A few days ago, the powers that be within our building posted an advertisement for a vacant lot. Upon closer inspection, it was not meant to attract interested buyers -- quite the contrary, in fact. The flyer was for the parcel behind our building, which right now appears to be a makeshift mini-storage facility. Behind the chain link fence is a long-outmoded streetcar or bus (at this point it's hard to tell), crammed with all sorts of miscellaneous items that are shoved so tight they block passersby from viewing inside the windows. Every now and then there's a car parked inside the gates -- perhaps the owner spending some quality time on his otherwise abandoned lot. Surrounding the site, along with our building, are other residences and a local spot for artists and music shows. Asking price: over seven million dollars. Whether it's a fair price or not, the reason our neighbors brought this tidbit of news to our attention is because the advertisement insinuates that the local zoning requirements would permit a 10-story building to rise next door to us. There goes the neighborhood. Or then again, maybe not.
Of course, being so often on the other side of these squabbles, I understand the sensational nature of our fellow building residents' assertions. The numbers of course came from the announcement itself, prepared by the real estate agent for the owner, which no doubt ignores the gap between the maximum permitted buildout and what realistically would get past the applicable land use board. I mean, really, if there's one lesson I've learned over the course of my time in the land use arena is that if you have to trust anyone, try avoiding finding yourself choosing amongst a collection of real estate agents. I always think back to the days of the shady land speculators that sold and sold again a good chunk of the West, or when people would successfully sell a portion of the Brooklyn Bridge, or perhaps when someone could unload a prime tract of swampland in Florida. Or look around today.
For instance, in remote Box Elder County, Utah, local officials have had to notify 3,000 unsuspecting individuals who bought parcels of land from smarmy developers that their purchases were illegal and invalid. The culprits in this sham never bothered to get subdivision approval from the county, which would have allowed them to legally carve up and dispose of their tracts. The sad folks who fell into these schemes are proud owners of investments which amount to little more than mirages that appear in that desert region. Using eBay and other willing Internet providers, the sellers have netted millions, from such far away sources as Germany and Australia. Even if the new owners wanted to see their lands, they would have no right, because they have no access from public rights-of-way.
Okay, so we're talking about a simple case of fraud, committed on people who in a lot of ways have no one to blame but themselves for their stupidity. Apparently many of them didn't even bother to take a look at their new little slice of heaven before they plopped down the asking price from afar. But underlying this episode, along with the matter outside my window, is the way in which land use so often gets lost in the shuffle, or gets twisted in a way to become unrecognizable from the truth. As they say, the truth is out there, and doesn't take much to find the answers. In a way I want to jump into the fray, and help guide my neighbors on their path to NIMBYism. On the other hand, it's almost more worthwhile to let them jump in and fend for themselves. Not only will they learn about the land use process, they'll realize that the next time they require the services of a real estate agent, or are thinking about buying into a desert oasis, they may want to do a little independent research to make sure they know the facts.
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