I haven't posted anything here since may "Oh So Witty" post on Donald Trump recieving approval for his illegal flagpole. I'm going to be taking a light role here for a bit for two reasons.
1) My professional work is about to become directly involved in a community planning matter, the development and master planning of Angels Gate Park, and more specifically the
Cultural Center. Although I haven't been forced into any compromising positions yet, I have no desire to be in the position where a conflict of interest would compromise my ability to write for this blog. There's far too much mixing/overlap between the media and the operators in this town, and I don't want to encourage any more of that.
2) This is a bit of a long one, and I'll try and give the short version. I'm pissed - I'm pissed about what's going on in Downtown Pedro, and I don't really feel like writing about Pedro at the moment. Here's why -
Other than being the Visual Arts Director at Angels Gate, I also operated the Walled City Gallery in Downtown Pedro until August of this year. I closed the gallery so that I could concentrate on some new projects, as well as focus more on some exciting upcoming programming at Angles Gate. Having a good rental situation (so I believed at the time), and not needing the studios entire space for myself, I invited two of my close friends (Edith Abeyta and John Gill) to share the space. I spent most of August remodeling the studio to better accomodate my library, and moving things around to accomodate my new mates.
At about the same time we began to transition the space from a gallery to a working studio, I got some new neighbors in my building. The illegal live work, sublet that was a bit of an irritation became at first a hassle and then later, a crisis. I had been speaking with my landlord for half a year about the issue with the sublet next door, and for half a year, he claimed that he was going to evict the tenants. No eviction took place, and in August, more people started living next door, most notably a couple that engaged in on and off, 24 hour a day domestic violence. It was soon obvious that everybody next door was using methamphetamine, and by the beginning of September it had become obvious from the amount of in and out traffic at both the front door and the alley entrance that the place had become a major drug den.
By the beginning of September, it had become impossible to use the backyard, as there was either constantly a semi/non-operational vehicle parked in my half of the yard, or just piles of new and mysterious junk had been dumped on my side. The lock on the back gate was changed. Lumber and paint started disappearing when I would leave it outside. So many people were now living/crashing/hanging out/getting loaded/buying drugs at the space that I didn't even know who to blame or talk to. When I did manage to bring it up to anyone, it was a non-productive conversation with a doped up, out of it, loser.
I complained to the landlord. He claimed that he was going to evict the neighbors right away (FYI, a fully resisted eviction takes 60-90 days to process, it's not a quick matter and a lot of crap can happen in 60-90 days), primarily for being in an illegal sublet. I even offered to help him find a new, responsible tenant who would pay 50% more in rent, and who wouldn't use it as an illegal live work space. Nothing happened.
Two weeks ago, on September 21, I got a call. From the realtor who was representing the person who just bought my building with cash I knew that my landlord was moving to sell for a long time, and I even had gotten him to agree to give me first option to buy the building, and I'm still not entirely clear on the nature of the sale (someone who spoke to him says that my landlord's wife sold the building all by herself, but I'm not buying anything). My landlord never even mentioned to me that the building had sold, even after it had. The realtor was really pleasant to deal with. The buyer was looking forward to having me as a tenant, and the new buyer was ready to evict the neighbors as soon as he took ownership. We decided not to stay - we'd probably be looking at a 50-100% increase in rent (which would be totally fair and bring it up to market - we had a ridiculously low rent at Walled City). I negotiated that I would move out by December 15.
I started moving - first the LEGO collection, as it's stored in stackable bins already, but I figured I had plenty of time. Back to next door, though. By mid-September, things had gotten worse, much worse. Between 8-10 people were sleeping or living in the space, including in a non-operational truck that had become permanently parked in the backyard, blocking the gate completely and half on my side. Dozens of junkies and dope fiends were coming by every day. Dudes on bikes would ride up and do little exchanges with guys who came out the front door. Sometimes you could smell chemical smells, maybe they're making their own speed there? People were lingering around the front, knocking at the neighbors, looking to buy dope. People were coming in the back yard. Different people every day. Any hour of the day you could hear people talking, my neighbors had become a sixteen armed junkie that never slept. Some guy got arrested and his truck sat in the loading zone for 3 or four days (no ticket? no tow? - Parking Enforcement?). By the time I got the news that the building had sold, I was prettly much leaving already.
I was too busy at work and on another project to move quickly - that's why I wanted to stay until December 15. I should have moved sooner. On Saturday, September 30, neck deep in the highly technical final details of the
Czech Residency at Angels Gate, I got a call. Edith had arrived at the studio, found the back door wide open. I immediately directed her to the dusty silhouette where my laptop had been before some tweaked out, low life had made off with it. Every box, container or package in the building had been opened and searched, for what, I do not know. My
talles was strewn across my desk, defiled and manhandled, and during the high holy days, no less. The remanents of my father's coin collection was gone, one of my backpacks was gone, presumably to carry off my belongings in. Edith's stuff was searched, but nothing taken. Someone had spent a lot of time in my place, making a mess, rifling through my personal business, and otherwise subjecting me and my mates to a disturbing and frstrating violation.
I can't say that I know that my neighbors or their many, many guests were responsible, but come on, man. Some skinny bloke forces his way through my bathroom window, digs around for hours (there was a lot of stuff to go through) and then makes a run for it? Maybe the constant stream of drug addicts with criminal records next door might have something to do with it.
So we posted a guard while I finished hanging the show at Angels Gate (which is damn good, BTW), and starting Sunday morning we moved everything we owned out of the space, except built ins and some furniture that's not my problem any more. We stayed in the studio over night on Saturday to guard everything, and the mindless activity of my neighbors went all night and around to morning. We managed to get threatened by the most drug dealerish one (the asshole with the "Harbor Area" tattoo covering the entirety of his back) for calling the cops when the bald one started beating his pregnant girlfriend. I turned in my key over at my landlord's office (The Cabrillo Hotel - what a gem of an operation that is!), and turned my back on the space for good. It wouldn't suprise me to find out that my now ex-neighbors have already helped themselves to my back door or windows and are expanding their operation.
So I'm out of downtown, and due to the level of gentrification, combined with the general decline in the quality of life downtown (I've spoken with a lot of police in the past week, they all have heard or experienced that San Pedro has become a mecca for drug activity and more of a "dumping ground" than usual), I'm not likely to have either a studio, or a gallery there in the future. The yuppies and the junkies can have it.
So that's my story. I don't know how I feel about my adopted home town right now, and it's hard to write about it without being reminded about a lot of what's gone wrong with it lately and over the years. Now would be a great time for anybody who's ever had a desire to stand on this particular soapbox to drop me a line and start posting. Meanwhile, don't forget to read the
Ponte Vista Blog for the latest on that issue - Mark's doing a good job over there.
