The Need for Quality Affordable Housing

I am an expert when it comes to affordable housing. I do not mean that I am an expert when it comes to the execution of developing affordable housing or creating policy or financing strategies. I am an expert in affordable housing in terms of the need for quality homes for city residents.

Maybe I am more of an expert of what it means to live in subpar quality housing and slumlords that own housing units that are deteriorating. Many of the existing units out there are well beyond their shelf life. Our industry is building and building but it seems like it will never be enough. With soaring housing costs in many U.S. cities, achieving a decent quality of life can be difficult for those challenged financially.

Fortunately my struggles were due to my focus on furthering my education. It is no secret that I had many personal challenges as a teen and young adult. I really love learning but I really dislike the school environment. That made me a late blooming scholar which I have grown to appreciate. After transferring from a community college, I started my first day at the big university at the ripe age of 24. I did not qualify for regular student housing and my generous financial aid package barely covered rent, food, and supplies. Along with the staggering yearly cost of attending a private university, architecture school and all its costs like materials, site visits, and printing, makes it very expensive. I guess I was the one with the story that our grandfathers told about walking to school in the snow, up a hill, both ways.

I lived on the “opposite” side of campus in South L.A. I lived there for a total of nine years; five years of architecture school and four years after graduating. I had an on-campus job for the five years during college and I had low paying summer jobs and an internship at an architectural firm. It was interesting being the 27 year old intern. I fluctuated between having one or two jobs while attending school. At my university job, I was fortunate to have an understanding set of staff that I worked for. I was the guy that was always tucked away trying to catch a quick nap under the desk. I am not sure how I survived. My grades showed it for sure but it was nothing to talk about at the time, more for the shame of it rather than some type of heroic hardship to overcome.

My apartment was a strange place. From the side window, I could jump into the window of the unit across the mini alley without running. You could hear every word from neighbors arguing and every once in a while there would be the sounds of smashing and cursing during a fist fight in a unit. My apartment faced the alley and that was always a real adventure. I am not sure how I slept at night. That alley had gun fights, gang fist fights, screaming women, and the constant sound of broken shopping cart wheels and people shifting through the garbage bin looking for recyclables. I had a window that was directly under the garbage bin and you could not open the bedroom window the smell was so bad. Obviously, summers were of the worst type of sweltering heat.

There was a total breakdown of communication between tenant and apartment staff. One day I came home and the door was wide open. Inside was a man with a ladder fixing something. I looked at the guy and said “what the fu** is going on?” He was cleaning up, grabbed his tool bag and ladder and walked out. The guy down the hall, not the so called apartment manager, showed up at the door and said there was something that needed to be repaired so they went ahead and fixed it. “Aren’t you supposed to give me at least 24 hours notification?” He replied with a smile and his super thick latin accent: “Ah, don’t worry, we fixed everything right up!”

For six hundred and twenty five bucks, that was the level of quality that you get. Not to mention the loud bouncing music, loud movies, and your laundry getting taken out of the machine mid-wash. But with all that and more, when you’re on a path you have to tolerate things and see them through to the end. I would not say that these living conditions were motivation, but it was an important reminder that transforming your life was not going to be easy. I did not have any choices but I knew that I had to make it through somehow.

My favorite part was what I like to call the “Seasonal Decor.” I lived on the second floor and during storms, the walls and ceilings would get wet. Every year I would go and complain and it would go away for a while only to return in a few months or the next year even worse. I drove by the building a year ago and was astounded to find that the structure was still standing.

I look at these pictures now and laugh to myself. I remember the small color tv with the samurai helmet replica on top. The picture was always fuzzy, but when I strategically placed the cable wire on the side of the metal helmet ornament, the picture came in much clearer!!

This building had zero parking spots. During my five years at the university I did not own a car so it did not matter. After graduation, now responsible for student loan payments, my sister passed her car down to me. Parking was always interesting. The fronting street was a major boulevard and there was rush hour conditions every weekday morning and afternoon and you had to move the car before seven a.m. Thursday was a street-sweeping day so you had to move the car on that day as well. Sometimes there would be no street parking out front and you had to park down the street or around the block; whatever, no problem. Walking home late was not an issue and I get a tad irritated when I hear people complaining about new developments that offer less parking spots. Walking around the streets of South L.A. in the middle of the night can be quite an experience, but you just adjust and don’t really think about it.

I remember a conversation with someone in the architecture department. It was a student but in a lower class. This person saw me walking home in the “other” direction and later asked where I lived. I told her and she replied “ohhhh, you live on THAT side of campus - aren’t you afraid? Aren’t you afraid that someone is going to rob you or something?”

I was a bit puzzled but thought that it was a valid question. I followed up with my own question: “Do you really want to know?” Yes.

“I am not really worried. Sure, I can get beat up, stabbed, shot, robbed, jumped by gangs, or whatever, but when someone sees me, they know that it could be a tough go for them and I might not be the one paying a visit to the hospital.” Her eyes and ears perked up and I continued. “You see, bad people do not really want that type of challenge or resistance. If they want a laptop or a cell phone, they go to the “opposite” side of campus; basically your neighborhood to get those things.”

There is an old saying in the neighborhood: “Get in where you fit in.” I guess I had to go through this journey. I would do it again. It was tough and there were many early morning walks home after a long night at the studio. There were many bus rides and strolls in the cold. Sometimes, I would be restless and would take a late night walk through campus. It was a tough time. It was sort of an emotional and spiritual journey through time. I completed my mission and then it was time to make a different path. I moved back to San Diego. That was a tough decision. I felt like returning meant that I was returning to the past. Because of that I knew that returning to my old home was the way. Through all the challenges and obstructions that I endured during my time in Los Angeles, I knew that there was something to be done in San Diego. I knew that I needed to return to issue a great challenge in the place where the past and the present future would meet to determine what the future would be. I had a chance to stay in L.A. I had a chance to go off to school in New York City. Something inside me said that things in San Diego needed to be resolved first. I needed to show what I had become. I needed to show myself not anyone else. I had the opportunity to do so and I took it. When thinking of the other paths, they all felt like running away. What was I running from? I was running from myself. Now I know that I made the right decision and set the paths in motion.

On my last day in Los Angeles, the executive at the project I was at allowed me to borrow the jobsite truck to carry my stuff home. The pseudo apartment manager let me know it was ok to leave anything I wanted behind. I assumed he would send some of it off to Central America. I agreed and only loaded the truck with essentials. That last night I sat in the living room close to the same spot on my first night there when I sat in the empty apartment on the floor with a candle. It was a long journey that was now coming to an end. I had accomplished what I came there to do. Then, there was a series of loud bangs. Shortly after, the sound of sirens and an alley full of police cars and officers. I snapped one last photo and closed the shades. I rested on my bed and fell asleep amidst the ongoing chaos.