A Boom Giveth, and It Taketh Away

Woodyard testifies that the church wants the project to go forward so "we can move out and leave a legacy behind."

Newcomers to 14th are there, too, making the case for the lofts. "I wish the building could be taller," says Eric Kole, owner of Vastu furniture store across the street. "I wish I could see more of the new addition, more of the industrial aspect of it, as opposed to less. But I'm absolutely thrilled that it's going to be . . .

"Okay, great," interrupts Tersh Boasberg, chairman of the review board.

The city's preservation planner, Steve Callcott, tells the board he is concerned that the design packs too much construction on the existing structures. He recommends that the development team rethink the scale of the project. The board agrees.

Woodyard can't believe it. "That church has held that neighborhood together in the worst of times, and now it's the best of times and they are putting a ball and chain around us," he says.

* * *

Three days after the hearing, the raggedy building rendered gorgeous in dozens of architectural drawings is shaking with fury and joy. A smiling fifth-grader stands at the front of the church with her uncle -- her mother is serving in Iraq -- and holds up an award from school to thunderous applause. Later in the service, an infant swaddled in ivory taffeta is christened, and she, too, is bathed in joyous applause.

To the outside world, the church is a mystery, a big slab on the corner with double-parked cars. When drums and organs are bringing the congregation to a boil, sometimes the muffled fury and sharp cymbals seep from the building, causing a man to pause one night outside a prayer service and ask, "Is that a jazz club?"

Lawrence Guyot walks the sidewalks of Shaw, watching as small black businesses and institutions are replaced by real estate development and the whims of newcomers. "There is a total avoidance of the value and history of the people we are dealing with," says Guyot, a community activist and former member of a Ward 1 Advisory Neighborhood Commission. "How many people in that area put themselves in mind of the parishioners? What does it do to you, when a church, the place you worship, vanishes? It's not just another building."

Guyot knows the story line is not that simple. The church struck a lucrative deal and is ready to go. "What's the best way to exit with grace and aplomb?" Guyot asks. "Millions of dollars is the answer."

The changes at 14th and T aren't happening fast enough for others. ANC member Ramon Estrada says he gets "tons" of questions about the corner. Neighbors have called him to complain about noise from the church on Sundays. Others cringe at Paradise Liquor, with its bulletproof glass. "These are people who've just spent a half-million on a house," Estrada says. "I get asked, 'Why do I have to subject my guests to that?' "

Estrada belongs to the powerhouse Dupont Circle ANC, whose brownstone aesthetics now stretch east to the once-gritty borderlands of 14th Street. It was Estrada who helped force Paradise Liquor to clean up and stop selling single beers. Advisory neighborhood commissioners influence zoning, alcohol licenses and historic preservation and decree how many sidewalk tables a cafe can have. After Church of the Rapture sold, pastor Lawrence Garrison and the developers came to Estrada, who organized the community meeting in the church.