The House Next Door: a diary

by Jeff Oaks

On Sunday evening, while we were away at Easter dinner, a big explosive thunderstorm dumped a lot of water on Pittsburgh.  When we came home, we found this 

Yes, more water in the basement. Thankfully, the firemen came again and pumped out the worst of it. (Please give to your local fire and rescue people when you get the opportunity.)

But this time, the water got into the furnace and the water heater, which, I found out on Monday means they have to be completely replaced. Completely.  They were brand new last June, I should add. 

When the claims guy came from my insurance company, he told me not to expect that either of them will be paid for because normally water damage isn’t covered unless you specifically have flood insurance.  

He may be able to get us enough money to fix the stairs that separated from the wall, but the company could also just say that it’s settling of an old house, which they also don’t generally cover. 

An engineer arrived yesterday to do a full report on the damage. He spent nearly two hours assessing, photographing, and talking to me.  Of course he couldn’t tell me his opinion or preview his report, so I have no idea what to expect there. 

So, in the absence of hope, I’m today talking to a lawyer and venturing out into that great American adventure of suing someone. 

Meanwhile despite a dozen phone calls to the developers, not one of them returned, and despite my exposing to the head contractor about the simplest thing he could do to stop this from happening


When I saw Dan in person, I explained how the missing curb was leading to the water running directly into his lot and then my basement. He seemed to understand, but nothing really changed. There were several times I wanted to go over into the lot and show him how to do it, but I restrained myself from treating Dan like a bad student who has to be shown how to do something before he catches on.  

Let me repeat: all the damage done could have been avoided if the contractors had simply erected a temporary curb or kept the curb line clear. My furnace would still be okay. The hot water would’ve been okay.  The house wouldn’t stink of evaporating muddy water. One person taking ten minutes and a shovel or a half-dozen sand bags could have fixed everything.  But nobody did anything.  

I sometimes imagine how, if I hadn’t had my former student to turn to, to make calls for me to the developers, if I were an ordinary person with no connection to any power, this could drive a person to do violence. All the silence, all the ignorance, all the determination not to notice what’s wrong and how to fix things in a simple way, is maddening. 

It is of course not made better by living in a country where one’s desires are routinely ignored, where the men in power will smile politely but not consider anything outside their pre-programmed agenda. There are no problems for them. Or there problems but we’ll fix them, you just wait.  Or in Dan’s immortal words: “This will all pass soon.”

So now I have to hire a lawyer to make myself heard. 

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