On Washington Boulevard next to Giroux Glass Inc. used to stand a small, rat-infested and derelict market that had been built about 1950.

But Anne-Merelie Murrell needed more parking for her growing glass company, and just over six years ago she did what any owner might do: she tore down the market and put in a parking lot.

Less than a mile from Murrell’s property in University Park and a few years later, Encino-based Karr Development LLC wanted to raze an old carriage house to make way for a housing complex. But this time, the plans had to go before the area’s Historic Preservation Overlay Zone Board, a body created by the City Council in 2000.

As a result of changes sought by the board, the carriage house, built prior to World War II, was incorporated into a redesigned residential project with five loft-style units.

Though she professes a fondness for saving historic buildings, Murrell is thankful that the preservation board was not around when she toppled the market; even though it was dilapidated, she fears she might have been forced to save it. She also sympathizes on the carriage house with Karr, which would like in the future to avoid projects involving preservation boards.

“If that garage had not been there, (Karr) would be able to do a development that would be more attractive,” Murrell said. “In my opinion, it was not worth saving.”

Don’t tell that to Dave Raposa, owner of City Living Realty Corp. and a member of the University Park preservation board. He believes Karr’s project shows the historic preservation process at its best: the board worked with the developer to keep the carriage house while allowing construction of highly stylish lofts.

“The fact that buildings are being reused signals an appreciation that they play a role in how one looks at Los Angeles,” he said.

In a city relatively young compared to its Eastern brethren, building has been historically a matter of raising money, meeting zoning codes and hiring a contractor. Now history is catching up with Los Angeles.

For decades, landmark buildings and even entire neighborhoods, such as Bunker Hill, met their end with a wrecking ball to clear the path for modern development. But as the city has matured, L.A. is wrestling with how to preserve its distinctive character and provide for the vibrancy that development sparks.

In the past, the issue has largely been dealt with on an individual basis: local Frank Lloyd Wright houses, the Angels Flight Railway and Shrine Auditorium are examples of structures that qualified for legal protection. But now, far more modest neighborhood structures, such as the University Park carriage house, are getting protection.

It’s the result of the Historic Preservation Overlay Zone, or HPOZ, ordinance that was passed in 1979 and only more recently has been deployed throughout the city. The law was sparked by a grassroots movement to safeguard Victorian homes in Angelino Heights and provides for the establishment of local preservation boards. But unlike earlier historic preservation law, once a board is established, all structures within its neighborhood jurisdiction not just those deemed the most significant are subject to review.

Seven years ago there were eight boards; since then 13 more were established and 15 additional ones are pending giving the boards a greater influence on the future of residential neighborhoods (as well as some small, nearby commercial strips.)

“The definition of historic resources is growing as our city grows,” said Linda Dishman, executive director of the L.A. Conservancy, noting that neighborhoods with architecture ranging from Craftsman to Mid-Century Revival to Modernist are being protected.

Genesis


Roger Holt, who helped draft the original HPOZ ordinance and is currently a partner in L.A. law firm Greenberg Glusker Fields Claman & Machtinger LLP, recalls that the push for local preservation boards came from a tight group of ardent preservationists and Angelino Heights residents.

The city’s politicians and the general public displayed little interest in the ordinance, even though it was broadly cast and could have wide-ranging implications for various neighborhoods, not only Angelino Heights, where it was first instituted in 1983.

The ordinance has been amended slightly since, but its central tenets remain: areas appropriate for a board must have “historic, architectural, cultural or aesthetic significance.” The overlay is ultimately approved by the City Council after a neighborhood survey is conducted with the process usually prodded by local residents who get three of five seats on the boards.

And once the boards are established, their authority is expansive: everything from proposed fa & #231;ade improvements to additions, removals and demolitions of small residential buildings fall within their purview. Restrictions are more stringent on buildings considered “contributing elements” to the neighborhood’s historic significance.

With minor alterations to the buildings, the boards have decision power. On larger projects, the boards play an advisory role by making often crucial recommendations to planners and council members.

Initially, Holt said there was little clamoring to get HPOZ protection. But the ordinance did appeal to neighborhoods, such as Angelino Heights, with houses that had fallen into disrepair. The feeling was that a preservation board would build community pride, prod residents to maintain their homes and increase property values. There also are financial incentives to encourage participation, including the Mills Act, a state law that offers owners of historic properties up to an 80 percent reduction in property taxes.

Since the ordinance’s enactment, the boards have gained traction with real estate market upswings. Charles Fisher, a member of the Highland Park board, said interest peaked for a community HPOZ in the late 1980s and was finally instituted in 1994. The strong real estate market brought development pressures to Highland Park, and there were worries that single-family home lots would be transformed into apartment complexes. “An HPOZ has a stabilizing effect on the neighborhood,” Fisher believes.

In more recent years, neighborhoods such as Windsor Square and Hancock Park, where a preservation board is being considered, have attracted new owners. Some long-time residents fear there could be tear downs and reconstructions that will be out of character for the neighborhood.

