I have a crazy amount of close friends who are architects. In 10 seconds, I was able to name 10 architects who are close friends or acquaintances. My first call was to a friend who goes all the way back to my first year at Tulane, and has since become one of my best friends: Steve.
I explained the situation, and though he said he could help, I would have to get everything drafted by an engineer or licensed architect. Architects have to take about 7 tests before they are fully licensed, and Steve had completed about 5 of them. Although he knew what needed to be done, legally he could not do it. We needed someone who was skilled and had the ability to verify and stamp drawings.
It was then that I turned to a friend who is probably the one of the most awesome persons I know, both in terms of intelligence and in passion for life in New Orleans: Tony. Tony is a brilliant engineer (bordering on savant), who teaches engineering at the University of New Orleans while also running his own engineering firm with his wife. Additionally, Tony has always been a fixture at “Porchfest,” an event which is held every day of Jazzfest at another engineer friend’s house right next to the Fairgrounds. I admit, the inclination and drive for pushing my parents to buy this house stemmed from a sense of jealousy at my friend’s location and lifestyle when Jazzfest came around. I realized that the convergence of Jazzfest and an opportunity to utilize my brilliant friends’ talents was becoming apparent.
I contacted Tony, he was eager to take on the task and arrived at the house the following Monday to look at what we had already built. In his opinion, we were doing all the right things, he just needed to calculate the loads so as assure that we were good to go. He set about drawing, drafting, and calculating loads and verifying that we were in good territory. Over a series of days, we exchanged calls, emails, drafts, and drawings, all the while discussing the intricacies of the permitting process.
Tony: “What happened? What did they have a problem with?”
Me: “I don’t know, it was the dormer addition that they zeroed in on and wrote us up for that.”
Tony: “The engineering is fine on the dormer, and anyone who can see what you’re doing knows that you’re building it right----Someone must have called in to complain.”
A lightning bolt of paranoia struck me. Why did someone call? Who called us in? Was it the old lady across the street who’s been super-uber sweet and lived in the neighborhood for decades? Was it the green developers and their young families across the street who’ve been incredibly supportive and enthusiastic while we’ve been working? What about the nice artist neighbors who’ve offered to help paint the house and lent us electricity for our tools? What about all the contractors and neighbors who’ve stopped by to compliment us and offer their services? What about the surly, absentee owner of the property right next door who I’ve called to inform him of what we’re doing with the house and offered to cut the grass on his empty lot?....Wait.
At this point, you’re thinking, “BING BING BING! Johnny, tell him what he’s won!” However, I give people the benefit of the doubt. Although in the few times I have spoken to this person on the phone he’s been the most tactless jerk-wad on the face of earth when I offered a little assistance, I was still able to speak cordially and convey that I was just renovating my parents’ house and was trying to introduce myself in order to get in his good graces. I’m not saying he’s the one who called, or for that matter that anyone called, but…the jury is still out. Whatever, it’s in the past, I have no judgments about it.
Tony explained that he’s seen similar situations many times before, with the city clamping down on a project should a neighbor call to complain or if it’s in a particularly high trafficked area. As I learned later on, the neighborhood is rife with people who love to call in. At times, that is an inconvenience, but it also means that people are concerned about the well-being of the neighborhood, which is great.
At that point, I was in quite unfamiliar territory. I was even in territory relatively unexplored by George and Albert in all their building experiences. I knew I was building things right, I just didn’t know if it would satisfy Safety and Permits, the HDLC, or some other party. If something didn’t jog right with an inspector or someone down at Plan Review, I was going to be screwed. And not the good kind of screwed.
I had actually gone back to City Hall the day after I had originally gone down to see what the matter was. I was there to talk to Ms. Crux and get some clarification on what we actually needed to have in order to get the project rolling again. She was a little more pleasant on this go around, and she led me into the Plan Review/Processing office, where I was able to talk to a young plan reviewer. This guy was helpful and understanding, but he told it to me straight in that he saw similar situations all the time.
He explained that typically, in New Orleans rehabs/renovations/re-imaginations, people just start discovering more work as they tear out drywall, replace studs, and replace sils. He said he could tell we were trying to do the right thing by replacing rotten stuff, but I just needed to go through some more steps to make it right so that the City would be okay with it. I felt like this guy would understand my plight, so I was confident and upbeat.
Steve got busy with architect work, so he could not commit his time to our expedited schedule. I then tapped my other architect friend, Jared, to advise on what things I needed to add and how to present these things to the city. Keep in mind: All these architects were not let go or fired, they just came in where they were needed and appropriate, like musicians building or playing a song. Jack began and captured the theme, Steve came in to play his brilliant solo, Jared came in with rhythm, and it was then that I needed to add some more spice and melody to the design song/gumbo.
It was at this point in the story where an old friend came into town to help: Colin.
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