Once again, Baltimore hopes to fight the plague with $1 homes (2023)

The 900 block of Calhoun Street in Baltimore's Harlem Park neighborhood is half its age. Once a historic upper-middle-class black community, the area has been devastated by urban renewal.

At the southwest end of the block, the only remaining building is a small corner store, the Raven Champion Grocery Store, which was painted purple in honor of the city's soccer team. A loose pit bull rests in the neighboring field of late winter brown grass. Many of the remaining terraced houses are abandoned and empty.

A native of West Baltimore, Dave Braxton is used to his hometown being plagued by a lack of vacancies. But there is another sense in which it has never been used.

"You look at it for decades hoping that someday we'll figure it out," says Braxton, 39, a small real estate company owner. "But the years go by and it's still nothing. He rebuilds his motivation to some extent. It rebuilds your hope.”

Braxton parked on this block in Harlem Park because he recognized City Council President Nick Mosby as he walked by. He's not the first to stop and say hello. Mosby is a well-known figure in West Baltimore, where he served as an alderman and state representative before assuming his current position in 2020. He is also married to Baltimore District Attorney Marilyn Mosby (currently under federal charges,although the CEO is not).

In recent months Mosbymake a convincing proposalInspired by a popular 1970's show where Baltimore would sell vacant homes to owners for $1 if they fixed them. Mosby made his proposal last year, proposing that about a third of Baltimore's American Bailout Act funding should be used for its $1 housing proposal, an assistance program to fund home repairs, and a housing project law to help seniors who are struggling with reverse mortgages.

Review these guidelines together anda fee packageabout abandoned homeowners, Baltimore would allow to target thoseabout 15,000 officially lazyBuildings that were one of his oldest challenges. Since he unveiled his package, the issue has risen on the city's agendaDeath of three firefightersfight a fire in a vacant terraced house.

"Think about what's normalizing this level of opening for young people and how you see where they're coming from," says Mosby. "It was caused by intolerance. This was created by a lack of resources, funding and care. It's at the center of Baltimore's troubles."

(David KIDD/Government)

Mosby's $1 home proposal is very different from its 1970s namesake. The original project sold homes in concentrated blocks that the city had earmarked for urban renewal projects that never materialized. The initiative was supported by local bonds and federal loans, while the city provided funds to plant trees, pave the streetscape and repair lights in these long-neglected areas. Many of the beneficiaries were at least middle class and lived in other homes they owned or rented while they repaired their $1 townhomes.

The current proposal, on the other hand, is aimed specifically at people like Braxton, longtime residents of Baltimore who have lived their lives in the city's most deserted neighborhoods, where the city has thousands of vacant homes. $50,000 in home repair grants would be available to help with renovations, but beneficiaries would have to be pre-approved for two years to recipients for a construction loan without the same level of government assistance available in the 1970s , favoring families who earn less than 80% of the area's median income and longtime residents of Baltimore or those (like Braxton) who have lived in the city most of their lives but have since changed.

Mosby argues that the previous $1 housing program and many of the city's other efforts to repair vacant lots targeted "developers and speculators." He says that no one has ever tried to deal with the plague in this way.

"There are tons of people who live in these communities or are from these communities who would like to have it," says Mosby. "When you talk to people in East and West Baltimore, that's where they want to be. They want to put down roots in the community they come from. That's what this program is for."

Mosby's speech sounds convincing. Who could question a grand and ambitious plan to fight evictions by empowering residents already here?

Too many people it seems. Mosby's proposal has been criticizedby many housing experts and interest groupsfrom the start, fearing that low-income Baltimore residents will be saddled with expensive repair projects that end up resulting in homes not worth what they invested in. Given the number of squats sold in these neighborhoods, it is argued that it would be easier and more affordable to buy just one.

"It's not a good idea," says Alan Mallach, senior fellow at the Center for Community Advancement. “It underestimates the extent to which a program like this can harm the target audience. For people to be successful as homesteaders, they must have a significant amount of discretionary income to invest in a project. That means you need to have some assets to begin with.

Mosby attempted to address these concerns by increasing the repair grant amount from $25,000 to $50,000. At the beginning of March he put his package to the vote.where they tied 7-7. The only absent councilman, Ryan Dorsey,was a critic of the billand it's probably a rejection.