Walter Moore, a member of the Carthay Circle preservation board, said residents there rallied for its board, passed in 1998, after a house on Schumacher Drive was renovated to resemble a castle. “It just horrified people. It looks awful. It is really the poster child for HPOZs,” he said.

In Hancock Park, opponents contend that the overlay zone isn’t only about maintaining the appearance of houses. It’s become a flashpoint for cultural divisions between Orthodox Jews who tend to have bigger families and make home additions and the non-Orthodox residents. Accusations of anti-Semitism are flying.

“There is a sentiment here that this is a racial issue against the Orthodox community,” said Michael Rosenberg, who is leading the charge against the overlay.

Property values


In most cases, though, the underlying issue running through any discussion of a board is its effect on property values. The HPOZ ordinance’s purpose statement contains a line about how one of the intents of the law is to enhance values but that’s open to debate.

Anecdotally, residents and real estate agents who live and work within the zones contend the ordinance does just that. Fisher, who bought his Highland Park house in 1982 for $82,000 and estimates its current value is around $600,000, said unpredictability in the area had driven down prices prior to the HPOZ.

“Homeowners were not buying as often, because they were (saying) ‘If we buy a house there, the little house next door is going to become an apartment,'” he recalled, claiming that since the board enactment, the percentage of owner-occupants in the neighborhood has gone up.

Rosenberg cautioned against jumping to conclusions about rising property values. He argues that while property values may go up in blighted areas as a result of preservation boards, areas with high-priced homes are not similarly affected.

“In Hancock Park, we already have a beautiful neighborhood. That has not changed. We are already at the top of our market,” said Rosenberg, noting it can be impossible to discern whether property values increase due to preservation or because of rising real estate prices.

Singling out the market affect of preservation boards is difficult, but Christian Redfearn, an assistant professor at the USC Lusk Center for Real Estate Development, has studied it. It may be counterintuitive, but he has found that the influence of preservation boards on property values is greatest in pricey areas. His study uses data from properties inside and outside HPOZ areas before and after adoption.

Redfearn detected a premium due to preservation boards of around $40,000 about the same as for a pool in the expensive HPOZ areas clustered around Wilshire Boulevard relative to neighboring streets. “It looks like the designation by itself generated a positive outcome,” he said. “In neighborhoods where there are high-income individuals, they have strong preferences for the feel of the street.”

Even so, it is the high-income areas that have often experienced the fiercest resistance to preservation boards. Hancock Park is certainly an example, where opposition is made clear by the many anti-HPOZ signs on lawns.

“You have certain residents who just have perhaps strong ideological or personal beliefs that they want unfettered development rights on their property,” said Ken Bernstein, the city’s director of historic resources. “More empowered communities tend to perhaps have that type of viewpoint.”

Indeed, the HPOZ debate often hinges on property rights. For those against implementing the ordinance, the boards signal severe restrictions on how they can alter their property.

Rosenberg compares the HPOZ to “Nuremberg-type laws” where neighborhoods are constantly being patrolled for violations. “We are getting to a police state,” he said. “This is a sick thing.”

But Bernstein suggested any alarmism is unwarranted, and preservation boards are not as burdensome as they are made out to be: they don’t govern interiors, and well-accepted zoning regulations already limit what residents can do with their properties. “Although we all believe my home is my castle, none of us have absolute property rights,” he said.

At what cost?


Still, residents in areas with pending preservation boards know more about HPOZs than neighborhoods that came before them. They hear horror stories about the increased costs of living in an area with the designation.

Brian Weiss, who owns almost an acre in Highland Park where he wants to build affordable housing, suggested the boards are more than additional regulatory hoops; they are a corrosive political force.

“My (HPOZ) experience is that whenever there is a project, there becomes a community element,” he said. “You are going to get factions that it doesn’t matter what you propose, they don’t want it. They become an overzealous watchdog.”

But Bernstein said what really irks developers is not historic designations but uncertainty about regulations governing land use. “They want to know where they can develop and where they can’t develop,” he said. “If they know this is a community that values their historical architecture, typically that is understood.”

However, Greg Karr, head of Karr Development, responsible for the University Park housing complex called Nolte Lofts, said that preservation boards don’t offer enough certainty. Instead, they add more complications because what the preservation board wants might not be the same as what the planners or building and safety officers demand.

“I was expecting something more formal and structured. It wasn’t like I could look at instructions. It was very subjective. That makes it very difficult for a developer,” said Karr, who now wants to avoid projects in HPOZ areas. “Everything else I do from now on is going to be easy compared to this.”

Still, judging by the momentum for preservation boards, the development community should be certain about one thing: more HPOZ designations are coming, though there will likely be contentious fights for at least a few.

However, as HPOZs spread, the discussion about how to balance development and preservation isn’t going to end. Bernstein maintains there is a middle ground: room for development even as historic preservation gains ground.

“It is something that should not be used to stop change or new development,” he said, even adding HPOZ boards “are not the right tool for every community.”