The Setting
The following story is true. This story has a background to it that is critical to the events as they unfolded on that cold March night. In 2006 Massachusetts passed legislation to make CO detectors mandatory in ALL residential buildings. The law was named after Nicole Garofalo, a young 7-year old girl who had died from CO poisoning. It happened when the snow piled up so high in the back yard that it blocked the ventilation from the basement from the heating system. The fumes backed up inside the building and the results were fatal for young Nicole.
“Nicole’s Law” code states that every floor of the dwelling shall have a CO detector, from attics to basements; within 6 to 8 feet from bedrooms; at least 8 to 10 feet away from kitchens. We go the extra mile over the code and count the living room as a bedroom. CO poisoning gives you symptoms as if you are sick or have the flu. Most people either go to bed to lie down or the couch to lie down. Living rooms are a high-risk area too in this regard.
We were fortunate enough to have the Fire Marshall from two cities, and representatives from Kiddie Home Safety come speak to our landlord association about the legislation and code compliance. The Fire Chief John L. Duguay of the Athol Fire Department answered all of the specifics as to where CO detectors differ from smoke alarms. The Kiddie Corporation, of course, introduced their new product line and described which models would be best suited for rental properties. Battery operated models are fine, but it is the landlord’s responsibility to change the batteries on the anniversary of the rental year. Did you know that the manufactures of the CO detectors have built in computer chips to make these things fail within 3 to 5 years? It is a quality assurance built-in benchmark to make sure you pop in a new CO detector if these become dysfunctional. After we understood the rules of compliance with the new code regulations, we set out with the daunting task of bringing our rentals up to compliance.
The Incident
It had not been more than a few weeks since we had installed the CO detectors that we had a called from our 3-family in Athol. Beverly Truitt has been on the top floor since we managed the building. In every building you usually find that one tenant who makes it their responsibility to inform you of any goings-on at the building. You know the tenant I’m talking about. The tenant who is your eyes and ears at the building letting you know everything that happens, and who did what to whom, and when. At Crescent Street, that tenant, was Bev.
Bev called us late one afternoon and was panicking as said she could smell the strong vapor of fuel in the common areas. I was shocked! This was not a drill! This was the “real deal going down right under our very noses”. I quickly ran down the CO evacuation drill over the phone with Bev just as I had when I installed the COs just weeks ago, then had her repeat it back to me . I remember Chief Duguay telling us what to do if the detectors went off.
First, remain calm. Do not open any windows to ventilate the apartment should the detector go off. This isn’t like burning the bacon at breakfast and opening a window to let the smoke out to make the darned thing turn off. That usually works for a smoke detector. This is a gas leak, or some other fuel leak. You should immediately leave the building and close the doors behind you. You should then call the fire department and inform them there is a CO emergency at the building and wait for them outside the building. The firemen have two different CO meters they scan the building with to determine the source of the leak. Opening the doors and windows makes it more difficult to detect where the CO source came from.
I sent Bev off to get the rest of the tenants out of the building and notify the Fire Department immediately. I hung up and was on my way to the building. We have a policy here in the office of, “Fire, Flood or Blood, and we’re on our way.” Like I said before this was not a drill.
As I drove to the building I got a call from Tucker the second floor tenant. Tucker usually was calling complaining about how much fuel his tank went through and how expensive the oil was to heat the apartment. We had sent the plumber out to the building at least three times to see if he could determine why this furnace went through so much oil. This call was not about his oil this time. Tucker told me the first floor tenant, Clinton J. Dawson was home, but he was unable to get him to answer the door. I was really starting to imagine the worst. I told Tucker to call the Police and that I’d be there in minutes.
I pulled up to the building in my truck and it had already gotten dark outside since I got the call earlier that afternoon. There were fire trucks and an ambulance with red flashing lights, two police cruisers parked on the front lawn flashing their blues and strobes, and there were my tenants, standing in the night huddled together on the sidewalk looking like a band of refugees in the flickering strobes of light. When all of a sudden bursting out from the front door, four police officers carried out one handcuffed Clinton J. Dawson out of the building and down the steps. I jumped from my truck and started snapping pictures just in time to get him photographed being thrown into the police car. What the heck had just happened?
The Story Behind the Story
Apparently Tucker was right after all. He was buying a lot of oil for his furnace. Bev was right too. There was a strong smell of fuel in the common areas. But what had just happened in between the call from Tucker and my arriving at the building? Was there even a CO emergency at all? Was all of this preparation and training the tenants what to do in case of a CO emergency for naught? What really happened?
After Tucker had called the police, he went back to bang on Clinton’s door and still got no answer. Finally, he checked the door, and found that it was unlocked. So he went in to look for the tenant to get him out of the building for hie own safety.
