Englewood Story

Link: http://www.ci.englewood.co.us/Index.aspx?page=952

Shortly after the new Boarding House Code was enacted our appeal regarding Ducky's new fence was subverted and lost by a part-time municipal judge, John W. Smith III. The run off felt as confusing as being Dorothy in Kansas fleeing from the witchy neighbor and finding herself with a bump on the head from the ensuing tornado.

In the three inch volume of Englewood Municipal Ordinances, the City spent all summer "cleaning up household items." This is to say, "cleaning up mistakes, errors and accidents which shouldn't have officially occurred given the presumption that enacted law is always true, thorough and authoritative."

The "sweep up" of course wasn't meant to help individuals who have been victims and prosecuted under the errors, nor does it necessarily mean the City is returning to any measure of good sense. In fact, it meant that they are adding layers to their bad faith like pieces of furniture to the cyclone. They simply added more things to wollop the disoriented.

Because the neighbors had now taken to circumventing the issue of us housing up to three unrelated people of color in their neighborhood with unfounded parking complaints and foot traffic, they then complained to Planning and Zoning Commission that we appeared to be rushing to complete our driveway. On July 8, 2008, a secret study session where the public was generally not allowed, Council representative Bob McCaslin enabled as to our neighbors.

Both McCaslin and representative Penn intended to keep their word to get behind the neighbors all the way and help them "fight the good fight". At the close of the planning and zoning meeting, Planner Tricia Langon instructed that "no one repeat anything" that had gone on, and further kept these minutes from being published until I found out about them through an open records request on September 2, and complained publicly to City Council.

Sudddenly, the fact that the Drakes complained we were "rushing to pour the driveway," was somehow unacceptable as though hurrying to obey a law that was about to be enacted was illegal. In fact, we were naturally continuing the work on our driveway to enable our 84 year old mother aided by a walker easy access to our home for family get-togethers. Easy access meant getting her into the side door.

So, that hot July day we built the framework and had the dirt delivered, Ducky's wife, Anne, called the police on us. Commander Contos explained that our driveway could not be completed without a site plan approval. I explained to him, along with Code Enforcement Officer Carolin Faseruk wickedly standing beside him, that the City already had an approved copy of our site plan on file evidenced by our blue prints.

Commander Contos looked down at his shoes and said, "Well, it certainly looks like there is just dirt to me, so I'll leave you with just a verbal warning instead of the Notice of Violation."

We then received a letter from Tricia Langon, Senior Planner, stating that she had double-checked. Since the building department had invalidated our permits, this blanket act included our site plan, thus, we were required to apply for a new one.

I went down to City Hall, brought a copy of our site plan for parking, and it was stamped approved and e-mailed back to us by Brook Bell.

There is really no such thing as this invalidation of a site plan already approved because, according to City Code, the approved initial plans were valid for three years after approval, but I understood that the City needed to help Anne and Ducky swoop, fly and deposit their poop on our heads for the sake of saving "The People's Dignity."

This little charade was continued however, in the new Boarding House Ordinance as it was enacted.

City Council brought it forward to vote on September 15, 2008, with a requirement for a site plan to be formally approved. And, when they applied the new ordinance to us, the memo from Alan White in Community Development was that a yet another site plan application with drawing be submitted...for the third time!

All the lingo in the application was toward new development, new zoning, new plans, requests for variance of proposed properties, etc.

Reading it clarified to me that all of zoning's powers lie in forward planning, and not in retrospective application of law. I felt there was a dim arc of a rainbow,-- promising what?... I still couldn't grasp.

We had poured our driveway and parking areas. Our entire project was complete. There was nothing new left to apply for.

Certain aspects of the boarding house Ordinance were indeed passed through Planning and Zoning Commission, where Chairman Bliele and two other members refused "to step on one person's toes" "especially where a great amount of personal investment had already taken place by relying on the old code." But others, including Contractor Steve King, who had built a house on our block, voted with the City's recommendations to ungrandfather us.

Dorothy went to Oz and applied for "Home". The Great and Mighty Oz made her go to the fire to bring back the Witch's broomstick before he would send her home. Oz had no power to promise this, much less to accomplish. He himself was stranded in the Emerald City.

When Councilman Joe Jefferson proposed to City Council a modification to their original ordinance, September 15, 2008, his idea was not based on almost 400 Englewood Citizen's petitions to honor the Constitutional right to choose or to freely assemble, to grandfather the existing boarding house into the new laws. Nor did he concern himself with Mr. Doug Cohn's weightier reminders of illegalities. Instead, Joe in his Council Choice spot that night, told the neighbors his intention was to shift liability elsewhere. He asked to speak with them after the meeting.

The proposed amendment to Ordinance 55 came as a surprise, however, to some on Council.

Councilman Wayne Oakley complained that the proposed change to the ordinance had not been included in his Council packet, and that he had not had a chance to review it yet.

Mayor Woodward said in a prepared moment preempting the discussion, that considering it was Constitution week, he felt bad bringing the ordinance forward for a vote and that Council needed to at least appear to be honoring the grandfather clause in the City Ordinances.

