Krrrrrrrr whirred the static. “12-7-3 point 8-7, confirmed,” Jim radioed back to Jack. Even though the instrument kept a file of all readings, the digital readout required second-tier, human verification. These surveyors might have to appear in court to give sworn testimony on the accuracy of their findings.
“Let s take one last confirmation shot at location 9, at the ridge of the southeast dormer.” “That s a Rog,” Jack responded as he scurried across the roof of the three-story building. “12-7-3 point 8-7 at roof ridge location 9,” Jack huffed into the walkie-talkie. “Come on down. We ve got to double time it back to the office to upload this data into Ron s computer. The attorney wants this height verification ASAP.” Jim began to carefully pack up and load his digital survey equipment.
“So, is the builder off the hook or what?” Jim asked as the two drove to their engineering office. “I dunno,” Jack replied, “From what our readouts indicate, this whole thing is centered on .87 feet or roughly 10-plus inches. How could the finished roof elevation height on a three-story townhouse be an issue because it exceeded maximum height by less than a foot?” “Because somebody’s ego is out of whack!” Jim chuckled.
The principal of the engineering firm quickly placed a call to Bill Lazinski, the attorney who had requisitioned the surveying services. “Bill, I ll get right to the point: Several of the townhouse buildings have roof heights that exceed the maximum elevation as noted in the plans and permit submittal documents.” “That s what I was afraid of,” Bill said. “But, the good news is that most of the violations exceed height by several inches, and there’s only one quadruplex building that is over the maximum height by 10.44 inches,” responded Charley. “Well, now I can at least start working on an argument with some genuine facts,” said the attorney. He thought to himself, “John Phillips really does not deserve this.”
Phillips Brothers Inc. had been building custom homes for over 60 years. The company was started by two brothers in 1946 after both had returned from World War II. The brothers had long since retired, and the company had been passed down to one of their sons. John Phillips was a real professional. He’d grown up working in the family business and had earned a degree in construction management from Purdue University. John was not only a skilled craftsperson, but was also a solid businessman. He had taken Phillips Brothers from a company that built eight to 10 custom homes a year to a company with 80 employees that built up to 50 projects a year and grossed up to $100 million in annual revenue.
John always seemed to have his finger on the market pulse. Phillips performed all of its own design services with their own team of experienced in-house architects. His projects featured the latest and greatest designs, and he was building green before it was a consumer buzzword. Any project designed by his firm had benefited from input from the company’s various departments, balancing design, functionality, cost, quality, and customer service. As a result, its reputation was impeccable.
Public Debate
Phillips Brothers owned a parcel of land it had purchased for future development of a small residential custom home subdivision of 20 to 25 single-family lots. When time permitted, the company planned to develop the property and build custom homes on a pre-sold basis. The value of the property had escalated handsomely, and Phillips Brothers had been using the free and clear land as an asset for their credit line at a local bank. John Phillips personally liked the acreage and decided to do something special with the property, maybe high-end townhomes. The market had been sending signals.
As an informal courtesy, Phillips representatives met with Montgomery County building and zoning officials to inform them of their intention to develop the property as an upscale townhome community, which required no zoning changes, modifications, or applications. But the county required a public hearing because of the increased density. A simple process … so everyone thought.
The public hearing was held at 10:00 a.m. on a Wednesday at the local county seat. The builder made a presentation. Various city officials voiced their support and approvals for the development. It met the long-term county objectives of higher density that would increase efficiencies for services such as police, fire, schools, and utilities. The plan was sensitive to the site’s terrain, trees, and natural features as well. Then the public comment portion of the hearing was opened.
A small but significant group of about 15 county residents was in attendance and had a central spokesperson, Kitty Peterson, a long-time resident of the county. She stated that her group wanted Montgomery County to buy the former farmland and use it as dedicated green space. She argued that the traffic, schools, shops, and overall serenity of the area would be disrupted by the 49-unit townhome community. An additional objection was that the sunrise and sunset views of existing landowners might be distorted by the development. Many of the neighbors liked to walk in the area, she said. Their dogs could roam free. They had grown accustomed to that parcel of land being open and for their own “public use.” Any development whatsoever on the parcel would upset the delicate balance of their community. And last but not least, those townhomes would have a selling price starting at $800,000. How could any of the locals even afford such luxury? She closed by adding that “if we approve this or any similar development, our total way of life will be irrevocably changed.”