What he found was Clinton J. Dawson passed out on the basement floor with a bottle of whiskey near his head on the ground. He also observed that Clinton was lying on the basement floor in a puddle of heating fuel. Tucker’s heating fuel. Clinton was stealing heating fuel from my other tenants in the building and apparently passed out drunk while getting caught in the act. When he fell over he dumped a five-gallon bucket of fuel over with him. The police seem to think the whiskey and siphoning the fuel by mouth caused him to get sick and pass out.
By this time the police had arrived on the scene and Tucker had put the missing pieces together for the police of how he was spending so much on oil, but apparently, it was because this jerk was stealing it. There was nothing wrong with the furnace, but he was buying way too much fuel. Now we know why. I then proceeded to take the tour as Tucker bought me around the building as I snapped away photo after photo of evidence that the event had occurred. I still couldn’t believe it. He was stealing heating fuel from the other tenant.
The Next Day
Bright and early the next morning I had the honor of serving Clinton J. Dawson with his eviction notice for committing a crime at the residence. In this state that is a 10-day eviction on a tenant with a lease if it is written into the lease agreement – and it was. I explained to him that it was not safe for him to stay in my building anymore as he had been stealing from the other tenants, and it would be in his best interest to leave as soon as possible. Clinton agreed to move out in 10-days. Problem solved. Or so we all thought.
Return to the Scene of the Crime
About two days since that incident we got a call from National Grid, which is the local utilities company out here. It was unusual that they called us like this, but they had called to see if there was any reason there was such a spike in the wattage for the past month. We usually pay about $20 to $25 a month for the common areas and the hallways lights. But National Grid had called us to inform us that the bill was almost $400 dollars for the past month. We hit the roof!
I immediately got on the phone to call Tucker to see if he could help. We had just written Tucker and his family a check to buy a half tank of heating fuel two days ago. It wasn’t our fault, but it also wasn’t his either, and he is the one who has a wife and three young boys who needed heat and hot water. Tucker was happy to take my call. I asked him, “Tucker, we just got a call from National Grid. Can you go down into the cellar and see if you can find any plugs or wires coming out of Clinton’s apartment.” Tucker went down to check and came back on the phone in a moment. He then told me, “Yeah, Brian. He has extension cords coming down through the living room floor and plugged into the cellar sockets down here. I think you’d better get up here.” I thanked him and jumped back in the truck to head back to the building.
This time I parked in the back of the building and used my keys to get into the cellar. Sure enough, he had rigged about five extension cords through the floor and had them plugged in all over the basement. I went around photographing the points of entry into the cellar and then took photos of where they were plugged into the common outlets. Time to go knocking on doors.
I went up the back way from the cellar and knocked on Clinton’s door. I had my camera ready to go. As soon as he opened the door and let me in, I started snapping away at all of the space heaters in the building in his kitchen, living room, and bedrooms. All while I was taking pictures and telling him how illegal this was, he was following me around the rooms saying, “We can work this out.” I immediately called the police and fire Marshall back to the building and waited while Clinton tried to weasel his way out of getting caught – yet again.
The Denouement
So here now all five of us are in Clinton’s kitchen. The Fire Marshall, Police Officer Smith, Clinton’s new parole officer, who just happened to be at the station when I called, Clinton and myself.
After describing the brief story that had transpired over the past week to everyone, I turned to Clinton and said, “Like I told you before, you cannot stay here anymore, but I have a place for you to stay.” This goes on for a few moments as the Fire Marshall preaches fire code and how illegal it is to have space heaters in a multi-plex. The parole officer is trying to decide whether or not to cart him off to jail on the spot. And all through this, I keep saying, “You can’t stay here, but I have a place for you to stay.”
Finally, officer Smith speaks up. He says, “You know Clinton, I’ve seen many a landlord just take the tenant’s stuff and throw it in the street after pulling a stunt like this. I think you should listen to Mr. Lucier here. He has told you now several times that you cannot stay here anymore. He has even offered to find you another place to stay. I think you should pay attention to him and hear what he has to say.”
Clinton realizing his time and his options getting fewer by the moment, then turns to me and asks, “Is it true, do you really have a place for me to stay after doing all of this?” I replied saying, “Of course I do Clinton!” I then lifted my arm and pointed straight to officer Smith and blurted out, “In his jail!”
This is one of the many, many tenant tails I can share with you all, this one holds a special place in my heart for humanity at its’ best. Mr. Dawson is now but a distant memory in my mind of tenants that have long ago departed to live in a better place.
Any place but one of my properties I manage, is, a better place.
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Warmest regards,
Brian Lucier
Belaire Property Management
Regional Property Manager
(978) 448-0669
info@belaire.co
www.belaire.co
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