Bad Neighbors

by Donna Swagerty Shreve

In 1973 John and I had settled back in Stockton. We had found a house to rent close to University of the Pacific and right off the Miracle Mile. We had a young baby boy and were looking forward to our life ahead. Eventually we bought our house and only moved because it became too small when we had our second son. Our neighborhood had been established in the 1920 and 1930s and the average age of the residents was retirement age. We were the young ones and I was concerned Aaron would not have available playmates as he grew older.

Then the neighbors from hell moved in on the east side of us in 1977. They consisted of two guys and a girl. I am not sure if I even got their names. They tended to have loud parties on the weekends. They had fighting roosters in the backyard that did not wait for the sun to come up before starting their concert. A prized plant was stolen from my front porch. The main suspect was the girl next door. Then there were the cat calls when my pregnant friends would arrive for my women’s luncheons. 

I was part of an extended Lamaze group that had lunch on a rotating basis once a week. At the beginning all of us were pregnant. I delivered Brad one month early so I was the exception at first. We continued as all of us delivered and we wanted the support from each other on our journey through motherhood. As one of the very pregnant mothers arrived, she had to listen to a gauntlet of rude cat calls on her way to my front door. 

I then began to notice cars parking in front of their home at all times of the day. A lone passenger would get out and go to the front door and quickly leave with a small package and then drive away. My suspicions were heightened when the grandson of the lady across the street from me became one of their regular customers. Damn. I was living next to a drug house!

I started keeping track of the cars that arrived each day. Most of them were weekly visitors. I took down their license plates and time and day they visited. After located the drug hotline, I called in my findings. I got the distinct impression from my phone call that they either already knew my information or did not care. No results were going to be coming from them.

I knew the trio were renters so I investigated who was the owner of this house. I got in touch with a realtor friend and ask a favor. Would they find out information on the house at this address. I was given the owner’s name but more importantly the local manager of the property. Somehow I got the owner’s phone number in San Jose from the managing company. I waited for the right time to call.

One Sunday morning at 5:00 A.M. the loud party next door was still going strong. Now was the time for that call. This was before caller identification so the owner answered my call. I explained the entire neighborhood was awake due to the party in his house and I thought it was only fair that he be awake also. He asked if I tried talking to them. I actually had and was laughed off their porch. I then told him of my observations of the drug sales activities, roosters and loud parties. He then thanked me and I told him I would not wake him up again.

I had gone to various neighbors previously for possible help but no one wanted to get involved. This surprised me as I was young and fired up to right any wrongs in my neighborhood. My neighbors were worn out and wiser and let me do the dirty work.

The horrible neighbors were given an eviction notice and then they refused to move out. After three months the police became involved and eviction happened. It took another three months for the owner to do repairs to the home before he could rent it again. 

That whole experience convinced me I never wanted to be a landlord who rented out property. Also I learned a valuable lesson about people’s reluctance in getting involved in something risky. Bad things happen when good people say nothing.

743 words

3/31/24

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