Sunday, Sept. 17, 2006 | 7:23 a.m.
Back in the age of vinyl, I had an idea. Records - remember them? - sold for about four dollars new and I had amassed quite a collection. I had about $500 and I was pretty sure there were others as fanatical about music as me. I decided to open a used record store.
I figured if I could buy enough for a buck, I could sell them for two dollars apiece. I could not only make a little money, but I also would no longer have to pay for my own music. All that remained was to find a place close enough to the local university to capitalize on the fickle tastes of college students.
It turned out a local landlord would lease me exactly what I needed, about 150 square feet across the street from the psychology building and near the bar district. A head shop, one of those hangovers from the 1960s, a used clothing store and a low-end steakhouse rounded out the block. I balked at the three-year lease, but when I realized he couldn't get blood from a stone if I defaulted, I signed the deal.
Eighteen months later, I had a minor hit on my hands. The concept worked and I was making money, getting all the music I had ever dreamed of for free, and there was a bonus I hadn't even considered: Girls now knew who I was. I decided to branch out into comic books and paperbacks. I began to see a career in what started as a way to cut the cost of my favorite pastime.
Then the shoe dropped. The only reason I could afford the location was that the university had been negotiating to buy it and by keeping his ragtag bunch of properties filled, the landlord thought he improved his leverage. It didn't matter one whit. The university tired of his exorbitant demands and with legislative funding for a new speech and hearing building in hand, the state initiated condemnation proceedings under the eminent domain statute. The first I knew of the entire process was when the eviction notice hit my hands.
For the first time in my life, I went to see a lawyer. I thought I was in a great position. I had almost half my lease yet to run and I signed a document that bound both parties and was enforceable in court. He looked at me with tired gray eyes and said, "Young man, let me teach you a little something about American law."
The university had all the cards, including the ace of trump. My lease was not worth the paper it was printed on. I received $3,000 to move my business to another location. Of course, I could not find one that I could afford. So much for my dreams of empire. For many years, I stewed about the injustice I thought had been done to me.
A few years ago I returned to my hometown for a high school reunion. I went by the corner where my store once stood and found a five-story brick building, beautifully designed, with a sign that announced "Speech and Hearing Research Center." The structure was home to some of the most important work in cochlear implants and speech therapy. Research there brought in millions and created jobs galore. I finally had to admit that the university's use had greater social value than my little record store.
Eminent domain is always controversial, for it involves taking private property for public use. It is an essential tool for government precisely because it can be used to circumvent people like my old landlord, who sought to exploit the state's need for his location. In the end, the public interest was better served by the speech and hearing center and the greedy owner did not unduly enrich himself at the public trough.
As Nevada struggles with the ballot question PISTOL, the effort to limit the state's power to use eminent domain, the question is obviously messier than proponents and much of the news coverage would have you think. There is no faster way to increase government expenditures in a rapidly growing state than to give land owners a license to raid public coffers. PISTOL demands consideration of the long-term implications for the public. We need to know what our dance with unrestricted property rights will cost before we vote it up or down.
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