Council agreed that City Clerk, Loucrisha Ellis, should read the proposed amended ordinance aloud.

Proposed amended Ordinance 55 was a surprise to most everyone, including the Planning and Zoning Commission. This procedure proved to be more than just a surprise, however, in that it violated the City Charter, Section 58, where it states that all proposed amendments and modifications to ordinances must be brought to Planning and Zoning for review, even if Council chooses not to heed their recommendation on it.

Thus the illegal and overbroad Emergency on Boarding Houses came full circle. Ordinance 55, in its shining seven point cunning entirety outlawed rather than grandfathered our boarding house, enacted, October 6, 2008. But Dorothy had a good heart and lots of help from her friends, and she was not the one stranded behind the curtain.

The elaborate curtain of deceit works against the one hidden behind it, because it prevents the hidden to see the truth. I am amused to discover the trilogy of Dorothy in Oz was originally a political commentary, written in a child's fairly tale metaphor.

Link: http://EyeOnEnglewood.com

HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY!!!

Some people have asked the obvious question, "Can't you just hire an attorney?... If you are too poor, won't they provide you one?" So, here is our story.

In the new playing field, I stumbled around with legal arguments to the City's two new Complaints against both Bill and myself.

Although I had been a good little paralegal in a couple of law firms, I did not understand form, rules of evidence, rules of motion writing or how to reign in my own anger at the powerful treachery goings on under the official cloak of authority.

I regularly called on attorneys to see if they would handle our case. This attorney and that flatly stated that we could not pay their fees, that they only worked for cities or corporations with deep pockets and return business.

I called a local attorney who agreed that I had a case but announced that she worked as a part-time judge for the City and could not risk her employment, nor could she ethically represent me against them. She told me to call the Denver University law school. They would love this kind of challenge she assured me.

I wrote a letter, attaching the Complaint, and walked it across campus and up to the third floor of this regal looking law school building. The receptionist looked at me sympathetically and then said the professor handling this department was on maternity leave and would not be engaging with anyone new for quite some time.

Some attorneys were cryptically rude in letters of rejection. Another one spoke at length to me about having taken two cases like this before but having lost them.

I found precedent in my research that seemed to say that it was the duty of zoning departments to define the families and households in their districts, and that the court would uphold their intent. This precedent frightened me.

We applied for a legal aid attorney to no avail. Though our earnings were not at poverty level, the hourly rate attorneys were typically charging had doubled since my career in law offices. Old charts and definitions for deciding who qualified for legal assistance were outdated. They left a large hole for average homeowners like ourselves to tumble through.

In our case, what my husband made in a day equaled the price of travel time to court for young attorneys who just yesterday were practicing in mock court settings at law school! Perhaps I knew more than they did, but for sure, I was more zealous to defend our cause.

One attorney took thousands of dollars in retainer fees, then decided to settle without our approval because of his personal conflicts on the calendar. When we refused, he insulted us, threatened us by forecasting a total loss complete with a hundred thousand dollars in fines and jail. We panicked for a couple days and argued heatedly. In the end, we decided to stay our course of faith, loose our retainer to this unethical man, and not look back.

I read Psalm 37 in Eugene Peterson’s The Message. “Get insurance with God and do a good deed. Settle down and stick to your last. Keep company with God, get in on the best. Open up before God, keep nothing back; he’ll do whatever needs to be done; He’ll validate your life in the clear light of day and stamp you with approval at high noon.

“Bridle your anger, trash your wrath, cool your pipes—it only makes things worse. Before long the crooks will be bankrupt; God-investors will soon own the store.

“Bullies brandish their swords, pull back on their bows with a flourish. They’re out to beat up on the harmless, or mug that nice man out walking his dog. A banana peel lands them flat on their faces –-slapstick figures in a moral circus.

Meditating like this infused me with comfort, gentleness and hope. This version makes for a contemporary simile. Sometimes, I laugh and cry at the same time because things off limits for an American girl to say in her prayers, were stated in raw form in the poems of David the Shepherd and David the renegade leader. I could relate to this David.

But, how could I “bridle my anger?” This seemed too difficult for me much of the time. At times, I was filled with anger.

Every time I thought I was passed it, the reality of the prosecution, the weight of the city leaning on me, taking away the one thing I could give back to my husband and to God, slapped me in the face.

When I went out for a walk, our neighbor Anne would jump out of her front door and hold herself back from leaping at me. Her hatred was a force of energy hard to describe. They now had four video surveillance cameras on their property, one captured part of our house and our driveway.

I applied to a Christian Attorney’s network, but they only specialized in the hot topics of discrimination such as pro-life issues and church rights. Again, we were turned down.

A Land Rights League of attorneys brought our case to their board of directors, but in the end, their plates were already full.

The ACLU was fighting another defense case for business owners who had dared to improve the aging facades of their businesses, and against whom the City of Englewood had also filed suit. I saw in my research that they had defended a common law couple in Montana who had faced a similar violation of their city’s definition of household. I contacted them with our problem.

