Home, Suite Home

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Home, Suite Home

East Bay Express - Berkeley,CA

After buying defective units from Wareham Development, some

displaced condo-dwellers have spent nearly three years in an

Emeryville hotel. It's no vacation.

By Gard

Published: April 11, 2007

http://www.eastbayexpress.com/2007-04-11/news/home-suite-home/full

When Donna Dennis swung her legs over the side of her bed, planted

her feet on the carpet, and took a few steps on New Year's Day 2004 —

which just happened to be her birthday — she knew something was

dreadfully awry.

Twenty of the Terraces 101 condos were deemed uninhabitable.

Dennis had moved into her Emeryville condo a few months earlier. It

was the first home she'd ever owned, and she still couldn't quite

believe she'd scored such a sweet place. At just under six hundred

square feet, her studio was the smallest unit in the Terraces at

EmeryStation, a development adjacent to the Amtrak station. Still,

it suited her perfectly, and with the assistance of the city's first-

time homebuyer program, she'd managed to afford it. She loved her

high ceilings, the deck that stretched beyond her sliding glass

door, and the enormous windows that ushered in ample sunlight and

sweeping views.

The love affair proved short-lived.

" I thought, 'Why are my feet wet?' " she recalls in an interview last

month. " I heard this: Schwwwek! Like stepping on wet mud, or wet

grass. " It had rained the night before, and she quickly deduced that

the water had seeped in beneath her sliding deck door. So Dennis

borrowed a rug vacuum and spent her 36th birthday sucking ten

gallons of water from a six-by-sixteen-foot patch of carpet.

Within a few days a subcontractor for Wareham Development, which

built the complex, came knocking in response to her service request.

He cut through a wall, located the leak — he said — and plugged it

up. " You can see the caulk there, " notes Dennis, pointing to a pasty

scar winding up her tawny-hued stucco wall.

Six weeks later, the bad weather returned. " It was wind, rain, just

blowing, blowing, blowing, " Dennis recalls. She came home from work

to find the same area soaked again. When she took a cautious step,

water sprung up as though she'd hopped into a puddle: " As I was

sucking up the water, again, I'm saying to myself, 'Okay, there's

something seriously wrong here.' "

When Dennis bought the brand-new unit the previous July, she hadn't

thought to ask about leaks. But she knew damp carpets beget mold, so

she sent another, more urgent complaint. This time, help never

arrived, and so she dealt with the water herself until the rainy

season dwindled. " It was around this time that I began to hear what

I would call mutterings that there was something going on, " she

says.

Something was indeed going on. In the one-bedroom unit overhead,

ita Carroll Young's family had discovered water dripping down

the inside of their bedroom window. A wall heater shorted out. The

kitchen sink sprang a leak, and black mold chewed through the

particleboard cabinet underneath. They followed protocol and alerted

Wareham. Next door to the family, Craig Winsor and Jerry Bannister

also complained of leaking windows.

None of these things got fixed. But come spring, various consultants

and experts hired by Wareham — and eventually those hired by the

building's Home Owners Association, which represents the condo

owners — tromped through the building. They quizzed residents,

searched for leaks, sampled mold spores, and tried to pinpoint the

problem. Wareham paid for some minor fixes, but founder and

president Robbins decided it was time to bring in Clarendon,

the company's primary insurer. Clarendon determined that 20 of the

building's 101 units were uninhabitable.

" There is physical evidence that this building leaked before it was

sold, at least in one unit, " HOA president Truelove

says. " And there may be other evidence that demonstrates more

broadly that this building leaked, and that there might have been

some presumption of some level of repairs that did not hold. "

Starting in July 2004, the affected residents were moved into the

Woodfin Suites Hotel, a stone's throw across the train tracks from

the Terraces. They were told their room and board would be covered,

and were assured they'd be home by Thanksgiving. In the meantime,

their condos underwent mold remediation. Workers stripped some units

down to the metal framing. They hacked away carpet to reveal

stretches of concrete. They hung thick plastic sheeting to cordon

off potentially toxic areas and donned HAZMAT gear as they tried to

locate and eradicate the mold.

By October, the displaced owners were getting antsy to return home

when a letter from Clarendon's lawyer landed in their mailboxes back

at the Terraces. The cause of the leaks had been determined, it

explained, but repairs could not begin until spring 2005. In short,

the owners were screwed. They could neither sell their uninhabitable

units — who'd buy? — nor move back in.

