When I was growing up in Western New York, if a family had a small retreat on a lake for fishing or weekend getaways, it was called a “cottage.” My Uncle John had a cottage on Lake Ontario; an unheated, uninsulated, summertime-only cottage built in the years after World War One.
In Vermont, such structures are called “camps” and have different adjectives, depending on their location. “Deer camp” is in the woods; “fish camp” is at the lake. Vermont fish camps remind me of Uncle John’s cottage – wooden structures, elegant in their simplicity, with screened porches and bright yellow bug lights outdoors. Tall white pines, 80 or 90 years old tower at the corner of the building, just as they did at Uncle John’s in Summerville. The camps are strictly blue-collar establishments, on small lots, perhaps an eighth of an acre, 30 feet of road frontage at one end and 30 feet of shoreline at the other.
In recent springs, I’ll notice three of these camps in a row are missing. One day they’re there and the next they’re gone and I do mean gone. Buildings, trees, shrubs – everything disappears in less than 24 hours and bulldozers scrape the three lots flat. In the weeks that follow, a vacation mansion rises in the middle of the now-combined properties, its picture windows staring blankly at the lake. Eventually sod is laid, shrubs and trees are planted, but the new mansion looks stark and nude and incongruous. I hate to see it happen, but if three neighbors decide to sell to the new millionaire in town and the zoning board goes along, what can I do?
In the Northwest, when people go to the ocean, they say they’re going “to the coast,” as in, “We’re going out to the coast this weekend.” In the Northeast people will say they’re going “to the shore,” in New Jersey, they’ll say they’re going “down the shore.” My in-laws live on the Jersey Shore and visits there afford me the chance to experience an American summer as quintessential as cottages on the Great Lakes or New England fish camps. As in New England, the humble “Joe and Marge” houses down the shore are being bulldozed and plywood mansions are rising in their places. Sometimes, it’s like Vermont, where a rich person buys out two or three poorer people in a private transaction. In Long Branch, however, three towns over from my mother-in-law, the city is attempting to use eminent domain to seize and destroy the homes of 39 working-class families to make way for new, more expensive development.
Eminent domain is the term applied to those instances when a government takes private property for what is deemed to be a larger public good. Common examples are the appropriation of land for a road or highway or the placement of pylons for electrical lines on agricultural land or phone poles on a suburban street. A test for the use of eminent domain is that the value of the greater good outweighs the inconvenience or loss by some individuals. (The model is far from perfect, as evidenced by the presence of cable tee vee on the poles for electric and telephone lines.) The idea of eminent domain also provides for compensation for property individuals surrender. Compensation is usually set at levels comparable for similar property in the area, so one or two property owners don’t hold a public works project hostage while they play real estate speculator.
That’s all well and good, but in Long Branch, New Jersey the city has climbed into bed with actual real estate speculators and is trying to use eminent domain to bully citizens off their property. The city’s argument is that evicting working-class people to make way for the rich serves the greater good by increasing the tax base, but if we accept that line of reasoning, it won’t be long before we start leaving the old folks outside on cold winter evenings.
Most of us don’t know the 39 beleaguered families of Long Branch (although my mother-in-law may have agents operating in the area), but the situation is symptomatic of a larger, sickening trend. Corporate CEOs and their boards ignore their responsibilities to their customers, employees and shareholders while they line their pockets. Local, state and federal politicians tend the desires of special-interest campaign contributors and ignore the people whose interests they have sworn to represent.
The true meaning of community is looking out for one’s neighbors, or by the time they come for your house, there will be no one left to look out for you.
No Place Like Home
When I was growing up in Western New York, if a family had a small retreat on a lake for fishing or weekend getaways, it was called a “cottage.” My Uncle John had a cottage on Lake Ontario; an unheated, uninsulated, summertime-only cottage built in the years after World War One.
In Vermont, such structures are called “camps” and have different adjectives, depending on their location. “Deer camp” is in the woods; “fish camp” is at the lake. Vermont fish camps remind me of Uncle John’s cottage – wooden structures, elegant in their simplicity, with screened porches and bright yellow bug lights outdoors. Tall white pines, 80 or 90 years old tower at the corner of the building, just as they did at Uncle John’s in Summerville. The camps are strictly blue-collar establishments, on small lots, perhaps an eighth of an acre, 30 feet of road frontage at one end and 30 feet of shoreline at the other.
In recent springs, I’ll notice three of these camps in a row are missing. One day they’re there and the next they’re gone and I do mean gone. Buildings, trees, shrubs – everything disappears in less than 24 hours and bulldozers scrape the three lots flat. In the weeks that follow, a vacation mansion rises in the middle of the now-combined properties, its picture windows staring blankly at the lake. Eventually sod is laid, shrubs and trees are planted, but the new mansion looks stark and nude and incongruous. I hate to see it happen, but if three neighbors decide to sell to the new millionaire in town and the zoning board goes along, what can I do?
In the Northwest, when people go to the ocean, they say they’re going “to the coast,” as in, “We’re going out to the coast this weekend.” In the Northeast people will say they’re going “to the shore,” in New Jersey, they’ll say they’re going “down the shore.” My in-laws live on the Jersey Shore and visits there afford me the chance to experience an American summer as quintessential as cottages on the Great Lakes or New England fish camps. As in New England, the humble “Joe and Marge” houses down the shore are being bulldozed and plywood mansions are rising in their places. Sometimes, it’s like Vermont, where a rich person buys out two or three poorer people in a private transaction. In Long Branch, however, three towns over from my mother-in-law, the city is attempting to use eminent domain to seize and destroy the homes of 39 working-class families to make way for new, more expensive development.
Eminent domain is the term applied to those instances when a government takes private property for what is deemed to be a larger public good. Common examples are the appropriation of land for a road or highway or the placement of pylons for electrical lines on agricultural land or phone poles on a suburban street. A test for the use of eminent domain is that the value of the greater good outweighs the inconvenience or loss by some individuals. (The model is far from perfect, as evidenced by the presence of cable tee vee on the poles for electric and telephone lines.) The idea of eminent domain also provides for compensation for property individuals surrender. Compensation is usually set at levels comparable for similar property in the area, so one or two property owners don’t hold a public works project hostage while they play real estate speculator.
That’s all well and good, but in Long Branch, New Jersey the city has climbed into bed with actual real estate speculators and is trying to use eminent domain to bully citizens off their property. The city’s argument is that evicting working-class people to make way for the rich serves the greater good by increasing the tax base, but if we accept that line of reasoning, it won’t be long before we start leaving the old folks outside on cold winter evenings.
Most of us don’t know the 39 beleaguered families of Long Branch (although my mother-in-law may have agents operating in the area), but the situation is symptomatic of a larger, sickening trend. Corporate CEOs and their boards ignore their responsibilities to their customers, employees and shareholders while they line their pockets. Local, state and federal politicians tend the desires of special-interest campaign contributors and ignore the people whose interests they have sworn to represent.
The true meaning of community is looking out for one’s neighbors, or by the time they come for your house, there will be no one left to look out for you.
(c) Mark Floegel, 2004