(David Kidd/Government)

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The CEO doesn't give up. He has courted board members and is preparing for another push. That's a testament to Mosby's ambition and the enduring popularity of the $1 house idea. While the original program only saved a few hundred homes, organizers from the city's community housing advocacy group say this happens almost every day, when they knock on doors in the neighborhood. . The original show is so ingrained in Baltimore's collective memory that it was only a matter of time before someone tried to save it.

Baltimore's post-industrial transformation

Vacant homes have plagued Baltimore for at least half a century. The city's population peaked in 1950 at nearly 950,000 and has been declining every decade since. it lost a third of its white population between 1950 and 1970. The last census showed it had fallen below 586,000. There are too many homes for too few people, especially in low-income corners of the city where real estate development and immigration are rare.

The original $1 housing program came about in the decade when the city of nearly 120,000 people was experiencing its sharpest population decline. The 1970s marked the true boundary point between Baltimore's past and its post-industrial present. The now-famous Inner Harbor development, considered the national model for downtown recreational revitalization, was still under construction. Industrial workers were still a prominent feature of this area south of the city center, with tourists an unimaginable presence.

At the time, Baltimore had a number of vacant row houses in areas the city had taken over for urban renewal efforts. But the projects never got off the ground, leaving city blocks full of empty houses. Before "gentrification" entered the popular lexicon, the city saw an opportunity for more middle-class citizens to return to the city, repair homes and remodel lots that would lower the tax burden.

"It got a lot of press, a lot of publicity," recalls Bob Embry, Baltimore's housing commissioner in the mid-1970s and creator of the city's original $1 housing program that began after World War II.

One of the most successful efforts in a small neighborhood called Otterbein included 100 houses in three blocks. Approximately 800 qualified applicants went through a selection process to ensure they had the resources available to repair the homes. A lottery system chosen from hundreds of legitimate ones.

"We were all in it together," recalls Jeffrey Lauren, one of the original owners of the $1 Home Program.„In 1975 there was nothing here. We were surrounded, everything to the east and west was just paved parking lots and warehouses. It was an act of faith."

Lauren and her wife Susan Leviton were 20 at the time and almost 50 years later they still live in the shell they have converted into a beautifully decorated home. Today Otterbein is a secluded island of tranquility surrounded by skyscrapers, the Inner Harbor tourist center built in the 1980s, sports arenas and a series of high-speed freeways.

(David KIDD/Government)

But in the 1970s it was not clear that things would end like this. Leviton and Lauren recall their neighbors struggling to fix their homes, getting screwed up by contractors, and in some cases selling and moving as soon as the law allowed it.

"There are people who have no idea what it means to work with different contractors to build a house, you have no idea what's inside," says Leviton. “A lot of people initially engaged with the contractors and it wasn't very good. They would sell the house and the second group would renovate the house. It was a very difficult project.”

The couple follow the local news avidly and read with apprehension Mosby's marriage proposal. They believe the lesson from the original program is that reinvestment efforts work best when focused, and that affordable housing should require more intervention from governments or nonprofits that can provide development and contracting expertise.

"I was sad when I read about it in the newspaper," says Leviton. "It's a waste of money. We need a very targeted approach and someone with government support who can create affordable housing.”

Baltimore wasn't the only city championing flashy, national headline-grabbing shows at the time. The concept has also been used by similar deindustrialized sister cities, including Wilmington, Delaware and Trenton, N.J.

That's where Mallach, now with the Center for Community Progress, found the remnants of that effort. When he started as Director of Housing and Economic Development in Trenton in 1990, he found that most participants wanted out.

"They were lost, couldn't repair the house and were already in financial difficulties as a result," Mallach recalls. "I found a way to take their homes and end the program."

But Mosby says his program is unlike anything previously attempted, at least not in Baltimore. While influences from the original show are evident: the $1 purchase price, the legislative language, the "urban appropriation— says the difference is that it targets people who already have stakes in these alienated countries but are currently renting.

"This is very unconventional as it gives tenants access to real estate but also creates equity at a time when property values ​​are rising and communities are changing," says Mosby.

Why Mosby wants to try again

Mosby is confident the program will work because he has first-hand experience repairing a long-abandoned house in a troubled neighborhood. In 2004, at the age of 25, he bought a house in a neighborhood called Reservoir Hill.

The area is now a stable anchor of West Baltimore. However, Mosby remembers that at the time all the houses across the street were empty. The house next door was also empty. He could stand in the basement next to a tree that had roots there and look up and see the sky.

"We wanted to live in West Baltimore," says Mosby. “I went out and got my own funding and fixed it. I've already gone through this process. I have a level of understanding that other members may not have. There are many ways for people to do the same.”

