Old and in the Way

At the center of that community is Brad Heaney, owner of Heaney Construction and Consulting. Heaney began renting space in about two-thirds of the warehouses almost 12 years ago, after discovering that they were sitting unused. He started using the space to work on his Alfa Romeos, build furniture and sculpt.

Also for many years, Heaney has subleased portions of the place to Barnes and a handful of others, who affectionately call him the "Alfa Guru."

The Alfa Guru is tall and well-built, with the weathered face of someone who’s put in his time working outdoors. He’s restored at least five of the zippy little Italian cars, and almost a half-dozen more–in different states of (dis)repair–litter the lot. A racing Alfa sits inside one warehouse, surrounded by tools and parts, waiting patiently to be returned to its former glory.

Heaney is also willing to lend a hand to the other men, those with less experience restoring their beat-up treasures. "He’s really been my mentor," says Al Landwehr, a Cal Poly literature and creative writing professor who’s been in the sheds for about seven years. "He can fix anything." Landwehr, who drives a shiny red 1987 Bertone he restored, is currently working on a 1964 Volvo 544S.

Heaney has rented out space to all kinds of people over the years, not just car nuts. "I’ve had artists come looking for studio space, fabricators, hobbyists, craftspeople of all kinds," he says. Elizabeth McQueen, who created the giant bronze Puck in the Downtown Center, worked there for a while, as did recently retired Cuesta College art instructor Barry Frantz.

"I’ll bet we get someone at least once a week, who’s heard there are guys working on Alfas," says Heaney, "or that there might be space for rent."

Steve White, AKA White Dog, begged for space from Heaney for years. He finally got in about a year ago. The local painter and found-object sculptor, who works down in Hollywood on television commercials to make his living, has the craggy good looks of a 1950s movie star only slightly gone to seed.

White calls the old cars that he and others work on "art you can drive." Like all the men there, White sings Heaney’s praises. "He’s not just a mechanical genius, he’s like a Renaissance man. We all look up to him."

The warehouses themselves, on the other hand, aren’t much to look at at all. Located on the corner of Roundhouse Road and Emily Street behind the Broad Street fire station, they are truly ugly. The entire lot is run-down, jammed with rusting car hulks, someone’s power boat and piles of old construction debris. At least two businesses may also make their home there.

Rust blooms along the seams of the tin-siding of the buildings where Heaney and company lovingly do their work. Windows that look as if they haven’t been washed since World War II are either boarded up or barred over. Grease spots stain the asphalt next to feathery weeds growing defiantly out of the cracks. "They’re not much to look at, it’s true," says one of the men.

The compound originally belonged to the state Department of Transportation, says RRM’s Montgomery. As he leads the walking tour, it becomes apparent that Montgomery has never been here on a Saturday afternoon, when the place bustles with activity, camaraderie. "It appears the sheds are used mostly for storage," he tells members of the Cultural Heritage Committee and the students, some of whom huddle close to hear, while others hang back, gazing around at the run-down lot.

"This used to be a Cal Trans maintenance yard," Montgomery continues. "The buildings are physically and structurally dilapidated. There’s lead paint around the windows. It definitely doesn’t meet seismic standards, and the foundations appear to be sketchy at best."

An ancient photo of the yards hangs framed inside one of the warehouse. The men think it was taken in 1917, but it has no date on it. Ron Clark, Historical Society Museum manager, tries to date the picture. A Model T indicates it was taken in the teens for sure, he says. The metal wheels on the car indicate wartime, when rubber was scarce.

Clark says he’s not sure if the buildings have any historical value, but notes that the railroad’s beautiful, historic brick roundhouse was torn down in 1959, and the attendant turntable was torn down in 1994. "As a nation, we’re pretty ahistoric, because we’re so new," he says.

Brad LaRose, president of the San Luis Obispo Railroad Museum, says that as far as he knows, the warehouses were never part of the railroad, although he is familiar with them. "Our museum board has already met with RRM Design," he says. "We know the intent: The warehouses will be removed for parking."

