It actually started in the 80s, with the demise of the steel industry. We were newly married, my father lost his job, thousands of people fled Western PA for prosperity elsewhere. Those who remained were either retired early against their will like my dad, retrained into more relevant jobs or just descended into despair and crime. The 90s came with their crazy Wall Street boom, real estate bubble, the birth of the variable rate mortgage, and more thousands fled to suburban greener pastures, leaving behind those of us who knew that despite its shortcomings, this area is a wonderful place to live. Close to downtown and Oakland, yet removed from the fray, we soldiered on, happy with our short commutes and long-time neighbors, whose quirks we preferred to think of as "colorful" rather than just plain wacky. For us at least, the grittiness was part of the appeal. That, and it was very affordable. Moving in to take care of my grandmother, who was 90 at the time, turned into a lifetime commitment to a very worthwhile cause.
As long-time neighbors died off their offspring, ensconced in suburban comfort, sold off their childhood homes for bargain prices to landlords who were only interested in the profit they could make. Over time more and more houses became rental properties with absentee owners who did not bother to vet their tenants well. Many of those tenants had "five-minute visitors," and property values overall fell.
The police were very cooperative in keeping an eye on things, and the most troublesome residents did not last long here. And although everyone who came to visit agreed it was a great neighborhood, families did not flock to live here. Those of us who had just stayed became resigned to keeping an eye on things and enjoying our little corner or paradise, property values be damned.
So back to the police officers. Early last summer, we rented my mother's house to a medical student and his wife. My mom moved in with us two years ago, and we did not want to sell her house outright for several reasons. A one-bedroom house a few doors down had been for sale by owner for several years. We knew the owner, he had renovated it for his own daughter several years before, but she had moved because of her husband's job. One day at dinner, I said, "Maybe we should just buy Ray's house and rent it out, since we are already landlords." I had expected to be shot down by my husband and mother, but somehow there we were seriously discussing the idea. Our financial planner vigorously approved as well.
We bought the house a short time later and realized we could wait for the right tenant. And we found her. She is a graduate student in Pitt's social work program, a delight who was eager to start "living like a grown-up," as she put it. Very responsible, very social, very inexperienced with northern winters. From the south, she is not familiar with the realities of snow and freezing temperatures. In short, she thought that the heating system is comparable to lights: turn it off when you are not there. So when she dropped off a load of her things the week before her lease began, that is what she did. Combine that misunderstanding with last week's negative temperatures, and you end up with frozen, exploding radiators.
This is why one buys landlord/homeowner insurance. Frantic phone calls to the agent, the plumber and the water company set us on track. Unfortunately, after an initial survey of the damage on Friday afternoon, the plumber locked a lock to which we had no key. Hence, the police. That night, because everything thawed, we could hear water running, but couldn't get in. A call to 911 brought two of our local officers with whom we debated the least destructive way to break into a house. (Drilling through a lock, remember?)
The damage seemed daunting. The first floor was flooded, the toilets were frozen, radiators had literally exploded, spewing dirty water through the only carpeted area in the house. So we turned off the water, brought the shop vac down and set things as right as we could at 1:00 a.m.
The weekend brought an assessment by the plumber, a new meter from the water company and many funny exchanges with the tenant, who was mortified at the havoc she had wrought. All is well that ends well, and we are on the way to a fully functional heated home. Theoretically all will be set right today as a result of an all-day stint by the plumbing crew. The tenant will be happy to have running water and heat, and oddly, we are not discouraged.
We will continue to try to rebuild our neighborhood and populate it with enthusiastic (if inexperienced) young people who will help revitalize it. Wish us luck. I think we are going to need it.
