Article Courtesy of The Tampa Tribune

By TOM JACKSON

Published September 10, 2010

The hypervigilant directors of the Bridgewater Community Association are at it again, aggressively pursuing the letter of their charter in ways that range from confounding to outlandish to, conceivably, counterproductive.

In Pasco County, Wesley Chapel's Bridgewater, off Curley Road, is ground zero for the housing meltdown, the prototypical example of what happens when a superheated market finally exhausts its supply of next-greater-fools. Now the place is a semi-ghost town where investors have abandoned their get-rich-quick schemes to the tender mercies of high-wire lenders, leaving vacant houses that invite vandalism and sinking values.

Meanwhile, certain gritty homeowners have dug in, sticking by their homesteads and, following the instructions of CNBC's Rick Santelli, responsibly paying off underwater mortgages. Brandishing their homeowners association bylaws, Bridgewater's hardscrabble survivors appear determined to extract something critics might identify as ill-placed vengeance on short-sale bottom feeders.

Not so, says association President Mark Spector, who cites unpaid homeowner fees and neglected upkeep as primary concerns. If it looks the other way, the board can scarcely claim to be representing the best interest of residents who dutifully have held up their end through the worst of times.

As Spector told the Tribune's Shannon Behnken: "Any time we've offered any consideration at all, the new owner hasn't followed through. We can't negotiate."

An excuse to meddle

When you cut to the absolute nub of the matter, it's plain almost nobody truly loves the idea of homeowners associations and deed restrictions, any more than committed suburbanites love crabgrass, door-to-door solicitors or property taxes.

I say almost nobody, because some folks - we know who you are (and you know who you are, too) - love an excuse to be in other folks' business. A homeowners association mandate eliminates any sense of awkwardness; deed restrictions mean never having to say you're sorry for ordering your neighbor to pull the plug on his inflatable 6-foot Florida Gators mascot, not even on game day.

Deed restrictions and homeowners associations are the diabolical deal a great many of us are willing to make so we don't have to form post-hoc vigilante committees when neighbors commit any of the great and withering sins against orderly communal living.

We don't really have to name these transgressions, but we will anyway. Because it's expected. And because conjuring the nightmare visions is fun and entertaining, in a George Romero, "Night of the Living Dead," the-zombie-did-NOT-just-eat-intestines! way.

Cars on blocks. Knee-deep grass. Going to seed. Around a neglected above-ground pool. In the front yard. Chartreuse-and-fuchsia repainting jobs. Beds of silk plants. Bordered by pinwheels acquired at a dollar store end-of-the-season closeout sale.

The horror. The horror.

Apocalyptic prospects

The remote chance that one or some combination of these apocalyptic prospects could come to pass on your block is why deed restrictions and their enforcement arm - the homeowners association - evolved. It turns out, apparently, after Woodstock and Vietnam, we no longer trust one another to tend to our corner of the American dream as fastidiously and tastefully as June and Ward Cleaver (the 1980s Clair and Cliff Huxtable notwithstanding).

So, in exchange for dwelling harmoniously in communities whose values will not be sullied by the microeconomic activities of the slothful or tacky, we agree to sand down the rough edges of our creative individuality and to be vigilant about nitpicky details, up to and including having our Christmas lights off the eaves and packed away before NFL conference championship Sunday.

If this sounds like the Nazification of the American suburbs, then moving into a planned village may not be for you. Not that people who see a Goebbels and a Goering at the head of every homeowners association board don't still buy the houses, sign the documents and wait for the Mayflower van, convinced that the fine print does not apply to them.

No clotheslines? Really? Why does my association hate the environment?

Vehicles inside the garage? Do you know how much I paid for my crew cab pickup? Why do you hate the American automotive industry?

Store my portable basketball goal whenever it's not in use? Why do you hate children?

In other words, we sympathize with Bridgewater's pioneers. Their attempts to enforce some of the less sanguine portions of their homeowners association contracts cast them in an unflattering light, and smug outsiders (with mowers rusting in the side yard?) are all too willing to pounce. This is unfortunate.

Arguably, however, the Bridgewater Community Association's stubborn aggressiveness on behalf of elusive principal may be shortsighted. What's the long view here? By attempting to extract five-figure sums from potential new neighbors, are they delaying the moment when their ghost town becomes, instead, a happy village thriving with life?

It's something on which the board may want to take a vote.

Buyers want homes; HOA wants improvements