That was more than two years ago. At one point in spring 2005, the

insurer offered to move the Woodfin refugees into the nearby

Courtyards at 65th Street apartment complex. There were a few

takers, but others stayed put. Moving meant losing the weekly food

allowance the insurer was doling out. And some, like Dennis, didn't

want to move because they figured it wouldn't be much longer before

their condos were fixed.

They were wrong. Renovations have remained mostly at a standstill as

the Home Owners Association and insurers do battle over how to fix

the building and how much it should cost. Nine Terraces households

are still at the Woodfin, according to Wareham's lawyers. Others

have scattered to parts unknown — Clarendon has dealt with the

owners individually, and neither the HOA nor the other condo owners

knew how the arrangements were made, or where their former neighbors

ended up. " The way it was presented to us, it was everybody had to

move to the Courtyards, " Young says. " They didn't tell us we could

move into an apartment of our choosing. "

As soon as things got sketchy back in the fall of 2004, the HOA

hired Cereghino, a lawyer with Berding & Weil, an Alamo firm

that specializes in real-estate law and construction defects. A

first settlement conference took place in late 2005, followed by two

equally fruitless sessions.

Wareham insists its settlement offers have been fair. " It is not a

matter of Wareham or its insurers not stepping up to the plate, but

a matter of the [HOA] board, through their attorney, not willing to

engage in meaningful resolution talks, " attorneys for Wareham and

its insurers wrote in a joint response to a reporter's

questions. " Wareham has done all it could do and more to help the

Terraces residents as much as possible during this dispute. "

The HOA, however, insists Wareham has consistently offered tenants a

raw deal. " Our goal is to set the clock back as if the building had

been built as it should have been, and there had been no displaced

folks, no lawsuits, no nothing, " Cereghino explains. " Our goal is to

make owners 100 percent whole. This is not about getting them trips

to Bermuda. "

In March 2006, the HOA filed a construction-defect lawsuit against

Wareham. A trial is slated for November, though Cereghino is

optimistic that the case will settle before then. Best-case

scenario: The dozens of people who've lived in limbo for nearly

three years could indeed all be home by Thanksgiving.

That'd be Thanksgiving 2008.

The Hotel Refugees

Clarendon pays more than $40,000 per year per condo to house

displaced tenants at the Woodfin, which touts its " home away from

home " atmosphere. The " away from home " part is accurate, anyway. For

normal people, coming home in the evening doesn't involve driving

past picketers — labor activists alleging unfair treatment of hotel

housekeepers. Or having their nostrils assaulted by the unmistakable

mix of disinfectant and air-conditioned air as they walk through the

front door. Or weaving through briefcase-toting travelers and

tourists in the lobby.

The views are great, at least. From their suites, these long-term

guests can see the Bay Bridge, Marin County, and — no, don't look at

it! — the sprawling brick-red building that serves as a daily

reminder of their bitterness.

The refugees have to swallow their envy as they look over and see

former neighbors going about their lives at the Terraces. It makes

them wonder when a settlement might arrive, and whether they'll move

back or simply sell and wash their hands of the fiasco. They fret

over rumors that Wareham's secondary insurer — which will take over

in the fall, when Wareham's $5 million policy with Clarendon is

spent — will stop paying their hotel bill. And what would happen

then.

" It's difficult to want to complain because we are in such a weird,

bizarrely luxurious situation, " says Young, who, like Dennis, bought

her home through Emeryville's affordable-housing program. " Somebody

is paying for us to live in a hotel and gee, ain't that great. And

you get your meals out. For a brief period of time that would be my

dream come true. ... For three years, it really does get sickening. "

It's not just the ample closet space and high ceilings they miss.

The displaced residents interviewed for this story say hotel life is

bad for their health. Most have gained considerable weight since

moving in, they say. Young has developed high cholesterol. Bannister

was prescribed antidepressants for the first time in his life.

Winsor experienced panic attacks, and has been diagnosed with

diabetes. " I've become a basket case, " he says.

They blame these things, in part, on the lack of a proper kitchen.

In the suites, they make do with a two-burner stove, a microwave,

and a few shallow cabinets. Clarendon reimburses each person up to

$190 per week for food. " We eat out every frickin' night, " Young

says.

The refugees insist they don't want pity. They know they're

responsible for their own behavior — and that things could be worse:

They could be paying room and board in addition to the mortgage, HOA

fees, and property taxes on their defective condos.

And yet hotel living requires other sacrifices. No dinner parties.

