When Preservation Is Really Housing Inflation

Last month I posted a series about how complicated and expensive it is to create new housing in the United States. Among other things, new housing brings change both to the built environment and to the demographics of communities. One of the hurdles housing sometimes has to overcome is the resistance to change in the form of historic preservation. Historic preservation has a cost, a cost that gets passed on in higher prices for people looking for housing. Is it worth it? One housing provider in Nashville ran headlong into the question when he tried to rehabilitate a single home in 2019.

Courtney McCoy has been in the housing business since 2019, building and rehabilitating housing in Saint Louis and Nashville. When he found a house at 1125 Grenada Avenue, he saw an opportunity to improve a modest house into a better home. He was about to learn a hard lesson about regulatory overreach.

The existing house was small and needed lots of repairs, so many in fact that McCoy decided he would need to completely gut the house and rebuild it from the inside out. But this would mean more space, including making better use of the cramped second floor by raising the ceiling to 9 feet.

But as McCoy began the process of getting a permit from Davidson County, he realized that the unassuming 1400 square foot house was in the Greenwood Historic District. That meant that the house was subject not just to regular zoning and building codes but the also the jurisdiction of the Metropolitan Historic Zoning Commission (Commission), a government entity that issues permits for, among other things, “alterations, additions, new construction, demolition, and moving structures within the locally designated historic preservation and neighborhood conservation districts.”

What’s important to note is the difference between a historic zone and a historic building in the way Nashville processes improvements like the one McCoy was trying to make. The house McCoy was working on wasn’t necessarily itself historic. It was simply an older house inside a historic district. One look at the “before” picture will tell any casual observer that this is hardly Monticello or the Mount Vernon.

The Smithsonian Magazine has an interview with historian Whitney Martinko who says that generally preservationists throughout history “thought what they were doing was maintaining a meaningful connection to the past.” In McCoy’s case, is that what the Commission was trying to do with 1125 Grenada Avenue?

All of McCoy’s plans and proposals were approved by the regular building inspectors, but it had yet to pass muster from the Historic Zoning Commission. What’s the charge of the Commission? The design guidelines state upfront that the guidelines give “neighborhoods greater control over development,” something that seems less about saving a historic site and more about micromanaging private property and perhaps slowing down new development. The guidelines also say that its purpose is to protect “our past for future generations.”

After getting initial approvals, McCoy found himself and his contractor, on site, arguing with an inspector from the Commission. The roof pitch was off by .025 inches, a measurement made on a cell phone. Also, the previously approved adjustment to the porch was off by 1 foot. The Commission wouldn’t approve any further work unless these items were fixed. What were the options? None. If McCoy didn’t start over on these items – a cost of tens of thousands of dollars – the inspector would red tag the project and work would halt. McCoy could have hired lawyers and appealed or fought the Commission (more costs!), but he was already deep into the project. So he went forward.

“The experience was unnecessarily frustrating and I wish there was a better way,” McCoy says.

He didn’t have a problem following the rules, but they weren’t clear, and last-minute changes and alterations ended up adding huge expense that he had to pass on in higher rent. He mentioned that the windows were chosen by the commission and were far more expensive than windows he would have used.

McCoy said that throughout the process there was “pressure to do work not required adding extreme costs to the project.”

But here’s the real question: How does a minor but costly adjustment to the roof pitch and patio and bespoke windows help protect Nashville’s “past for future generations.” Take a look at what McCoy did to the house, ultimately a benefit to the public, adjacent property owners, and the community all paid for with private money and higher rent.

McCoy’s company is committed to doing good work, even if it means higher costs, he says. But when more costs are imposed for “future generations,” those people will be paying higher rents or housing costs. And for what? A few inches here and a few inches there. McCoy’s improvements were his own, not the Commissions. They just added more costs with zero investment.

It’s hard to sustain the argument that what the Commission is doing in the Greenwood district is legitimate historic preservation. McCoy’s improvements weren’t about roof slope but building a good project, something the Commission’s rules didn’t facilitate and in fact, make more difficult and disincentivize.

A recent report commissioned by the City of Nashville gathered concerns and ideas about how to improve the process. Among the recommendations were the need for more incentives not more rules and,

“The need for regulations and building codes to adapt so that they reflect the realities of contemporary living/business competitiveness without undue burden on older buildings (common sense regulation).”  

Preserving history is important, but placing burdens on people trying to improve older buildings ends up in higher costs for future generations and incentives to keep buildings in a state of disrepair. What McCoy and many others have experienced isn’t “common sense regulation,” it’s misgovernment.