With this, the 100th post to my blog, I thought it was time to introduce our mascots, Adam and Anna Mongel. They were my Great-Great Grandparents who emigrated from Germany around 1850. Family lore has it that Mary’s shoulders were slumped from years of schlepping water buckets. They were both said to be very hard workers, a trait that has since been bred from the line.
My hearing to quash the Ellis Act proceedings was on Tuesday. We are still awaiting the judge’s decision. Of the six issues that were raised, the judge was skeptical about three but seemed interested in a couple of them. And it only takes one. So we wait……
The Motion to Quash was filed yesterday and we await the Judge’s decision at next Tuesday’s hearing. The wheels of justice finally begin to turn.
When I was making the rounds a year ago seeking counsel, agencies would always ask who my landlord’s attorney was. When I said “Denise Leadbetter” there was almost a uniform “ugh.” I heard things like “not one of my favorite people” or “not easy to deal with.”
Back in those early stages I did notice a certain lack of attention to detail on Ms. Leadbetter’s part. In the original Owner Move In eviction and then again in the Ellis Notice two months later she failed to acknowledge that I was a senior. She and the landlord knew this from the Realtor Disclosure Form. But this may have been more of a legal tactic than an oversight. The burden was on me to state my protected status rather than on her to acknowledge she already knew.
In early 2014 when I was thinking of dealing with her directly we played phone tag for a couple of weeks. She finally sent me a letter asking that I call her as soon as possible. She ended it with “Tanks very much.”
Then there was also the original OMI Eviction Notice in December 2013 where she stated the building was owned by Vince Young and the “Young Family Trust D/D/T February 5, 200.” By my calculation that would place it in the Han Dynasty.
The only time we ever spoke was when we met at the Rent Board Hearing. She was nice enough that day although the sharp elbows did come out a couple of times.
At one point she said that I needed to return the money Vince Young gave me for the OMI eviction that he later withdrew. I told her that an attorney at the Tenants Union told me it was moot and that I was not required to return it.
She shot back, “you couldn’t have spoken to an attorney at the Tenants Union. Only paralegals work as counselors there.”
I said I knew the firm he used to work for and that I would get her his bar number if she liked.
She was insistent, “you could not have spoken to an attorney there.”
At the end of the hearing she said she’d like to work with me in finding a resolution. I said that I’d been using the Tenderloin Housing Clinic and that any negotiations should be done through them. She asked who I was working with. I said Jeffrey Woo.
She pounced, “you couldn’t have spoken to Jeffrey Woo. He’s in private practice at Cooper White.”
“The attorney who did my intake was Jeffrey Woo.”
“You couldn’t have…” Well, you get the picture. I just let it drop. Sometimes it’s better not to engage.
In retrospect I’m willing to cut her some slack. In her days at Santa Clara Law School she probably skipped the course on The Law of Common Surnames.
I met with the attorney yesterday to sign papers allowing him to accept service on my behalf. He went over a rough time line of how this will all shake down. Finally, some milestones to be aware of and a general feeling for what’s going to happen.
On March 17th we will file our Motion to Quash the Unlawful Detainer. A hearing will be held on March 24th which I am not to attend. The judge may render a decision that day or a day or so later.
Depending on who prevails. either the landlord or I will probably file an appeal. The appellate process can take up to 60 days.
So I’m here at least until June. And, for the time being anyway, I don’t have to worry about the sheriff busting in and throwing my precious collectibles out on the street.
After a weekend of strangers knocking on the door, the kind of strangers whom I don’t like knocking and whom I never answer, I still have not been served. The mini-drama continues and I apologize for not giving my readers the histrionics they deserve. I had visions of the SWAT team rappelling through the bay windows.
Tomorrow I meet with the attorney to sign papers allowing him to accept service on my behalf. Seems anti-climactic after all the build up. He will then file our Motion to Quash.
I’ve had three calls today wondering what was going on, why I hadn’t updated the blog, were there visiting hours at the county jail. Obviously, the nation is on edge.
Originally I planned to video the service of papers in my hallway for my readers’ viewing pleasure. Then I was advised I shouldn’t answer the front door. So the tripod came down.
I also tried to be sneaky about leaving or returning to the building, avoiding strangers. After a couple days I thought, why bother? Let’s just get served and get it over with.
A nasty cold hit over the weekend which curtailed my mobility. I barely made it off the couch. If there was a process server camped outside my building I can only hope he was charging by the hour.
Tomorrow morning I take the March rent check over to my attorney to deposit in a trust account pending the outcome of all this. Then I’m having lunch at the House of Shields with a trusted former boss cum tea leaf reader. I’ll be out and about.
Nothing has happened on the eviction front. My attorney told me the one year notice period actually ended on Wednesday so yesterday was the first day they could have served me. They didn’t.
They might serve me today because the five days I have to respond includes weekends. The deadline would then be next Wednesday which gives us only three business days to prepare the response. Except it’s already done. So we wait.
The games lawyers play.
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Next weekend is the Chinese New Year’s Parade. I’ve only been to one in the 40 years I’ve lived here.
In 1977 my friends Juan and James had a hair salon on Commercial Street. They wanted to be good neighborhood merchants so they signed up for an entry in the New Year’s Parade. They asked several of their clients to be on their float whose theme was “the most beautiful women in San Francisco.” They asked me to be on it too.
