Busted: An Illegal Home Reno Uncovered

Tired of trying to find a contractor? Afraid you won't be issued a permit? There is another way, but renegade renos are not for the faint of heart.

By Guy Saddy; photograph by Steven Errico (Published: September 2006)

THE HOUSE IS ONE OF THE PRETTIEST on the block, its chalk-scarred front walk now a gathering place for the neighbourhood’s many kids. Today, there are no saws noisily creating studs out of lengths of Douglas fir; no Gyprock encrusted drywallers walk around on stilts, looking like circus performers dusted with icing sugar.

If one ignores a few chapters in this story, it is a happy tale. Young couple with kids, the Sampsons, buy lot value house in nice, yet still up-and-coming west side neighbourhood. House is proverbial pile of crap, its arts-and-crafts bones obscured by a history of ill-conceived, poorly executed alterations. Extensive renovation is planned. Over several months proverbial piece of crap is transformed into solid and stately two-storey, three-bedroom home with two-bedroom-plus-den basement suite. And they all live happily ever after.

But we have skipped a critical plot point. In June, 2003, the reno was just two weeks from completion. The backyard, however, was still a construction zone. Old appliances were heaped on piles of torn-out lathe and plaster; broken glass littered the ground. It’s not as if the contractor desired to create an eyesore. But there is no back alley to accommodate a garbage bin, and a street bin could have attracted the kind of attention one generally goes out of their way to avoid when doing a full-scale renovation without the required permits.

The trigger, as usual, was pulled by a disgruntled neighbour. But which one? A condo owner to the north? The people across the street? Next door? “All we know,” says Adrienne, “is that someone made a call to the city.” Posted on the front door, the yellow-and-red “Stop Work” order looked as ominous as a quarantine notice. Welcome to the neighbourhood.

Determining how common under-the-radar renovations are is like guessing the number of grow-ops in the Lower Mainland. One contractor says that in his experience most exterior renos—involving obvious changes to structure—are city-approved, but that up to 75 percent of interior renos are done without permits. The few available stats support that view. In June the city posted 19 Stop Work orders, but that likely represents the tip of the iceberg. In the first half of 2006, the city issued 215 permits for additions and 557 for alterations, a total of 772 permits—a laughably low number considering the volume of renovation activity in Vancouver. Eight hundred renos over six months? Some wags might say they can count that many in their neighbourhood. In one day.

In undertaking a renegade renovation, the Sampsons were hardly alone. Unlike most, however, they were caught. What to do? As Jerrod put it, “Not complying was not an option.” The city will take violators to court; on rare occasions, those who refuse to abide by the court’s rulings have been sentenced to jail. To move forward, they would have to enter the permit stream.

Because they’d started construction without a permit, their permit fees were doubled. (The maximum the city can levy is $5,000.) Architectural plans had to be drafted and submitted, along with a land survey. Because the Sampsons stipulated that their contractor build everything to code—sprinklers on all floors, stairs the bureaucratically sanctioned width—the process should have been relatively painless. It might have been, too. Except for one overlooked detail.

With all that can go wrong, why would anyone renovate without a permit? Some homeowners don’t realize they need one. (Rule of thumb: aside from re-roofing and a few cosmetic exceptions, pretty well every alteration does.) For others it’s a matter of aesthetics. For example, a stair landing with horizontal rather than vertical railings—a signature look of many modern homes—will not pass inspection. (The “climbability” of the railings, notes Dave Jackson, Vancouver’s chief building inspector, is a safety hazard for children.) Others avoid going legit because of zoning concerns. If, for example, the square footage of your home is already maxed out for the size of the lot, that deck you want to add isn’t going to get approved unless you go down a long and winding road. Apply for a permit; be refused; then plead your case to the Board of Variance and hope for a sympathetic outcome. Or say to hell with it and roll the dice.

Primarily, though, people avoid getting permits to save time and money. “We needed to get on with it,” says Jerrod, “and the meter was ticking.” Although licensing fees aren’t outrageous (generally $1,000 to $1,500, says Jackson) and processing times not unreasonable (three to 10 weeks), lost weeks can be critical to any bottom line.

Then again, so can getting caught without a permit, as the Sampsons, whose finances had been stretched, were acutely aware. What they were unaware of, however, was that by removing the stairway linking the main floor and the basement suite during the unpermitted renovation, their single-family dwelling was apparently no longer a single-family dwelling. It was a duplex.

A duplex, eh? You’ll need to upgrade and separate the electrical service, and add another electrical panel, too. Now while you’re at it, are those power lines too low to the ground? Better raise ‘em. Electrical service coming in on the wrong side of the house? Change that. Sprinklers? Excellent...but wait: was the water service from the street upgraded?

Adrienne tried to persuade the increasingly bummed-out Jerrod that the duplex was an opportunity: If they had inadvertently created two homes, she reasoned, why not sell one to finance their way out of this mess? A fine idea. Except that the basement suite’s ceiling height, seven feet, while adequate for a legal suite, was insufficient for strata title consideration.

In the end, the Sampsons spent almost two years and an extra $30,000 to resolve the outstanding issues. Today, the house has two addresses, although, like conjoined twins who share vital organs, they can never truly be separated.

Still, the story is ultimately a happy one. The house became a home. The Sampsons prepare dinners for friends and relatives, and the kids play together outside. Neighbours drop in, to chat and share a bottle of wine—one, perhaps, with a guilty conscience.




Read more in the Real Estate Survival series:

Budding Entrepreneurs: The highs and lows of buying a former grow-op. By Marcie Good

Feng Shui Revival: Why Feng Shuiing your house pays big dividends. By Kevin Chong

Strata Hell: Condo owners who threaten murder. Treasurers who steal cash. Welcome to the weird world of strata councils. By Steve Burgess

The Hottest Guy in Town: Reno fever has taken over the city and made contractors like Brad Wurmlinger the hottest guys in town. By Matt O'Grady