To hundreds of drug-addicted and alcoholic women seeking sobriety in South-Central Los Angeles over the last quarter of a century, the ramshackle old house known as the Mini Twelve Step House must have seemed like a glimmering castle.
Given refuge from the streets, the women, many of them homeless, strung-out prostitutes, probably gave no mind to the decayed wood and peeling plywood that served for the home's front and back porches.
And they probably barely noticed the stained front door, antiquated electrical system, fragile plumbing and structural beams that were rotted because of a leaking bathtub on the second floor.
But others noticed.
"It felt kind of dangerous," said Bobbie Owens, executive director of the house, which is named for the four women who founded it (Marie, Inez, Nita and Iona).
Owens recalled with a shudder the soft spots in the home's floors and its rickety steps.
"It was scary," she said.
Danger also lurked outside the walls. As one of only two homes on the block without protective fencing, the house and its residents were vulnerable to enraged boyfriends, drug dealers and others. Once, a man was discovered living beneath the house and reading pornography, having crawled through a large uncovered air vent.
Still, even with the house crumbling and the cotton popping out of torn living-room couches, there was a waiting list to get into the place, which can house 18 women at a time, each of whom stays for six months to establish a sober life.
For years, Owens, along with the board of directors and others, had scrambled for money to renovate the 12-bedroom house, which was built in 1905 as a rooming house and later used, according to a popular rumor, as a bordello.
Finally, a representative from the state of California, which licenses the program, inspected the deteriorating house and announced: "You'd better do something about this."
Salvation came in 1994, when the city of Los Angeles awarded the program $118,000 for renovation of the house, thanks to a grant proposal written by then-development director Cheryl Branch.
The renovation process began in earnest when the board selected architect Michaele Pride-Wells. She called for a charrette (a designers' round table meeting) to decide what the remodel should include.
Meeting of Minds
That meeting, held in the home's living room in 1995, included Pride-Wells; her project manager, Barbara Ellis; a structural engineer; City Councilwoman Rita Walters; Owens; and Gloria Stevenson Clark, director of the city's Human Services and Neighborhood Development Department.
Also at the charrette were the most knowledgeable people of all: the women who lived there.
"The residents designed it," Owens said. "When we asked the women, they knew everything. They knew every corner of this house."
For instance, the women said that they were tired of fighting over the one bathtub upstairs and that more showers would be better.
And they had no place to put their grooming items. When it was suggested that money could be saved by not including sinks, vanities and mirrors in the bedrooms, the women protested vigorously. Life was hard enough, they said, without fighting with 17 other women over counter space in the two bathrooms.
By the time the charrette was complete, one fact was obvious: "The $118,000 wasn't going to cut it," Owens said. By then, though, the Northridge earthquake had hit, damaging the structure even further, and $300,000 in government funds became available for quake reinforcement and other improvements.
The road of the remodel, from conception to completion, was fraught with detours. Even before the physical work began earlier this year, a new roof had to be put on the house.
"We couldn't hold the house together another day," Owens said. "It was raining right inside the building. The ladies were emptying buckets as fast as they could. I was calling the city for a permit."
Then, after the residents were relocated to another shelter and the empty house was readied for renewal, vandals stole lighting fixtures, parts of the old Wolf stove and so much copper piping that it cost $1,400 just to get the water running again.
But at last, the actual remodel was started by Harik Construction of Covina, which had presented the lowest bid for the project. It wasn't very far into the project before a new problem was discovered:
The original exterior clapboard was intact under the stucco that had been sprayed on 20 or 30 years ago. The siding needed to be removed to add plywood sheer walls to strengthen the building. That extra work added thousands of dollars on to the job.
Also, dry-rot was discovered in the foundation and floor joists.
"Until you start the job, you're not sure what you're dealing with," said Bob Hicks, vice president of Harik. "No one knew, not even the architect."