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Over the years I have voiced my displeasure over the runaway building that has happened here in the San Gabriel Valley. I know it is all about progress and many of the properties that have been torn down and replaced with massive multi family homes was necessary. It’s just the world we live in, like it or not.
Sure there have been attempts to slow down or halt this phenomenon by means of moratoriums in specific areas. It usually happens when area residents have banded together to let the city know how much they, in their single story homes, don’t want a house or houses the size of hotels built next to them. But this is just a band-aid on the situation, it is going to happen whether we like it or not. You can either join them or move, which if you are a long time resident who loves the area and house that you live in, like myself, it can be a bitter pill to swallow.
A while back when people in the area that I live in were notified of the impending construction of a property next to us we made our displeasure known. This led to the city council putting a halt to the construction in this area for further evaluation. You see, within a three-block radius of my house, it has become a building free for all, so the residents here were absolutely justified in their cries of foul. We all had the feeling that at anytime the house next door could be next and be replaced with an exact size replica of the Taj Mahal.
I guess the evaluation is over because two weeks ago I awoke to what I initially thought was a mild earthquake. This was soon followed by the sounds of sledge hammers pounding on what I thought was my roof. I got up and went outside to see a group of men on the roofs of the houses next door to mine beating the roofs like a bad dog. This little exercise in house abuse went on for the next week, which made working, which I do at home, a sheer joy. Then there was quiet for a few days as the property sat looking like a scene from the evening news of that day’s destruction in Iraq.
When scene two began in this play of transformation it started very similar to scene one with a wake up call akin to an earthquake, but far more intense. This time, in addition to earth shaking vibrations coming from the foundation of my house, it was accompanied by the sound of heavy machinery. To be honest it sounded like a 747 jet was landing in my bedroom at a slow speed.
Once again I went outside to see how the story was unfolding. The cast had increased in number and what I thought was a 747 turned out to be a Cat 973. It was a large yellow metal monster, bred and designed for one purpose, mass destruction. Dubya was looking in the wrong place. He needed to send the troops to Temple City not Iraq. I guess they were hard to find because despite their size these suckers could move like the wind. As they move they are capable of taking out anything that stands in their way.
 As the large jaws of this beast reduced the four houses and two garages on this lot to rubble it rearranged the furniture in my house with every pound to the ground it made with its large scoop. The masked operator of this urban tank made eye contact with me as he, with almost surgical precision, waged his one-man war on his defenseless enemy. The gleam in his eyes spoke volumes after he, with four swift strikes with the scoop of the Cat, reduced a house to splinters. He looked at me as if to say, “I really enjoy my work.” This as his wheel turets repeatedly ran over the house creating a pile of broken wood and concrete out of what was a house just minutes before.
By 3 o’clock, obviously the witching hour for construction workers, the human element had vacated the scene leaving the Cat 973 to keep watch and rest up for what I thought would be the next go around in the morning. Not knowing the ins and outs of home demolition the next go around would not come for a couple of days. Maybe this was to give the debris time to settle; perhaps it was to give the resident’s lungs and sinuses a break from the onslaught of dust and pollen that was stirred up making it impossible to breath. For whatever reason the next onslaught would not come until a few days later when the largest trash truck I have ever seen made its appearance along with a second Cat 973.
So now we have two of these noisy monsters working at once in a deafening ballet removing the mounds of trash, stirring up more dust and pollen, and once again
choking everyone in breathing distance. Then it hit me, they were not only removing the trash, they were also removing some of my memories. Those houses had been there my entire life. I remembered playing when I was young with the kids who lived there and going to birthday parties there with others. I also thought of all the times that I spoke over the fence with neighbors and even with the last residents who I could not converse with, but shared a mutual love of vegetable gardening, trading plants without exchanging a word.
Even though the second act hasn’t started yet I’m sure that those days will be gone forever. One of the
modus operandi of these new houses are the absence of any yards. So the days of gardening and over the fence chats are gone. I could be wrong, maybe the new owners will want to maintain the small town feel that drew most of us here in the first place.
I’ll let you know in act two, the building phase.
The Shrub Speaks: And we will continue to make it clear to both Syria and Iran that -- as will other nations in our coalition, including our friend, the Italians, that meddling in the internal affairs of Iraq is not in their interest. White House, Dec. 15, 2004.
B.D.’s Response: Oh I get it, leave the meddling to us!
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