Bulldozed Into Homelessness : Woman Now Sleeps Outdoors After Long Beach Knocks Down Her House

Joan Morcom lives on the streets now.

A lifelong resident of Long Beach, Morcom can be found lurking in the alleyways or rummaging through the trash cans of one of the city’s most affluent neighborhoods.

Looking unkempt in old sweaters, she sometimes uses a beat-up shopping cart to deliver firewood to nearby residents. Often she sleeps under the stars in one of the area’s choicest vacant lots--a parcel with an ocean view that local real estate agents say may be worth $465,000.

Morcom owns the lot. Until last week it contained her house. But then the city--ignoring her pleas--bulldozed the structure and made her the most celebrated homeless person in Alamitos Heights.

In a neighborhood where homes sell for as much as $1 million, Morcom now receives her mail in a makeshift mailbox stuck in the ground.

Officials at the Long Beach Department of Planning and Building say Morcom’s small two-story house--built entirely of cedar in 1904--was a substandard building in such poor and unsanitary condition that it endangered the lives and health of its inhabitant and her neighbors.

Morcom described it as a historical gem that she was in the process of restoring.

Residents of the area, to whom Morcom’s house had long been a familiar landmark, are sharply divided on the matter. While some applaud the city’s action, calling it long overdue, others say it had much more to do with rising property values and Morcom’s eccentricity than with issues of health or safety.

‘She’s Been Railroaded’

“They wanted her property,” said Faye McDowell, a neighbor who has known Morcom for 16 years. “She’s been railroaded. I think it’s terrible.”

Said Jeff Simpson, a music store owner who lives two doors down: “I’m happy with the city’s action. The house was not habitable, (except for) maggots, rats and dogs.”

Morcom’s slide toward last week’s confrontation with the bulldozers did not occur overnight. It developed over many years as the neighborhood evolved from a barren oil field into a booming real estate market dotted with increasingly expensive dwellings that dwarfed the tiny abode on Winslow Avenue in East Long Beach.

Morcom--who will not reveal her age except to say that she was born in the late 1940s--said she was conceived and raised in the cedar house, which her family had owned since 1933.

Neighbors who remember her as a child say she seemed to lead a fairly normal life until the 1968 death of her father, who she said was once a city engineer. Morcom’s mother died six years ago and ever since, she said, her life has been difficult.

For the last three years, Morcom said, she has lived without gas or electricity. Unable to hold a regular job after a brutal mugging left her partially disabled, she claims to have survived largely by selling wood, often speaking of the Bible to would-be customers.

And, moved by the plight of beings less fortunate than herself, Morcom said, she had made her home a haven for stray dogs and disabled war veterans.

According to city officials, Morcom’s frequent confrontations with the city began about 10 years ago when neighbors began complaining about the overgrown weeds on her property. The complaints intensified and, in 1986, the city declared the house substandard and hazardous, ordering her to improve its condition or face having it demolished.

“The condition was so abhorrent that it just defies description,” said Eugene Zeller, the city’s superintendent of building and safety.

Structural problems, he said, included the lack of a proper frame, inadequate roof, unsafe electrical system and outmoded plumbing. In addition, he said, the house was infested with rats and littered with debris and animal feces, creating a major public health hazard.

“I have an obligation to abate substandard or dangerous conditions,” Zeller said, “and this house was a threat to life, limb, safety and public welfare.”

Retaining a lawyer, Morcom was able to stave off the wrecker’s ball for some time by obtaining a series of extensions from the city and temporary restraining orders from the court.

Each time, said attorney Doug Otto, who lives in the neighborhood and represented her without pay, Morcom promised to improve the condition of her property to the city’s satisfaction and to eliminate the unsanitary conditions. Otto said he even set up several meetings for her with contractors willing to do the work and financial institutions willing to issue low-cost loans to pay for it.

Morcom, he said, broke every promise, failed to show up for almost every meeting and continuously rebuffed his best efforts.

“She wouldn’t cooperate,” Otto said. “The city bent over backwards to prevent the demolition of her house, but it was like I was trying to help her and she just wouldn’t let me.”

Morcom has consistently denied that the condition of her house was as bad as the city said it was, but just as consistently refused to allow anyone inside for inspection. She also denied being uncooperative, saying that she was making satisfactory progress toward restoring the house and, given time, would have succeeded.

Frustrated and discouraged, Otto withdrew from the case last week. On Aug. 24, the bulldozers arrived to do their work in front of a stunned horde of neighbors, a job for which the city plans to bill Morcom.

Animal control officials said they found more than 20 dogs on the premises, most of them suffering from mange. As a result, they plan to ask the city prosecutor’s office to charge Morcom with cruelty to animals.

Morcom’s belongings--including a brass bed, antique piano, books and an assortment of old tools--were hauled to a city storage yard. She has 30 days to claim them before they are taken to a dump.

Agents Move In

At the sight of bulldozers, Morcom became hysterical and was taken to Harbor/UCLA Medical Center where she was detained 24 hours for psychiatric observation. While still hospitalized, she was contacted by the first of many real estate agents seeking to represent either her or a buyer in the sale of her lot.

All of which has left a bad taste in the mouths of some neighbors, who think that real estate is what the controversy is all about.

“These people could give a blank about anything but their own property values,” said Neal Fox, a furniture mover who considers himself one of Morcom’s best friends.

But those who complained to the city disagree, including the owner of a 4,500-square-foot house next door that is about to close escrow after selling for a price purported to be close to $1 million. While their property values have certainly been enhanced by the destruction of the old house, the owners said, their motivation for reporting her was the dogs and the rats.

“We saw rats crawling on her windows,” said the homeowner, speaking on condition that she not be identified. “Our main concern was for our health.”

The rats are gone now as Morcom haunts the neighborhood, collecting her firewood and storing the few remaining scraps of her possessions in area garages.

Concerned neighbors recently built her the mailbox attached to a stick on her property so that she could receive official mailings, particularly the city’s bill for the more than $5,000 it has spent on demolition and storage. If Morcom doesn’t pay the bill, officials said, the charge will be attached as a lien on her property, which could eventually force a sale.

“This is like Vietnam,” the woman said. “I’m a refugee in my own country.”

But recently she found a green marble ashtray in the rubble that caused her to smile. And when she had a brief opportunity to retrieve some belongings, among the items she chose were two old shovels and a hammer.

“At least I’ve got something to build with,” she said tearfully. “Do you think it’s crazy to want to start again?”