The era that was -- the S Street house story

We found the original S Street lease for the house in the dining room credenza while rooting around one afternoon. Dated sometime in 1976, it apparently marked the actual beginning of S Street's conversion to group house status. Throughout my time in DC, I met individuals who had lived in the S Street house at some point in their lives. A colleague at another environmental group (whom I saw frequently at coalition meetings) described a set of adventures centered around his stay at the house sometime during the 1980s. The scene sounded familiar. One Sunday morning, a few people stopped at our steps while we were hanging out drinking coffee and asked if we were still constituted as a group house. They had lived at S street in the late 1970s and told tales of the crew who inhabited the place in the early days. I remember their references to a guy who freaked out after the meltdown of Three Mile Island in 1979 and hurredly decided to pack up all his belongings and leave town. There are doubtless many other stories we'll never know.

(the story continues on the next page....)

Contrary to Eric's claim, I was not the first occupant of our generation. That honor goes to Kate. Back in early 1993, I had just moved to DC and was living with Bill Parsons at his apartment on Capitol Hill. From my bedroom, I could look into the back of the Public Citizen office and see the copier room. Although Bill was a great roommate, the apartment lacked a certain amount of charm and was short on space. And watching my coworkers copy activist packets from my bedroom turned out to be pretty demoralizing.

So Eric and I decided to team up and find a house. Through some weird set of events, we ended up meeting with Kate one night at a bar near Dupont. After testing out our likely compatibility, we decided to look for houses together.

Our search did not go so well at first. One house just above U Street was beautiful (with an amazing roof deck) but just too expensive. After failing to find anything suitable, each of us branched out on our own a bit. I interviewed at a group house on U Street where all the applicants were seated next to one another across from the existing house residents. The lead resident introduced himself, announced in an unsubtle fashion that he had attended Yale, and then proceeded to interrogate each of the applicants in turn. When I mentioned an interest in going to law school within several years, he asked me which law schools I was considering. At that point, I knew this group was not for me.

One day Kate called Eric and I to tell us that she had accepted an offer to move into this house on S Street. She apologized for abandoning us but mentioned that additional rooms might be opening up in that house in the future. Eric and I became somewhat demoralized. Well, actually it was Eric who got anxious about our prospects. I maintained my optimism in spite of Eric's pessimism. This should come as no surprise to anyone.

Shortly thereafter, Kate called to tell me that several rooms were opening up at the S street house. I went over to take a look. My first reaction was not positive. The house seemed very dingy (even worse than most can remember). All the curtains were drawn, the kitchen hadn't been painted in a decade, the backyard was completely overgrown and the common areas were littered with random items like an exercise bike and various boxes. The basement was filled with piles of unmarked boxes and criss-crossing lines that were strung up for drying clothes. The dryer had broken some time ago and apparently noone had been willing to contact the landlord to ask for a replacement. So laundry was hung throughout the dank basement leaving only a few narrow routes for movement that led from the stairs to the washing machine.

Noone in the house seemed to communicate with one another. The old residents (Barry, Regina, Susan, and ??) had little interaction, never cooked together, had not held one party in the place and seemed anxious to leave. Despite these bad signs, I decided to take the plunge. Within months, the entire compliment of old residents turned over. The new group included me, Winick, Kate, Sleepy and Josh. It was truly the dawning of a new era.

Over time, the house began to take shape. We spent an entire weekend repainting the kitchen. The bluish/purple trim was based on the hue of a bowl in the cabinet that folks liked. Although motivation was strong at first, we never really finished the job and ended up stopping work entirely before finishing the cabinets in the pantry. Cleaning up the yard took more time. And the basement was an endless project. I called Dr. Evans pretty soon after moving in and found him quite willing to purchase a new clothes dryer. Months later, Eric and Bridget (a new housemate) began the process of digging through the basement boxes and clearing out space. The basement contained more than a decade's worth of abandoned possessions from former house residents. We also managed to recycle four or five massive 1950's-vintage air conditioners including one the size of a medium-sized refrigerator that sat in the dining room window. Part of the basement project involved cleaning out the small room next to the oil tank. Eric and I put up posters and decided that it would become our practice area. This concept was, however, fatally flawed since it was never our habit to actually rehearse on a regular basis. So the room fell into disrepair and gradually became a resting place for the never-ending piles of boxes and half-cannibalized bicycles. As we worked our way through organizing the rest of the house, we found other bizarre items including the mysterious shotgun in the third floor closet.