Noisy neighbors. Little privacy. Perhaps, Dennis notes, she'd

like " to be able to walk around naked in my own place without " — she

raps on a coffee table in her hotel living room — " Maintenance! " She

knocks again, and laughs wryly: " Housekeeping! " Young's daughter,

Larissa Campaña, now eleven, learned to ride her bike in the Woodfin

parking lot.

Bannister and Winsor even had to give up one of their dogs. Poe was

naturally high-strung, but she'd grown mellower at the Terraces.

She'd lie in the sun for hours and expend energy running up and down

their staircase. At the hotel, Poe took a turn for the worse. She

couldn't exercise indoors and became aggressive. Walking her became

a challenge with all the strangers in the lobby. They finally took

her to a rescue center near Sacramento. " It was really hard, " Winsor

says. They cried a lot. A pair of paintings hangs over the loveseat

in their hotel living room — giant red Xs and Os marching across

textured black backdrops. It's one of the few personal touches

they've added to the suite's run-of-the-mill decor. " Craig painted

those, to get our feelings out about losing Poe, " Bannister

explains.

Some of the things the condo owners have given up, it seems, they

will never get back.

The Developer

Wareham president Rich Robbins, 57, is no stranger to Emeryville. In

fact, his admirers view him as a pioneer for recognizing three

decades ago the city's potential to grow from a burnt-out blip of a

city into a major biotech hub. At a 2005 Stanford Business School

conference, Robbins sat on a panel entitled " Emeryville: A Bay Area

Redevelopment Success Story. "

His own story is a redevelopment fairy tale: In 1975, soon after

collecting his MBA from the University of Pennsylvania's Wharton

School of Business, the New York native bought a paper recycling

plant in Albany, California, and made good money by converting it to

a mixed-use space. Two years later he founded Wareham and tackled

the first of a dozen projects he has undertaken to date in

Emeryville. He currently serves on the board of the city's chamber

of commerce, and Wareham is among Berkeley's largest commercial

landlords, with fourteen buildings in the city's Aquatic Park Center

alone. He also has left his mark on Richmond. The bulk of his

properties are devoted to the life sciences. Tenants include Bayer,

Chiron, Lawrence Berkeley National Laboratory, and the Department of

Justice's DNA lab.

Although Robbins is infamous for proposing plans that challenge

municipal codes — his proposed Emeryville Transit Center would soar

nearly three times higher than current zoning allows — he also is

known for innovative complexes drenched in natural light and filled

with decks and green spaces.

The Terraces at EmeryStation is the residential component of a

twenty-acre project that includes the Amtrak Station and two office

buildings, EmeryStation North and the future EmeryStation East,

slated to open in May. In the past, Robbins had merely dabbled in

residential housing — he'd converted a few former factories in

Emeryville and Berkeley into live/work spaces. Nor was he eager to

expand Wareham's residential portfolio, sources say. But the city

demanded housing to go with the commercial space he proposed. The

condos sold quickly, bringing in a cool $50 million in revenues.

Sales may not be quite so brisk for future Wareham condo projects.

Google " Wareham Development " or " Rich Robbins, " after all, and one

of the top search results is a link to WarehamSux.com. The site,

which Craig Winsor created in February, has given thousands of

visitors access to photos of the couple's gutted walls, the HOA's

lawsuit, and, for those so inclined, WarehamSux.com T-shirts in

human or doggie sizes.

When Winsor shared the URL with Terraces owners, he created no small

amount of controversy, but he views the site as a way for him to

vent. To promote it, he posts regular links to various Craigslist

boards. Under Housing Swap: " Our Leaking Condo for Rich Robbins San

Home: Seeing that Rich Robbins of Wareham Development created

our condo with construction defects, we are more than willing to

swap our leaking loft for his 3,755 sq. ft. home in San . We

will promise to take better care of it than his company did in

building our loft. " (Here Winsor is mistaken: Robbins' $3 million-

plus home is in Mill Valley, and actually measures more than 6,000

square feet.)

Under Lost and Found: " Lost 2 years, 7 months, and counting: We have

lived in a hotel for 2 years, 7 months and counting thanks to

Wareham Development. They built our condo with construction

defects. "

Then there's the banner. In February, Winsor dipped a brush in red

paint and stenciled " WarehamSux.com " in a window of the 1,100-square-

foot condo he and Bannister share. The next day, the Homeowners

Association admonished him that the banner violated the building's

bylaws, which forbid window signs visible from another condo. If he

didn't remove it within ten days, he was told, he would face

disciplinary action.