Jeffrey found a satin 1950’s oriental cocktail dress with a bubble skirt. To make it puff out required proper undergarments but we had no money or resources for crinolines. So we stuffed it with newspaper.
In the 1970’s the general population was still coming to terms with the concept of people being “gay.” They hadn’t begun to grapple with the idea of “drag.” So my appearance was something of a novelty. What first or second generation Chinese-Americans thought of me I’m not sure.
I do remember our float being stalled at the intersection of Kearney and California for a while. Directly in front of me stood two cops who both caught sight of me at the same time. They looked at each other in disgust and silently shook their heads.
After the parade we were walking up Grant Street headed for the party at the salon. There were a bunch of teenagers setting off fireworks and yelling at us. They saw me as an easy target and started throwing their firecrackers. I just ignored them as their munitions bounced off the fortified skirt.
As we approached the salon Brian was sitting on the front stoop. We had mutual friends at the time and knew of each other but had not yet met. As my stilletos clicked down the ancient brick street he yelled out, “Oh! It’s my favorite party person!” No more prophetic words have ever been spoken.
Going for that light matte finish
Putting on my white kid opera length gloves that I charged on my Mother’s I. Magnin account. What I put that poor woman through.
Getting stuffed
You can never get the hairline right without a lace front but this one isn’t too bad.
Wig check
Braced for the elements. And any object throwing youth.
Always time for the fans
Beauties of all ages on our float
Hair ornament is Van Cleef & Arpel. Dress is St. Vincent de Paul
8:00 p.m. and nothing happened today. Here I sit waiting for the Nazis to invade Poland and all I got was a phony war.
I’ve been told that, even with the worst case scenario, I won’t have to turn on a dime to get out of here. Still I worry about some of the harder things that would have to be done. Like the ceiling fixtures that are hard-wired. They’re mine and I’m not going to leave them behind. Today my neighbor Shakris’ electrician friend came over to take them down.
The Tangerine Telstar pendant was in the living room. It’s made of that great 60’s plastic that you used to see in Big Boy restaurants. I bought it for $50 at the Santa Monica flea market back in the 80’s. The amazing thing was I carried it on and put it in the overhead for the flight back home. Today I would be tackled, tazed and sent to Gitmo if I tried that.
The little chandelier in the dinning roomI bought in Paris around 1990. I used to go to the Baccarat showroom when it was over on the rue de Paradis. It was a very 19th century experience, no glossy merchandising. Just simple, long, parallel tables covered in white cloth with a sample of every line and every piece in that pattern.
It was in a run down industrial part of town close to the red light district. One Saturday morning I was walking there and the girls were still out working. As I walked down the boulevard I would look down each side street and there would be about 30 girls in a uniform motif. One would be all (fake) Chanel suits in various textures and colors. Another was Dr. Zhivago, full length furs with matching round Shapka hats.
The best was Olivia Newton John alley. The girls were decked out in lyrca bike shorts, tank tops, leggings and headbands. Just waiting to get physical.
The fixtures were replaced with these $11 specials from Lowes. I feel they’re better suited to the new landlord’s taste.
This countdown didn’t exactly end with the precision of the Kennedy Space Center as Day 2 has melted into Day 1. But I was tired. I walked over to the Art Institute in Chicago yesterday to see the Cornell boxes before heading out to O’Hare to fly back. There’s something about trying to get around in 8 degree weather that saps your strength.
My pro-rated rent check didn’t make it to the attorney in time because somewhere along the line the U.S. Post Office decided that the overnight service I paid for was really a two day priority express. I’m entitled to a refund but do I really want to put myself through all that on top of everything else?
My attorney told me to just get it to him this morning so I’m going to walk it over to the Tenderloin Housing Clinic. And put my fate in their hands. The future probably begins tomorrow.
Before leaving Fort Wayne this morning I visited one of my storage units. It gives me such comfort to behold my things. I drove up to Chicago, turned the car in and walked 10 freezing blocks to my hotel.
I’m at the Chicago Hilton on South Michigan, the final leg in my winter weekend hotel bargain tour. It was here that Queen Elizabeth II attended a dinner in her honor in 1959 on her visit commemorating the opening of the St. Lawrence Seaway.
Her Majesty at the Conrad Hilton flanked by Mayor Dick Daley, head of the ’68 Gestapo, and Connie Hilton, Don Draper’s mentor and one-time pal
In 1968, the hotel was the backdrop for television images of police beating up anti-war demonstrators during the Democratic Convention. They were across the street in Grant Park.
Tonight it houses one of the nation’s most notorious Ellis Act victims.
Things are heating up. Vince Young was supposed to inform me of the pro-rated rent amount for the month of February but he never did. Today his attorney served me with a three day notice to quit for non-payment of rent (for the pro-rated amount. The original check for the full amount was received on the first and is still in their possession.) It’s tactics like this that make eviction profiteers like Vince Young, Leslie Young, and the Young Family Trust so effective. Put the burden on the tenants by spending money on legal tricks.
My attorney will give them the pro-rated check. But I have the feeling this will be the first in a series of harassing moves by Vince Young and his mercenaries.