The first coffeehaus was held sometime in the middle of 1993. Someone had a friend in this band which went by the name "Schwaa" (and used a script 'e' as their logo/icon), so we asked them to come and play at a party. They set up their PA system in the dining room. In-between sets, Eric and I made a frantic dash for the single microphone before the crowds dispersed and had our first public performance at the S Street house. The next coffeehaus, held in the newly-cleaned basement, marked the beginning of the modern coffeehaus era. The basement still stunk but our efforts to create ambiance (read: burning incense and candles) seemed to distract guests from the nastiness that was just below the surface.

The raging parties also became a staple of life at the house. Sleepy seemed to have endless numbers of soccer friends who would overwhelm any gathering and push us into the realm of "Full Party Mode" years before Gergen arrived on the scene. There were also many dinner parties, sunday brunches, and a stream of out-of-town guests crashing in one of the two empty rooms. We hosted a series of "tuesday night frisbee dinners" which involved 20-30 twenty-something DC activist types that began with a group cooking experience and would culminate in a bike ride to the White House and a game of night frisbee on the Ellipse. The house was very much alive, well and the center of an active social hub.

S Street also served as the command center for the Group House Alliance. Marcellene and I held meetings in the basement and dining room for the small cadre of activists committed to stopping the efforts of conservative homeowners to place limits on group houses throughout DC. I clearly remember the night that Frank Smith, our DC Council member, came to S Street to confront a mob of group house residents who lived in his district. Prior to arriving, Smith was listed as a cosponsor of the offending legislation. After sizing up the political opposition of the 50+ assembled group house residents (many of whom worked for political advocacy groups), he stood in our dining room and proclaimed his deep commitment to opposing this heinous bill. After repeatedly invoking the spirit of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Smith announced that he would remove his name from the list of cosponsors to the cheers of the packed house. Later in the campaign, we held another well-attended meeting with a different councilmember in the living room and witnessed a similar instantaneous conversion.

The rotating inhabitants of S Street provided for some bizarre episodes. One fairly scary subletter, Evan (a college acquaintance of Josh), freaked out everyone else in the house. There was an aura of deep-seated evil lurking around him. His ongoing lack of sensitivity to anyone else's needs was typified one Halloween night. My family was in town spending the weekend staying in my room. Evan slept next door in the 2nd floor middle room and had a Swedish au pair girlfriend who would moan loudly whenever they had sex. Cognizant of this fact, I pleaded with Evan to refrain and stay quiet for the one night my parents were sleeping in my room. He agreed and said not to worry. As Marcellene and I were settling off to sleep in the 2nd floor guestroom that evening, the familiar moans began with their usual volume. When I sheepishly apologized to my family the next morning, my step-mother said that they found it quite amusing and was happy that Evan's girlfriend was so orgasmic.

And, of course, there was Laura and the cats. Those sweet little cats. Who managed to make the basement even more foul than before. Devils in disguise. Enemies of Blue. Tyrants. These cats left their mark on the house. But apart from their episodes of escape and destruction, they actually seemed to fit in fairly well.

Throughout my tenure, I was determined to invite some of my friends to live in the house. Peter dutifully waited until Eric's room became available and then made his move. And when Laura left, Peter and I schemed to invite Susie into the clan. I remember calling Susie in Turkmenistan and asking, over an echoing phone connection, whether she was willing to move in upon her return. She hesitated a minute before committing to a house sight unseen. We stressed the large spaces, good location and cheap rent. Having few other options at the time, she relented and accepted our offer.

Perhaps my fondest memories are of the numerous camping trips taken together. The first outing involved a three-day canoeing trip down the Potomac river. Although my original idea of the group being naked for the duration never fully panned out, the chance to float down a river and drink beer for several days turned out to be a great bonding experience. Subsequent trips to Assateague island, and the strange romances sparked during a particularly fateful storm, became an integral part of the S Street lore.

Leaving the S Street house was very hard. I packed all my stuff into a rented truck, cleaned out the closets and waved goodbye to a very wonderful part of my life. As I drove north and passed into Maryland, tears welled up in my eyes. I mourned for the loss of those early post-college years, for the break from a supportive and loving community, and for leaving the largest bedroom I would ever inhabit for my entire life.

I look back on those days with a mixture of nostalgia and satisfaction. Now that the era is formally ending, with a loss of direct connection between the original group and those who inhabit the house today, I feel the sense of loss anew.

May the tradition continue.

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