The warehouses are already used for parking: Most of the cars piled around the compound are either waiting to be restored, or serve as parts cars for those in process.

Heaney has his Alfas. Landwehr has his Volvo. Barnes his Jag. Another ‘54 Jaguar sits waiting for love from Mark Freear, a painter. A high school art instructor is restoring a 1949 Ford "Shoebox" with his two sons.

White works alternately on a 1965 Ford F-100 and a 1959 faded-red Ranchero. "I call us the brotherhood of the motor," he says.

"I’m another Alfa guy," Marc Schulman says. "I’ve been an Alfa guy for almost 25 years." Schulman, a Los Osos wholesale nursery owner and surfer, raced Bug-eyed Sprites in the 1970s, and his passion for cars–Alfa’s in particular, and car history in general–is obvious. He has his wife’s Alfa in one of the warehouses right now.

While the men will, with only gentle prodding, talk about their "projects," as they call their cars, in the course of a normal afternoon, they don’t talk much about the two most stereotypical motorhead topics–cars and women.

"Tim’ll ask me how my wife is," says Schulman. "But we really don’t talk about women much beyond that."

Landwehr, working patiently on the window regulators in the doors of his Volvo, concurs. Pinned up along the wall next to his car are dozens of Ziplock baggies, different car parts inside each one. Next to the baggies are photographs of cars and old posters. He points to one, a drawing of a girl in a car, her cupid lips red, her eyes saucy–flashing to no avail, apparently. When the poster first went up, "We found ourselves trying to figure out what kind of car she was in," Landwehr says, chuckling.

While it’s easy to get any one of them started on the beauty inherent in restoring old cars, on most days, topics turn to more esoteric subjects. "We don’t just work on cars," says Heaney. "We teach each other about all sorts of things, from art to history to literature."

Schulman says it’s almost an unwritten rule that they don’t talk about their cars. "We discuss other things. There’s such a wealth of knowledge among everyone here."

As Schulman speaks, Barnes rides up on his bicycle, silver clips over his ankles to keep his pant legs out of his spokes. "Oh, a history lesson," he jibes Schulman. As the two men trade faux-barbs over the "brutish" Alfa versus the "refined and elegant" Jaguar, their affection for each other, and the cars they work on, is apparent.

After only a little urging, Barnes spills the story behind his attraction to the 1954 Jaguar XK120. Now that he’s bought his second, it’s perhaps more than an attraction–a bona fide passion?

If so, it’s a passion with its roots in young adult-hood. Barnes was looking for a 1954 XK120 specifically, after the one his father gave him many years ago. "I left it by the side of the road," he says, shaking his head at the thought. "It was broken, so I just left it on the side of the road in La Jolla."

Barnes wanted to complete this Jaguar while his father is still alive, a goal he’s almost achieved: "The leather from England for the upholstery was delayed by hoof and mouth disease, but it’s almost finished."

The community in the warehouses might be finished, too, if Albertsons development plans get city approval this time. The city council declared the site perfect for a grocery store back in the 1980s, according to Josh Pruett, project manager for the Albertsons account with Barnett Cox & Associates. But Albertsons’ development plans already have been shot down twice by the city.

This time, Pruett says, the company has done everything in its power to get this version of the development–branded "Broad Street Station" with an old-timey train logo by Barnett Cox–to fly. Albertsons has offered to pay for all necessary traffic improvements to the intersection of Broad and Santa Barbara streets, and to add a light at Alfonso St., which would be the only way into the shopping center. A tree-lined median would divide a portion of Broad Street, so customers leaving the center could only turn right onto Broad. Those that need to turn left would exit onto Alfonso and wait at the new light. Another left-hand turn lane would be added from Broad to Santa Barbara, and the traffic signal at Alfonso would also allow for pedestrian crossing.

All these improvements would probably have to be made by the city eventually, Pruett points out, but now the market chain is offering to pay.

Albertsons has also sweetened the pot by granting the Economic Opportunity Commission’s request for land to build central offices for itself, which currently has offices scattered all over town. Albertsons not only will donate the land, it will share the improvement costs–water, sewer, etc.–with the EOC.

