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Illustration by Cindy Couling
The Monsters Are Coming!
In which our very way of life is menaced by monstrous beings of tremendous girth
By Dan Byrne
I had a strange experience the other day. I was just settling into my living room sofa when I was interrupted by the sound of my doorbell being given a workout. Fortunately, I live in one of those cozy bungalows that define the character of the Willow Glen neighborhood, so I didn't actually have to get up from the sofa to open the front door. I just stretched out my leg and gave the latch a flick with my toe. Gravity and the slope density of the foundation did the rest, whereupon two very proper looking ladies confronted me.
"Sir, I assume you know that your way of life is under attack?" said the first lady as she stepped inside.
"Well, no, I didn't," I said, a bit surprised. "Which way of life would that be?"
"Why, our Willow Glen way of life!" said the smaller lady in the back in a high loud voice.
I couldn't see her completely, but she seemed a bit on the short side; and since my foyer is smaller than those wasteful ones they put in modern houses she couldn't quite fit in next to her companion.
"That's right," said the woman in front, oblivious to her friend's plight. "Surely you must have heard of the attack being mounted by these 'monster house' people?"
"Well, I've read a few things in the paper," I said helpfully, but they sound more like they're being hunted than attacking." I was beginning to feel hunted myself. I sat up straighter.
"Oh dear," said the lady in front sweetly, "it seems we've come just in time. My name is Bertha Dorfmeister and this is my associate Millie Mort. We are founders of an organization that protects people like you: the Home Owners Total Architectural Integrity Referendum.
" ... Architectural Integrity?" I said, struggling with the acronym.
"Yes sir," trilled Ms. Mort from somewhere in back, "The very heart of Willow Glen is being cut out by insensitive, rich people who think they can do whatever they want on their property without consulting us!"
"What Ms, Mort means," soothed Ms. Dorfmeister, is that we are trying to protect the right of the neighborhood to look the way it ought to look."
"How should it look?" I asked.
"You know--cute, quaint, cozy--all those things," gasped Ms. Mort as she attempted to wedge herself gracefully between the door jamb and her associate's considerable form.
"The point is," continued Ms. Dorfmeister, "we, the neighborhood, have a right not to be trampled on by these people who insist on putting up large, distasteful homes. They seem to think that their rights as homeowners are somehow more important than our right not to see houses we don't like."
"Right!" squeaked Ms. Mort from somewhere on the porch, "who do they think they are?"
"Well," I replied cagily, "I seem to recall that a couple of them got a word in edgewise somewhere and said something about wanting more space for their families."
"Those are transparent attempts to justify conspicuous consumption," clucked Ms. Dorfmeister. "My Aunt Hilda lived in a 900-square-foot house and managed to raise four kids there, I don't see why these people need all the space they say they do."
"Well I'm not sure I understand your point there," I said. "My aunt used to have her teeth drilled without Novocain. Besides, shouldn't these people be able to utilize their property in the manner best suited to them?"
"Oh sir," sighed Ms. Dorfmeister, "they surely have some rights, but let's not get confused about priorities here. How would you feel, as the owner of this darling little cottage, if some insensitive person wanted to put up a two-story home next to you and peek into your living room from their big upstairs windows?"
"Well," I mused, "if they can see me, I can probably see them. Are you suggesting these two-story people build their homes so that I can see them seeing me? Besides, if that's your real concern, why not leave it between the parties who might be materially affected--the immediate neighbors?"
"Oh dear," said Ms. Mort from somewhere outside, "you poor defenseless cottage owners are no match for heartless monster house types!"
"Sir," replied Ms. Dorfmeister icily, "I can see you just don't understand how serious this issue is. We, on the other hand, recognize that more needs to be done. We need ordinances. We need restrictions. Otherwise, people like you might actually find ways to co-exist with monster houses in the name of this property rights silliness. And then we'll be reminded with every trip down our favorite street that we could have had control over the integrity of our neighborhoods, but instead, let it slip away to be squandered by our neighbors. As Americans, we have a right not to be confronted with things we don't like. And when we are, we have an obligation to remove or restrain them to the best of our ability. Let's go, Millie!"
With that she whirled around, but misjudging the brevity of the foyer she slammed into Ms. Mort, who was still in the doorway. She collected herself with a "humph," and they marched off.
As my toe nudged the door shut, I gazed across the 15-foot expanse of lawn at my neighbor in his bungalow living room. I couldn't be sure--but I think he had just been looking at me.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
