But the rest of the room was filled with known Madge supporters and a lot of people I didn’t know—all, I assumed, from the seven praying churches.
Sam and I found seats on folding chairs that had been brought in to accommodate the crowd. And quite soon, four of the five commissioners entered from the back and took their high-backed seats at a slightly elevated semicircular desk in the front of the room. A microphone was situated in front of each one, and a standing microphone faced them for the use of speakers from the floor.
By the time the meeting was called to order, the minutes read and approved, and several announcements made, I was more than ready for the main attraction. But just as I covered a yawn, Pete Hamrick, who was the vice chairman and in charge because the chairman claimed to have a bad cold that night, made an attempt to ease the tension in the room.
“We are aware,” he began, “that the majority of those present tonight are here about a zoning variance. I will remind you that it’s the zoning board that has the authority for those decisions—”
“Why’d we elect you, then?” somebody shouted from the back row.
“Yeah!” somebody else loudly agreed. “The zoning board’s appointed, and you appointed ’em! We want accountability!”
In spite of Pete Hamrick’s attempt to calm the waters by saying that the commissioners could offer only an airing of our differences, nobody believed him. So he opened the floor for discussion.
It just about got out of hand. Those of us who wanted to speak had put our names on a list beforehand, but things got so rowdy that some were not called, and others who had not asked to speak stood up and spoke anyway. I had my statement written out but was never able to get to the microphone, which was just as well for I’d had my say at the intervention staged on my behalf, for all the good it had done. I had changed no one’s mind then and didn’t expect to now.
Sam spoke eloquently on the historic importance of the area in question, reminding the commissioners that some of the nearby houses were eligible to be on the historic register and deserved protection from inroads by incompatible entities.
Binkie nearly brought the house down when she pointed out that a change in the zoning of one stable neighborhood meant that no other neighborhood was safe. She was greeted by groans and calls of “Not true” from a contingent of church members I didn’t recognize, but by whom I was outraged at their lack of courtesy. Binkie gave as good as she got, though, for she turned to the room and asked, “How many of you catcallers live under homeowners’ association covenants that protect you from this?”
Pete Hamrick, looking a bit like a deer in the headlights, had to gavel the room to quiet.
I held my breath when Mr. Pickens stood up and walked to the microphone, where a long-winded, repetitive speech on the need for public housing was being given by a slender, bearded man whose time had already been called. Others waited behind him, but he kept talking, accustomed, it seemed, to being given the floor whenever he wanted it. Mr. Pickens simply stood beside him, looked long and hard at him, and held out his hand.
After a glance at Mr. Pickens’s face, the bearded man stuttered, “I yield to this gentleman here.” And a few of us clapped.
Hardly knowing how or what Mr. Pickens would say, I was both surprised and impressed when he presented his argument in a calm but forceful way. And the whole room quietened as he spoke.
After introducing himself as one of those who would be most affected by a variance, he began telling them why. “Number one: The zoning board has confirmed that a group home is impermissible in its current location. In addition, the city attorney is authorized to close it down for noncompliance the minute it begins operating. So if the board of commissioners intends to override the zoning board, why do we have any zoning ordinances at all?
“Number two: Jackson Street, which runs in front of the Cochran property, is too narrow for the increase of traffic that a group home will create. We’ve already had to ask for NO PARKING signs to be put up on one side of the street, yet two-way traffic is still difficult to maneuver.
“Number three: There is not enough on-site parking on the property in question. Two cars are all that the driveway will accommodate, one of which will belong to the houseparents. All other cars will have to be parked on the street, taking up spaces in front of neighboring houses.
“Number four: The house in question has three bedrooms and two baths, yet we have it on good authority that they’re taking in seven teenagers and two houseparents. They’ll have to either cram nine people into bunk beds or put pallets on the floor. And nine people, plus the number of visitors in the form of counselors, tutors, family members, and friends using the bathrooms, will result in a steady strain on an antiquated sewer system. As the next-door neighbor, I can testify to the likelihood of tree root encroachment in the sewer line. I’ve already had to replace mine to the tune of several thousand dollars.
“Number five: Considering the number of people that will be living there, our quiet, residential neighborhood will suffer an increase in noise—talking, shouting, slamming of car and house doors, music or what passes for music, and screeching of tires.
“Number six: The word is out that