(David KIDD/Government)

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Mosby brings up this story in response to one of the most persistent criticisms of his bill, coming from progressive groups like the Community Development Network of Maryland and Fight Blight Bmore. They worry that the scale of renovations required to ensure a $1 housing project will work will let down working-class participants, as Mallach described in his Trenton experience.

Mosby rejects this idea. He figured out how to fix an old house in West Baltimore and thinks others can too (even though he was an electrical engineer and his wife was a lawyer). The bill will require FHA and city-approved repair shops for first-time homebuyers, he says, and that programs run by organizations like The Neighborhood Assistance Corporation of America have a strong track record of helping working-class people buy theirs have their first homes.

“This idea that the working class in the city of Baltimore can't work on a home loan; it's just unacceptable," says Mosby. "If people say we don't want to put people in a position that hurts them financially going forward, then I just don't dictate that."

There's also the problem of the valuation gap: the difference between the cost of renovating the home and what the appraiser will determine once it's finished. Why would banks lend on a house that would be worth less than the cost of renovating it?

According to Mosby's calculations, the $50,000 foundation should take care of that. A 1,200 to 1,400 square foot home should cost around $125 per square foot for rehab. If you put $50,000 in city-provided equity on the home, the loan would only need to be $90,000, with a cheaper monthly mortgage than most Baltimore rentals currently.

Mosby's critics say the facts on the ground don't match his ambitions. Many of the city's vacant properties are larger than 1,400 square feet, with larger buildings presenting even greater challenges.

"We have so many vacant lots, it's really huge," says Odette Ramos, a councilwoman who voted against the project and is a former community development expert. “The renovation costs will exceed the value of the house many times over. If we narrowed it down to 1,400 square foot homes, that would work. The problem is we don't have many of those owned by the city."

The ones the city has are all over Baltimore. The $1 home program of the 1970s was successful when it focused on areas like Otterbein, where people shopped together and felt part of something bigger. But when the city expanded it to vacant locations across the city in the 1980s, they weren't as successful. Today, 1,500 of the 15,000 officially vacant properties are owned by the public, and none are concentrated in blocks like Otterbein.

Like many critics of the bill, Ramos credits Mosby with thinking big about one of the biggest challenges Baltimore faces. That's what local housing experts say too. You know Nick Mosby, agree with him on many points and believe that he has the right basic idea. But they fear this very bill isn't the answer.

"$150 million for a just community development strategy is the right payment and time for it," said Michael Braverman, former Baltimore housing commissioner. “Nick had the right idea. It costs money to do this job well. And to do this job right away, it costs even more. But the efficient way of doing this is not covered by this legislation.”

Braverman argues that there are already organizations on the ground that are making significant strides against job offers, and that money could be better spent on efforts where momentum already exists.

Braverman mentions a vacant block in West Baltimore that is being redeveloped with support from the Upton Planning Committee. He also cites the Druid Heights CDC, also in West Baltimore, which is tearing down vacant townhouses and replacing them with new townhouses. The Northeast Housing Initiative creates home ownership for people earning 50 percent of the region's median income, and does so with a Community Land Trust model that preserves affordability. Braverman also notes that his tenure saw an absolute decline in vacant buildings for the first time in decades. Why not mimic what has already been tested?

(David KIDD/Government)

But Mosby is not giving up. He thinks the current mayor's plan for American Bailout Act funds is too diffuse, spreading the money across too many initiatives and too many problem areas. (I would approx.the halffighting the vacancy.) He is determined to fight the plague by helping the city's working-class residents.

"If you look at how the city has sold property for decades, it's never been for the average person," says Mosby. “I understand that this is an unconventional direction. I'm interested in learning from the rejections to see how we can deal with them."

Mosby notes that this is a two-year pilot program. If the program does not work, the funds can be reallocated to other pest control methods. But he doesn't think that will happen.

Back in Harlem Park, Braxton listens appreciatively to Mosby. He no longer lives in Baltimore, but has moved with his family to suburban Harford County. But many of his relatives are still in town and he is dismayed that his mother and aunt live near empty houses.

He loves Mosby's idea. As a resident of a legacy city, you are eligible to participate in the program.

"It's just brilliant because there's absolutely a calm wave of people who would love this opportunity," Braxton said. "I don't think they have enough homes to support the number of Baltimoreans that would come and buy those homes."

(David KIDD/Government)

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