Also, a fast-food joint factored into the first proposal has been jettisoned, bowing to demands by the city, which thought a fast-food restaurant would create too much traffic for the location. Pruett says several units of affordable senior housing have also been added, which will go above the strip of shops facing Broad Street.

Barnett Cox interviewed about 300 residents in the area, and an overwhelming number of them would like to see a grocery store there, says Pruett, adding most of the negative reactions have been from residents outside the development area who wonder why the city needs another grocery store.

Adding the store would still keep the city’s "grocery store density" in line with similar communities, says Pruett.

"I’m opposed to anyone putting in some hideous strip mall," says White, one of the more outspoken member of the little warehouse community. "It’s not like anyone is really going to walk there, so why not drive to some other strip mall that already exists within a three-mile radius?"

Heaney says he and the other men will fight to save the warehouses: They may not look like they have much value as they are, "but to those of us who are out there now, those who’ve rented space in the past, or might in the future, they’re extremely valuable, because there’s no other place like it."

In addition to the treasures that are created or restored, then sent out into the community, Heaney admits that some afternoons, with all of them out there wrenching and jawing, can even be like–gasp!–a group therapy session. The value of those afternoons, he says, can hardly be measured.

The value of the property, however, has been measured–by those who’ve spent that last 18 months working on the proposed development. They feel strongly that it’s a good project, that it will make life in San Luis Obispo better, with shopping more plentiful and more convenient.

That’s probably why the mere question of whether the old warehouses squatting on the back corner of the property are historically significant makes those involved with the project almost visibly shudder.

One expert, who has studied the buildings, says he doesn’t see how the city or the Cultural Heritage Committee could mount a defense that the buildings are historically significant. Clay Singer is an anthropologist and president of Singer & Associates, which does consulting work for entities such as RRM Design, on whether buildings do indeed have cultural or historic significance. He says there’s just not much to the old warehouses.

Singer looked at them back in 1996, although he couldn’t get into them at the time, he says. He still hasn’t been inside them. He confirms that the buildings were erected sometime between 1916 and 1924. The sheet metal on the outside of the buildings, however, has been completely replaced, he says, and none of the buildings have foundations, only concrete slabs.

The only part of the building even remotely interesting, Singer says, are the trusses that hold up the ceilings–and they’re significant only because roofs aren’t held up that way anymore. Informed that the beams are redwood, he says that, too, makes them unique. Less significant but still somewhat interesting, he says, are that some of the panels are held together with old-style nails with "little nipples" in them, nails you can’t find anymore.

But culturally significant? The California Environmental Quality Act has specific guidelines about what can be designated historical, Singer says. A building or site must be connected to a famous person or event, include unique architecture, be more than 50 years old, or contribute new information to the historical record. "It’s not my job to make that decision," Singer says, only to report what he’s found, which he will do on Monday, Nov. 26, to the Cultural Heritage Committee and the public.

Singer says he got a sense on the walking tour that at least some members of the CHC were interested in preserving the buildings. He says it wouldn’t be the first time an advisory group didn’t heed the advice of professionals, and pushed forward it’s own agenda. Advisory boards are often made up of people who think they know better than the experts, Singer says.

Pat Blowte, another member of RRM Design’s Albertsons team, had the same impression during the warehouse walk. "I heard members saying, ‘These might need to be saved.’ We just shook our heads and walked away."

Bob Pavlik, vice chair of the CHC, says for he and other members, the tour was largely informational. He says he’ll be waiting for the report on Nov. 26 before he makes any sort of decision.

For the men in the warehouses, several of whom plan on speaking at the CHC meeting, the proposed development gets them down almost more than losing their space. "The whole notion of a strip mall–especially on the edge of downtown–really bothers me," says Heaney. "I’ve lived here for 25 years, and the planning department used to have a policy of no strip malls in San Luis Obispo. That’s one of the reasons it’s been such a pleasant place to live." Æ