I became came an architect in 1990 after twenty years in construction. Ten years and four rented office spaces later, I bought a small house in Fairfax for an office.
The property was a wreck, a mud flat with broken glass and dead trees. The four buildings on the land were tear-downs. The small house, a tiny cottage and two retail shop spaces were more interesting for their archeological pasts than their speculative futures.
I took on the property as a second job in addition to my architectural practice. I’m happy to say that, 24 years later, it now has trees, a garden of native plants and three viable buildings in downtown Fairfax. I have begun work on the last building, one of the retail shops, which is 96 years old (twenty years older than me).
In 2017 the property finally went into the black. Then COVID hit. One shop failed right away. I reduced the other rents by a total of $40,000 during COVID. Presently, things are slowly coming back around.
“Mom and Pop” best describes me as a rental provider. I own just this one property. I live in Fairfax and care about my tenants. I also care about the Town. Other than Social Security and the rent, I have no other income: no pension, no trust fund or investments. My life of the past 24 years, one of frugality and my own physical labor, has resurrected this charming little part of the Town.
Now, with Rent Control, the childishly idealistic Fairfax Town Council has unilaterally declared that I must subsidize the lives of my tenants. This requirement is not the result of any wrong-doing on my part. Nor is it the result of any noble action on my tenants’ part. It is intrusive, ill-conceived and frightening.
My arthritic body doesn’t thank them. My mind fails to fathom the justice of their thinking. My old age looks to be one of draconian restriction and financial hardship.
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