The ACLU rarely defends people who openly claim Christ. I guess they figure, “Let Christ defend his own.” At any rate, they were too busy to defend us.

“Stalwart walks in step with God; his path blazed by God, he’s happy. If he stumbles, he’s not down for long; God has a grip on his hand.” Psalm 37, The Message

We found a firm that wanted to take us on Pro Bono. We held our breath. But, because there were so many people involved as so called "witnesses" against us, there turned out to be a conflict of interest with someone in the firm being related to the Drakes.

They gave us hope about the merits of our case, but in the end were prevented from actually representing us.

Another firm again took us on, took our retainer, prepared to send out twelve subpoenas in our defense only to be informed that the City of Englewood had retained another partner in the firm on a gas station litigation matter, and they refused to allow this firm to put up the usual Chinese Curtain between the issues and partners.

This is a City's prerogative, to waive or not to waive their right, but in the case of the City of Englewood, they have so many irons in the fire, that all the firms who specialize in municipal issues are already retained and being employed in litigation matters. Think about all the tax money being spent on $200 - $350 per hour litigation!

There were seemingly no attorneys available to defend our cause. We were shut out from obtaining a legal defense, or forced to waive our rights to a speedy trial in order to find one.

Link: http://EyeOnEnglewood.com

When I designed the house and hired the contractor, it was with a contingency for a treehouse in the grand umbrella looking tree out back. I drew a few steps up from the deck out the back of that room and into an awaiting secret hideout in the tree.

Being a tomboy growing up, I was always intrigued with living in trees. My elder sister called me "monkey" and even tried to humiliate me by reporting my new fiancé that I used to make monkey sounds in front of the mirror. She underestimated the fortitude of Wild Bill with Shorts.

Wild Bill, or Bill with Shorts, didn’t come by those nick-names without reason. He was a man who walked to work in the Winter with his little black shorts on. He had some hot blood running through those veins. One of my favorite pictures is of him in his black shorts, black windbreaker, white socks and black sandals on a rocky volcanic mound on a stormy Vancouver coastline holding an umbrella. He looks like Christopher Robin to me somehow.

We were staying in a treehouse designed after the Canadian's Winnie the Poo stories, in a youth hostel, on Salt Spring Island that year for holiday.

On our 10th anniversary, I had bribed him to visit Africa with me by booking us in a tree house that hung over the fiery Zambezi River with crocodiles and hippos beneath, and the possibility of a green mamba snake coiled nearby.

Once, I had discovered an entire magazine of the finest treehouses in the world and dreamed for hours, days, months over it. How was it possible in America to live in a treehouse?

Well, one might buy a property with mature trees, for instance, and then design and build one from the regular house, so that one might have access to a real kitchen and a nearby potty. Yes. That’s it!

We built our home, but with the contractor fired, and my husband a nurse, not a builder of homes or even treehouses, I was a frustrated monkey to be sure.

But after our Seminary boys finished our decks for us (one was building the new Nordstroms downtown with his father who was the project manager there, and the other was an experienced framer from before Seminary days bringing in some of the bread and butter for his family because of the loss of his father who had died prematurely)... I saw that we were already IN the tree.

We no longer needed a treehouse, because the deck was embraced by the limbs of the tree. In short order, that room which was to be a den in the house became our bedroom.

Over the next two years, the wonder of our private getaway in the tree proved magical. The chatter of birds in the early morning woke us up with a childlike wonder plastered across our faces.

We pretended we lived in Africa. We pretended in the rainstorms, and on calm Saturday mornings.

We marveled at the turning of seasons in our tree. In Autumn, the transparent yellow with lemony sunshine radiating through,-- in Winter, the dramatic arching, twisting limbs of black and white, draped in snow, and in Springtime, the baby lime leaves sprouting. This room was my happiness, my secret joy.

On mornings when I had barely slept the night before because of sleepless problem solving with the various onslaughts of the neighbors and the City, I would wake up to the funny squirrels playing in the tree.

I could hear them overhead, running across the roof, see them leap into the tree, chase each other, defy each other, primp each other, hump each other, carry the small furry balls of their babies into safe hiding, and even calmly stared them down a mere two or three feet from eye to eye.

I would bring out rotting fruit as offerings to my entertaining jesters in this courtyard.

The dichotomy of our heavenly Father's loving kindness to us in the midst of our angst was a daily reprieve. In fact, we began to say, this was not the exception to our private hell, but it was rather our private heaven in which hell was attempting to overtake. That put things into perspective.

Once, during the first year of the onslaught, I attempted to propose an ordinance to the City as a remedy for the situation.

In my open records obtained from the City a short time later, I discovered how I was being mocked by the City Manager and City Attorney Brotzman. “What shall we call this ordinance?” One proposed. “Oh, that’s a no-brainer,” came the reply. “Our house is a very, very, very fine house… with two cats in the yard, life used to be so hard…” Brotzman had written.

Little did they know.