But a neighborhood preservation ordinance discussed in Rehoboth Beach in 2000 tanked after it was loudly opposed by homeowners who thought their property rights would be threatened. This has made it difficult to save property with any legitimate historic value, says Bill Bahan, the president of the Rehoboth Beach Historical Society. Since 2000, "we have not saved a single house" from demolition.
In today's climate, with the amount of money at stake, even some diehard locals and preservationists are selling out to the big boys. Earlier this summer, the former mayor of Ocean City -- a lifelong resident of the resort town -- made headlines when he sold his home to a condominium developer. Come October, he's moving outside of town.
This new home, disparagingly dubbed "the Twin Towers," is part of a heated dispute over building sizes in North Shores, Del.
(Photograph by Timothy Bell)
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NORTH SHORES SITS ON A 100-ACRE PIECE OF LAND next to Cape Henlopen State Park, and less than half a mile from the commotion and sun-baked tourists of the Rehoboth boardwalk. Its cottages nestle amid pine trees. Residents ride their bikes on its quiet streets and take their kids crabbing at its tiny marina. On sunny days they lounge poolside at the Bath & Tennis Club or on a 2,200-foot-long sandy beach.
Delaware real estate developer Daniel G. Anderson -- a genial septuagenarian -- purchased the land to develop with a partner in 1956. He still sits on the North Shores board of governors, which has final authority over all construction projects.
His critics frequently point out that Anderson has a big financial stake in the outcome of the ongoing size debate because he still owns 11 undeveloped lots in North Shores. He says he's keeping those lots for his family.
But Anderson -- who grew up in Rehoboth -- says he favors some "reasonable limits" on new construction. He says he's concerned by the increasingly larger homes going up in his community. He and his wife live part time in Chevy Chase, and spend weekends in a modest townhouse in North Shores that they purchased in 1972.
"There is some sort of need people feel to show off their affluence and live the grand life with their families," Anderson says. "They need to have more elaborate stuff. They come from a different generation than I come from. We were raised in the Depression, where every purchase, every meal was tight. It's a miracle to me that anybody would buy a lot for $1 million and then build a $2 million house on it."
Anderson sold the first lots in North Shores for $5,000. Many of the original cottages were built for as little as $15,000. Things were simpler then, he says. There were neighborhood barbecues and sparklers for the kids on the Fourth of July. But as time went on, new owners wanted to improve upon the old cottages or build year-round ramblers. The first house to be set on tall pilings -- at the request of an insurance company concerned about flood damage -- caused a stir when it was built in 1979 because it stood higher than all the homes around it.
The larger homes didn't begin to spark opposition until 2000, when a wealthy Wilmington couple purchased an $800,000 property on Ocean Drive. They hired Bethesda architect Mark McInturff to build them a modernist, four-story beach house with views.
The top design priority? "To see the ocean from as many places as possible from the house," owner Bernard David told an interviewer for Home & Design magazine. He declined to be interviewed for this article.
McInturff built the steel, boxy structure to the maximum height allowed by Sussex County zoning regulations, nearly 42 feet flat across the top, which meant that the home now blocked the views of several of David's neighbors. Critics immediately dubbed the structure "the Twin Towers," and did not soften their tone even after David invited the whole neighborhood over for a barbecue last summer.
Last year two more outsize, showy homes were completed in North Shores, and the murmuring in the community gave way to outright conflict. The debate took a menacing turn last summer, according to the Delaware State Police. One hot August night, a local youth set out with a can of green spray paint in his hand, intent on taking a stand.
The youth stole quietly up to the lot where a Washington couple was building yet another of the big homes, a boxy white structure on tall pilings. He took out the spray paint and wrote "Hubris Demands Arson" in large letters on the garage door, then added a few squiggles and crooked pine trees for good measure.
The couple building the house -- who did not want their names used for fear of becoming a target of other threats -- were in Washington at the time of the incident. The house was empty. A contractor working on the site found the graffiti the following morning.
"I was traumatized," says the wife, a prominent Washington lawyer. "I was extremely upset that somebody wanted to burn the house down and potentially hurt people in it."
To make matters worse, the lawyer says, the youth knew where the couple lived in Washington. Apparently overcome by remorse, he appeared on their doorstep a few days later and confessed. The couple agreed not to press charges if he would pay for the damage, seek counseling and write an anonymous apology. The apology was distributed to homes throughout North Shores.