Although Winsor didn't believe his neighbors could see the sign, he

complied. In its place he strung a banner bearing the same message

across his living room and added a string of large Christmas lights

across the top. " This definitely cannot be seen by another condo, "

he says. " And you know what? If people can see it, well, that's

because I don't have any drywall to hang my curtains from! "

The sign is clearly visible to anyone driving past on the

Street Bridge. To the Terraces resident who has complained that

Winsor is thumbing his nose at his neighbors, Winsor

responds: " We're not your neighbors! We've paid almost $15,000 in

HOA dues and have gotten nothing. " Well, that's not quite true,

Bannister intercedes. They do use their mailbox.

Even Crouch, a Terraces owner and real-estate agent whose

active listings include nondefective Terraces units, can relate to

Winsor's position. Crouch sold one unit back in October, but

attracting buyers with litigation looming hasn't been easy. " I'd

probably be whacked out of my mind if I was out of my house for two

and a half years, " he says. " I don't blame him for being upset. "

Robbins, however, is clearly irked. In early March, according to its

lawyers, Wareham distributed a " fact sheet " in an attempt

to " reconcile the incorrect facts and contentions that the Terraces

residents have been told. " Among other things, the memo stated

that " Wareham has been repeatedly attacked with libelous accusations

and misinformation. " Asked what the company was referring to, the

lawyers cite Winsor. They are taking his " publications " seriously,

they say, because they are " harmful and false and serve no purpose

other than to exacerbate the existing dispute, cause unneeded

tension between the parties, and damage Wareham's reputation. "

Cereghino, the HOA's attorney, believes Winsor is legally in the

clear: " There is no state or federal law that he has violated. If

Wareham thinks the sign is defamatory, then Wareham has the right to

pursue. Not us. " HOA president Truelove says she hasn't seen

Winsor's site, and that she refuses to engage personally, or on the

board's behalf, in attacks on Wareham. " It is not how I would have

handled it, but that's their right, " she says of Winsor. " Should

others choose to create awareness of Wareham's somewhat lack of

responsible actions, that's their choice. "

Winsor doesn't quite get why more residents aren't trying to draw

attention to the chain of events that has kept them in limbo for so

long. It's not hard to figure out: They're anxious and fearful. One

condo owner refused to go on the record, even anonymously, for fear

Wareham would retaliate. Indeed, several owners claim the first

attorney Clarendon hired to work with them warned that they might be

cut off if they explored taking legal action or spoke out publicly

against Wareham. (The company has denied this claim.) " People are

afraid, like, we should be careful about getting it out too much to

the press because then we'll be labeled as a mold building, " Winsor

says. " I'm like, 'You're already labeled! Most of the community

knows. They see cardboard up on the wall. They see scaffolding.' "

Part of the concern is that the property values will tank and owners

won't be able to sell their units. But Winsor, along with many of

the other owners interviewed, dismisses this. " My feeling is, once

it's fixed, we're going to have a clean bill of health, " he

says. " You can buy a new piece of property and it could be the same

situation. So here, at least people will know we've rectified the

situation. "

Facing His Accusers

Robbins has succeeded in spite of having to swim against an

antidevelopment tide for much of the three decades he's been in

business. Particularly in Berkeley; Winsor's signs and Web site are

but a drop in a bucket of muck the developer has had to swallow. One

of his earliest clashes came in 1985 when he bought the former

Durkee Foods plant, where many artists had set up shop. He handed

out eviction notices, sparking a ferocious fight with arts and

preservation organizers over landmarking issues that dragged on for

several years and resulted in Wareham making a number of

concessions.

" He had numerous opportunities to resolve the situation, but he

chose to continue fighting and lose money, " recalls Rick Auerbach, a

West Berkeley artist and resident who'd helped rally the bohemian

troops. " It became clear that his goal was really to crush the

people he was opposing instead of just getting on with it and making

his money. "

Robbins' latest hiccup began in January, when Wareham slapped down

more than $20 million for the Saul Zaentz Media Center in West

Berkeley and, arbitrarily, it seemed, jacked up rents by as much as

100 percent. His tenants, mostly documentary filmmakers who insist

they are already paying market rates, were incensed. Some had found

refuge at the center after getting the boot from Durkee two decades

earlier.

