Black people leaving the South for work and equality in the West came for the area's dock jobs — the International Longshore and Warehouse Union was one of the few integrated unions in the city, explains Bill Issel, professor emeritus of history at SFSU. In the late 1950s Geary Brown's parents arrived from Oklahoma, Dexter Cato's from Louisiana.
In addition to jobs, the industry brought smokestacks, loud machinery, and raw fish and meat smells — all of which kept property values low and, partnered with white flight and redlining, left available plenty of affordable housing for working-class black people looking to become homeowners.
Michael Short
Geary Brown, a trucker, saw his monthly mortgage payment shoot up from $1,800 to $2,800 around the time the recession hit. He faces eviction this month.
Michael Short
Since Dexter Cato took back his Bayview house, it has become the rallying point for local homeowners facing foreclosure, a hub for fliers and barbecue.
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By 1980, Bayview — the only zip code in city history to be predominantly black — had the highest rate of homeownership in San Francisco. But as factories and shipyards closed in the '70s and '80s, unemployment, gang crime, and the drug trade rose, spurring many black residents to leave the neighborhood, and San Francisco. More Asians and Latinos moved into the city, with many settling in the southeastern pocket. By the turn of the millennium, the black population in Bayview had stabilized at around 50 percent.
Then came the housing boom and bust. Hundreds of homes, including many that had been paid off and later refinanced, fell into foreclosure. Second generation residents, whose parents had planted roots in the community, suddenly faced the prospect of leaving town.
"We've reached the point where those who are going to stay have made it clear: 'No I'm not going anywhere,'" says Ed Donaldson, a housing counselor with the nonprofit San Francisco Housing Development Corporation and a Bayview native. "With the foreclosures, those people who would otherwise be able to stay are being pushed out."
Geary and Shirley Brown bought their first home in June 1995. He had built up savings from his years as a trucker and was then making a solid wage as a Muni bus driver. Throw in Shirley's income as a nursing assistant at Laguna Honda Hospital and they could afford the 30-year fixed-rate mortgage for the two-story, three-bedroom, two-bathroom, $194,500 hilltop house in Bayview.
Brown got back into trucking in 1998 when Pac Bell Park construction started up. Soon he was pulling in six figures. By 2005, he wanted to expand his business, so he took advantage of his rapidly appreciating property and refinanced his home for $300,000 with Wilmington Financial — he'd been getting pamphlets in the mail describing how smart and lucrative refinancing was. The way it worked was Wilmington paid off Brown's original mortgage ($194,500), then gave Brown a new home loan for the current appraised value of the house ($300,000), with Brown pocketing most of the $106,000 difference.
Seven months later, property values still rising, he replaced that loan with a $431,550 loan from Equifirst; and then again in January 2007 for $475,000 with Countrywide Home Loans. For all three mortgages, the lenders offered him their "pick-a-payment" program, which allowed homeowners to select how they wanted to pay off the loan. Brown chose the option with the lowest monthly payment: an adjustable-rate mortgage, where monthly payments begin at a certain amount before increasing after a set number of years. For the $475,000 mortgage, he started paying $1,800 a month.
He used the new money to buy a 2000 Peterbilt truck, which got much better gas mileage than his '79 Mac. He hired drivers. Approaching 60, he wanted to ease down his number of shifts, spend more time with Shirley. The rest of the refinance cash paid off his bills.
To Brown, who'd worked hard all his life to earn his house, the refinance felt like a well-deserved reward. He wasn't the only one, of course. Many of the homeowners at that Saturday afternoon barbecue had reason to refinance. Cato and Rhodes each say they had a kid in high school and wanted to be able to afford college. Carolyn Gage, a former San Francisco Sheriff's deputy, says she got injured on the job and needed an extra cash flow to supplement the worker's comp. Josephine Tolbert, a 75-year-old daycare provider who's owned her home for 45 years, says she owed her ex-husband money after a divorce settlement. Romeo Baful, a Filipino who has lived on Quesada for more than 20 years, say he needed to install new walls because the old ones had suffered termite damage.
Whatever the residents' reasons, the loans came with similar ease. Homeowners like Brown and Cato were eager to take advantage of their property's rising value, wanted in on these free-market spoils. And lenders were happy to take advantage of that enthusiasm.
"They sat my family upstairs in that living room and said, 'You know how much money you can save?'" Cato recalls. "All that money that would be going to my kids' college trust fund. It seemed too good to be true. But I was working, my wife was working, why wouldn't it happen to us? We wanted the American Dream, too."
The story is familiar by now: The housing market collapsed, and property values tanked, meaning that many homeowners could no longer pay off the mortgage by selling the house. Compounding the problem for Cato and Brown, their adjustable-rate mortgage payments had increased after two years. Brown's climbed from $1,800 to $2,800, Cato's from $1,700 to $4,200.