause
catastrophic wildfires. His traffic consultants argued that Dana’s visitors
would make an already potholed street unacceptably dangerous. His lawyers constantly
threatened litigation should she proceed. He rallied support from his
neighbors, the most strident among them newcomers like himself.
Rather than
ignoring the preposterous claims, Dana spent all her savings on lawyers and
consultants to prepare her defense. But when the time came to move in, she had
not a penny to exercise that defense. What made it worse, the neighbor had
extended the corner of his fence across her driveway, claiming he owned a few
feet of it, preventing her from passing the sandstone wall. Common sense and
historic maps indicated that she had clear access from the City street, but she
feared an unaffordable lawsuit should she try. She was locked out.
Dana appealed
first to her brother in Santa Rosa. He could afford to help her, but seemed to
be either afraid of the neighbor, or in business with him. He first offered
only to help with the remodel after she fended off the lawsuits. She turned to
her brother in Sacramento. He, too, seemed unwilling to help stand up to the
neighbor’s bullying. But he too was wealthy, and offered to buy Dana a huge new
house on a treeless lot in the flats, out at the edge of town. Her Santa Rosa
brother offered to contribute half.
Dana didn’t
get it. Why would her brothers be willing to pay a million dollars to buy her an
unremarkable new home, when they could, for a tiny fraction of that amount,
hire lawyers to defend her right to remodel and occupy Goldenwood?
Goldenwood
is Lafferty; the huge house is the Cardoza Ranch. Dana is the City of Petaluma,
her brothers are Sonoma County and the State of California. Peter Pfendler is
the neighbor. The public *owns* Lafferty, and our substantial investment in the
EIR (covering conversion of a cattle ranch into a nature park) makes it very unlikely
that defending that EIR, and our right of access, would exceed $500k, less than
3% of the asking price for Tolay. Do the math, brothers!