Robbins missed the special city council meeting March 27, where

dozens of tenants urged the council to help save the collaborative

film community they've nurtured for decades. Speaking on his behalf

was Berkeley development consultant Darrell de Tienne, who, with his

tailored gray suit, mustache, and shiny pate resembled one of those

silent-movie villains who ties the heroine to the train tracks. He

admonished the renters to stop thinking en masse. " Being an artist,

you still have the responsibility to stand up and talk for yourself

and do what you need to do, " de Tienne said.

When a councilmember brought up the inexplicable rent discrepancies,

de Tienne's interjection came fast and hot: " This life is not

egalitarian. I'm sorry. ... Nothing is protected in life overall. "

That's remarkably similar to what Robbins told the Express in June

1985: " I [still] have a lot of artists. They're not forced out. But

you can't stop change. You have to deal with it. "

One way Robbins deals, it seems, is by sending de Tienne or his

Wareham colleagues to represent the company whenever possible.

Robbins has never held a meeting to hear the concerns of Terraces

condo owners, nor responded directly when they've contacted him. His

lawyers would not let him be interviewed for this story.

Robbins doesn't stay behind the scenes because he's shy or

inarticulate — if anything, it's likely because his abrupt style

rubs some people the wrong way. " I'm not going to hide the fact that

I'm not a fan of Pulte and that cheap-shit housing, " he remarked in

a February interview with the East Bay Business Times, referring to

the mammoth developer behind Emeryville's new Glashaus condos. Not,

perhaps, the savviest thing to say when you're a defendant in a

construction-defect lawsuit.

" My wife no longer allows me to go to public hearings, because it

gets so ugly, " Robbins told The New York Times in 2003. He added

that his presence " tends to raise the temperature in the room. "

Perhaps that's why the air-conditioning was blasting on a Thursday

night last month when Robbins hosted a community meeting in

Wareham's office building directly opposite the Terraces. A guard

greeted guests the moment they stepped inside the soaring, tree-

filled atrium. Another guard escorted them to a meeting room on the

second floor, where a police officer sat near the entrance, looking

bored.

" Hi, Rich, " a man greeted Robbins, who stood at the front of the

room. " I love what you've been doing in Emeryville. " Robbins thanked

him and smiled. Many Terraces residents had never seen Robbins, and

they may have found his appearance anticlimactic. Clad in a pale

blue button-down shirt, faded green khakis, and hiking boots, brown

flyaway curls skirting his head, he's neither tall nor imposing, nor

some caricature of corporate greed.

Although Wareham had notified Terraces owners of the meeting, the

plight of the displaced wasn't on the agenda. Rather, the company

planned to reveal its third and latest proposal to build a transit

center replete with lab space next to the post office down the

street.

Displaced condo dweller Betty Burri wasn't interested in the agenda.

She shook her head as an architect displayed an illustration of the

proposed building, and described how a wall of glowing ivy would

cloak one side of a five-level parking garage. " It would naturally

be irrigated and maintained by the Wareham Corporation, " he added,

whereupon Burri let out a sharp peal of laughter. Fabric swished

against seats.

" The slide projected of the ivy wall reminds me of the mold in my

Wareham condo, " Burri remarked when Robbins opened the floor for

comments. She explained in a shrill voice that she'd been displaced

for nearly three years. " Wareham built a bad building and hasn't

fixed it. "

Robbins replied that his company has been hamstrung since its

insurer took the reins in 2004. His voice, still tinged with an East

Coast edge, sounded equal parts apologetic and frank. Still, he

said, he felt sympathetic. Empathetic. Responsible. He had a hard

time sleeping at night.

He invited Burri to speak to his attorneys, and motioned to a young

man in a dark suit and a stylish older woman wearing bright

lipstick. Neither had anything to do with the transit center

project. " There is no incentive for us to allow what's going on over

there, " Robbins said. " We would much rather see you all in your

units. And I can't say any more because I'm not permitted. "

Burri wasn't about to be shut down so easily. She noted that the

transit center design had several elevated decks, which she said led

to some of the leaks at the Terraces. " What sort of safeguards, how

many inspections are there going to be to make sure this doesn't

happen again? " she asked.

