For the first time in my life my neighborhood has made me feel unwelcome, bullied, and out right discriminated against. To my disappointment my wife and our 4-week-old baby, feel we must leave Armory Park. A neighborhood that much to my surprise has always been held together by a group of predominantly Anglo people who dictate their “white picket fence” rules. Things must be kept orderly here (3’ max, chain link or bust). Unlike the barrio; where the evidence of generations of Mexican families organically growing, building, and dying, create the sense of space that wealthy people now want, but do not know how to replicate.  This systemic cultural issue is one of the many problems with the current system. The money and time it takes for this inefficient process is ludicrous, and creates a financial barrier for people whom have lived here for generations and want to make simple repairs to their homes.

Three years ago, my wife and I were excited to start our newly-wed life in Armory Park. We have been lucky enough to purchase three beautiful historic homes (each in very bad condition) each with their distinct style and attributes.

Our current home, a Sonoran adobe of magnificent size, proportion, and handsome stature. Under the sheetrock I found Saguaro ribs carried by beautifully rough sawn Douglas Fir beams, round latillas with 12” wide planks, all used in combination to hold the divine ceiling. In some places, the plaster crumbling to expose the earthen blocks below, where I could still see finger prints imprinted from the men who built the home 130 years ago. Reminding me so much of the homes I’ve spent time in Mexico. Memories of childhood in Mexico coursing through my mind, I could not wait to restore these two

My relationship with the Historic boards began with the restoration of our first home, a Folk Queen Anne Victorian. Understanding their intent, I was patient, I respected their goals and mission. However, as time went on I was shocked at how utterly disrespectful and outright rude these people were. With absolutely no respect for my time or money, I spent tens of thousands of dollars and months discussing useless details in my restoration. I cannot express with words the feeling of desperation and anger I felt to be so passionate about a project that I thought was helping my community, yet be treated so poorly by a group of people who simply read a rule book.

In regard to the Sonoran adobe home, I find myself sitting in front of a panel of predominantly older Anglo people, many who are not remotely close to being native South Westerners telling me how to restore in a style that is by birthright mine. Wood muntins, integral color plasters, stone stemwalls, wood lintels, mud-blocks, tall walls, saguaro ribs, hard work, this is my language, not theirs. The Mexicans that built this city did not have a rule book, a development zone, a setback, a height restriction. They had wood, and sticks, and mud, and hands, and they built what they knew, what I know. 

One of the major issues I am facing at the moment is due to the height of the masonry wall I built enclosing the backyard of my adobe home. Interestingly the wall in question acts as a partition between my backyard and the land that I own on the other side of the wall (i.e. no other adjacent neighbor). First off, the wall in question, was shown on the approved FLD plans, but the height was not shown nor discussed by the review boards or staff during the review process. Secondly, the wall will be completely out of sight of any right of way when the homes that have already been approved by the boards are completed in front of the wall. The original home, with its stout 14’ adobe walls and central courtyard, could be considered abrupt in its setting of mostly delicate structures. From the depths of who I am and where I come from and the blood that runs inside me, after the homes I have lived in Mexico, the old haciendas, the barrios of the Southwest, my people know that this wall was born from this architecture. The home and the mass dictate the height. My adobe home and the people who built it were here before the anglo picket fences around it.

The next issue is with my mother’s home that I am preserving (749 S. 4thAve.) I have been issued a stop work order for the simple act of patching and repairing stucco that was previously falling off leaving the walls vulnerable. So now I will have to spend over $5,000 simply to have a group of people look over a couple of photos and say it is ok for me to repair the stucco. Not only is this an enormous financial burden, it leaves the home vulnerable to vandalism while my mother lives there, and leaves an eyesore to the neighborhood for months to come.

“Why doesn’t he just follow the rules?” you may ask yourself. Sadly, my home now sits in the middle of a neighborhood controlled by two panels of people, most of whom, do not understand the vernacular architecture of my culture. They understand a rule book. They and City staff treat me with disrespect and have absolutely no concern for the time and money I spend on these reviews. The things I build are a direct representation of my culture, heritage, and Mexican roots, and I cannot continue to be bullied by these people; my identity is at stake.