By New Times
By Connor Radnovich
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Ray Stern
By Keegan Hamilton
By Matthew Hendley
By Monica Alonzo
By Monica Alonzo
Drivers leaving the Squaw Peak Parkway to head west on Bethany Home Road quickly find themselves running a gauntlet of graphic signs. The signs will never be featured in a City of Phoenix public relations brochure.
"You Are Now Entering the Worst Run City in the Galaxy."
"Vote 'NO' on new road taxes. Don't give Phoenix the money to do this to somebody else."
The most belligerent of the signs shows a man with a large screw through his body. The screw is labeled "Squaw Peak Parkway." Next to him, the city council and former mayor Paul Johnson hold a screwdriver.
This short stretch of road, the 1600 block of East Bethany Home, is itself home to a group of residents who have been fighting city hall since the 1980s. The residents claim the city government ruined their neighborhood by building the Squaw Peak Parkway and dumping traffic onto their once-quiet street.
They still want what they have always wanted: a city buyout of their homes.
For years, the city told the residents they were fighting a battle that was lost long ago, during the highway's planning stages. For years, city officials complained that the residents were refusing to take advantage of assistance the city repeatedly offered them.
Now, though, it seems that the residents' persistence and nasty signs are about pay off.
Two new city councilmembers want to reverse the city's long-standing refusal to buy the Bethany Home houses, and it appears that a council majority favors a buyout.
If the nine-member council approves a buyout, it would mark a stunning change of direction for the city. Such a policy change also could inject long-running animosity over the Squaw Peak Parkway into city and state elections this fall.
That animosity first arose in the 1980s, when the Squaw Peak Parkway was in its planning stages. At that time, the Phoenix City Council decided not to use bond funds earmarked for freeway "mitigation" projects on a Bethany Home buyout.
Instead, the city paid $1.2 million to purchase 13 homes on Highland Avenue similarly impacted by the parkway. Linda Nadolski, then a councilmember representing the area south of Bethany Home, supported the Highland purchase. She said Bethany Home was already a major artery prior to the parkway's construction; Highland Avenue, she said, was not.
"The houses on Highland were isolated, had no connection with a neighborhood and suffered high traffic from the freeway, as well as from the commercial development across the street," she said.
Bethany Home was hardly ignored. More than $2 million was spent to mitigate pollution and traffic by lowering the parkway below street level from the Highland Avenue exit to the Glendale Avenue exit, by constructing noise walls and by making only a "half-intersection" at the Bethany Home exit.
But that "help" never meant much to the Bethany Home residents. They saw the city buying houses on Highland and spending $400,000 on a controversial public art project--large ceramic pots along the Squaw Peak--and wondered what happened to Bethany Home.
It did not matter to the residents that the pots were purchased with funds earmarked specifically for public art. The traffic-pattern differences between Bethany and Highland also seemed ephemeral to the residents. Back in the 1980s, they were interested in only one thing: a buyout. And after a long series of letters to, meetings with and promises from city officials, they began posting graphic, nasty signs demanding a buyout.
"The city came in and placed the highway on the corner and got us into this mess," said Bernard Feldman, 77, a 30-year resident of the block and a retired Air Force captain. "Now the city should help us move out." Most of the block's eight homeowners have lived there for years, even decades, and have seen their street change from a two-lane neighborhood road to a five-lane thoroughfare.
Now, Bethany Home residents are sandwiched between the parkway to the east and commercial development along 16th Street to the west. More than 31,000 vehicles a day use this short stretch of Bethany, which serves as a conduit to on- and off-ramps for the Squaw Peak.
"It was a quiet neighborhood before the completion of the highway," recalls Vickie Limparis, an eight-year Bethany Home resident spearheading the neighborhood's protest. "People spent many evenings in their front yards chatting with each other."
The eight families who still live there say depreciation has kept them from moving out of the noisy, filthy, traffic-packed block. No one will pay anywhere near what the homes were worth before the Squaw Peak was built.
And if they sell the houses for less, many residents claim, they will not have enough money to buy homes elsewhere.
"I still owe about $50,000 on my house," Limparis said. "The city has ruined our neighborhood."
Until the last few weeks, the city's official position was that a buyout would be impossible.
"There's no money for it," Peter Atonna, Phoenix's deputy planning director, said just two weeks ago. All the money allocated for mitigation of the parkway's impact was used for other projects, he said then.
And until recently, city administrators contended that the Bethany Home residents had been refusing to take all sorts of other help the city had offered them. Specifically, the city had been urging the residents to rezone their property so it could be used for low-density offices.