" Well, I can't answer that — the city can, " Robbins replied, his

voice bordering on indignant. " But I'll tell you, this building and

that building and most every building we have ever built has had

terraces, and they don't leak. " He took a small breath. " Please —

comments and questions? "

Another man declared that he, too, had been displaced from the

Terraces. He liked the transit center proposal, he said, and had

long been a Wareham supporter. Still, he said, " I don't think you

should be building anything until the Terraces is fixed. It's a huge

sore on your reputation. " (Councilman Ken Bukowski had expressed a

similar sentiment in a memo to planning commissioners. " Do you think

Wareham should be given approval for another project while we have

people who are suffering from the last project they built? " he

wrote. " We must show developers the city is not going to tolerate

this kind of situation. " )

Robbins looked frustrated. " There's nobody that cares more about

this issue than me, " he replied.

Burri left before the meeting adjourned. She didn't want to talk to

the lawyers. She didn't want a copy of Wareham's double-sided memo.

She simply wanted to move back to her condo. " Rich Robbins can blame

the insurance company, " she said, still enraged a week later. " He

can blame our HOA. He can blame his mommy and his daddy and his

sisters and his daughters and his wives and his girlfriends and his

dog. But he's responsible. The only reason these condos haven't

gotten fixed is because Rich Robbins doesn't want to spend the

money. He's gotten away scot-free — he hasn't spent a dime. "

Burri and her husband have been instrumental in alerting city

officials to the situation. They've hosted four tours of their

deconstructed condo for city officials, and invited everyone they

could think of to an open house this past July. She counts herself

lucky. Unlike most, she and her husband own another home, in San

Francisco. Still, she spends the better part of the week at the

Woodfin. Her poor vision keeps her from driving, and the couple

bought the condo to ease her daily trek after her job as a

university research chemist moved from San Francisco to in

2003. The trip from Emeryville via Amtrak is an hour shorter than

the SF-to- commute.

Donna Dennis attended the meeting, too. It was there, in fact, that

she resolved to speak to the Express. " I was hemming and hawing,' "

she says. " But after I saw Wareham's attitude at this community

meeting and just the rudeness that they showed to our people, I

thought, how dare you! I have to give Betty kudos because she stood

up, and he just tried to bulldoze her. "

Dennis doesn't believe that Robbins feels sympathetic. " He's

throwing out all the buzzwords in describing the transit center

project — 'sustainable,' 'global warming,' " she says. " He's just

trying to fool the sheeple, but I don't buy it. If what he did to

our condos is any indication, I don't hold out much hope for this

transit center. " Light in the Tunnel A week after the community

meeting, HOA members voted 61-10 to take out a $4.5 million loan.

Repairs to half of the Terraces building — which will enable the

displaced owners to return — will begin within a few months and take

about a year. After the lawsuit is resolved, the HOA will pay back

the loan and use what remains to see that the entire building gets

fixed. Cereghino, who has represented hundreds of associations in

similar litigation, says such a sizable loan is rare, but that the

risk to individual owners is low. He's never lost a case, after

all. " If what I told the bank about the outcome isn't accurate, you

can reach me in Brazil, " he jokes.

One defective unit is now under repair as a test case, and has

helped the HOA devise its latest estimate of what the owners will

require from Wareham. " To accept, and to release Wareham from all

claims, past, present, and future, there has to be certainty on the

HOA's side that they are in fact getting enough money to cover that

risk, " Cereghino explains. He adds that the contractors have

discovered some conditions the HOA wasn't aware of previously. He

expects the full amount will be " very close to eight figures. "

The combatants are planning another round of settlement talks in

May. Cereghino, and certainly the condo owners, hope it will be the

last. Wareham's attorneys report that the company wants nothing more

than to put this chapter behind it as well.

If Donna Dennis' neighbors decide to pursue a class-action suit to

recoup the cash they've put into mortgage payments, HOA fees, and

property taxes — a possibility they've back-burnered until the

current case settles — she says she may well join in. Ultimately,

though, she doubts she'll stick around. " I look at my condo from the

Woodfin and I just kind of sigh, " she says. " I feel no sense of

connection. I think I'm going to be selling and moving on. "

Dennis has a hard time remembering what her place even looked like

before half of it was partitioned off with plastic she has to unzip

to walk through. She's not sure where her floor lamp was, or what

piece of furniture had been on the spot where a massive blue

dehumidifier now stands. The machine is really the only reason she

enters her condo anymore. When rain is forecast, she switches it on,

because her home still leaks. After it rains, she returns to check

for flooding and turn it off. The insurance company pays the

electric bill. " I love my vaulted ceilings. I love my loft feel, "

she says. " But I'm just very disenchanted with that building, with

the developer, and with the city of Emeryville. "