The Willow Glen Resident Good paint jobs make for good neighbors Deborah Taylor-Hollis We used to be the Ma and Pa Kettle of the block. Our house had a cheap, 15-year-old paint job that was peeling at every seam; the shed sat on a mud sill and was more a termite snack than anything else; and after 71 years, the garage had become a place where even Wes Craven would be afraid to go after dark. Out in the yard, the paint on my art-deco pink flamingo was peeling, and the plantings around the house had been removed for future foundation work, leaving bare spots not even Monoxidil could cure. We got better this summer. After a beautiful paint job and some major yard work, we are no longer the worst eyesore on the block--something our neighbors, who are way too kind, never mentioned. I am sure that behind closed doors they cursed us under their breath and muttered about how we were bringing down property values. Now they can look us in the eye and admire the "new paint" without mentally calculating their resale value dropping by a few thou. It's like this on every block in the county. Unless you live in a brand-new development, each home ages differently, is cared for differently, and has owners of different tastes. Every block has a worst house. Depending on your sense of personal freedom, yours may be it. The worst-case scenario is a house with a wild paint job, which neighbors try to overlook and real estate agents steer their clients around. I don't care where you live, if even one house on the block is painted bubble-gum pink with purple shutters and has lots of folk-art tile work, you can bet the farm that the owners are not loved by their "neutral beige" neighbors. I'm sure I'm gonna hear people screaming names at me now, but it's a fact of life that, as property values rise, neighbors are going to become more and more concerned about the eclectic eccentricities and heritage-induced outpourings of affection some folks feel compelled to lavish over their homes' exteriors. Day-Glo houses bring down property values because they don't appeal to anyone but the family who loves them. This was the problem the fictional Addams family had with their howling five-story Victorian relic, a place the neighbors couldn't ignore if they tried. This was the problem for Green Acres' Oliver and Lisa Douglas, who bought a farm sight-unseen that even they didn't want to live in. It comes down to individual rights versus community values (both the monetary and aesthetic kinds) and, unless you're dealing with some renters who will eventually move out, it can lead to permanent rifts in cozy neighborhoods between the folks who read House Beautiful and the folks who keep livestock on the patio. Having been the worst house on the block for several years, I know that the people who can't keep their places shining feel the pressure, and they appreciate it when their neighbors love them for who they are, not how things look. They have big plans for their little palaces, and someday, they plan to have perfect show homes, with perfect gardens. If you are lucky, they are also the nicest folks in the area, who have lots of patience with the neighborhood kids, volunteer to take in your mail when you leave for the weekend and organize the street picnic every summer. If you knock on their door, they will greet you warmly, offer you coffee, and give you cuttings of their numerous overgrown plants. They babysit when your teenager flakes out, have extra eggs when you're baking, and loan you a mower when yours quits. With friends like that, you can overlook purple stucco and pink flamingos. But sometimes the neighbors with the paint jobs from hell, multi-directional yard ornaments or a dozen red-metal chickens perched on 8-foot brick pillars think they are examples of next month's Architectural Digest cover. Trying to tell them that the consensus of the neighborhood is to retch and run is unfruitful and counterproductive. These are the same folks who can't hear their own dogs barking right under their bedroom window when folks three streets over can. They are the people who always have something in their wardrobe in leopard print, and who keep the manufacturers of exterior neon green in business. If the neighbors try everyone's patience, yell at skateboarders, steal your paper, or hide behind high walls and iron bars, then the additional affront to neighborhood tastes and property values can always be met with legal maneuvers, calls to city hall and a copy of this column--sent anonymously, late at night, maybe attached to the flaming paper bag you leave on their front porch. After all, if the neighbors won't tell you your house looks like a psychotic circus carnival tent, who will? [ Back to Contents Page | Willow Glen Resident Home Page | Archives ] This article appeared in the Willow Glen Resident, November 11, 1998. ©1998 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.