BICAS Battle

From beneath the hulking Citizens Warehouse come the sounds of metal
clanking, wheels spinning and serious people hard at work.

For more than a decade, the popular Bicycle Inter-Community Art and
Salvage—better known as BICAS—has filled the vast basement
of this Depression-era building with folks who promote bicycle riding,
build bicycles for those who have none, and teach bike maintenance to
anyone who’s interested.

But these are not happy times for BICAS. In a sudden move that could
either be grand strategy or simple greed, landlord David Aguirre more
than doubled the group’s monthly rent—from $800 to $1,890. That
has put the bustling nonprofit in a pinch, says education and outreach
coordinator Kylie Walzak: “Based on our projected budget, and assuming
rents would be the same, we expanded and hired people—including
myself.”

Now that staff may be forced to shrink. “We’re talking about that.
We’ll take voluntary pay cuts if we have to.”

But Aguirre says he just wants to teach BICAS this lesson: Their
current rent for the 6,386-square-foot basement “just isn’t going to
cut it. They need to learn what things cost out there.” In scouting
around, “they’re coming across a $1 and $1.50 a square foot, plus
utilities and all the deposits and stuff.”

However, others suggest that Aguirre is simply profiteering with
Citizens and an adjoining building he leases from the Arizona
Department of Transportation for $2,400 a month. It’s also worth noting
that BICAS’ basement space—which lacks heating and cooling, has
no plumbing and boasts only one door—isn’t exactly a prime
business property. BICAS was compelled to upgrade the electrical system
itself, with $5,000 from an AmeriCorps grant.

There also might be a smidgeon of ego behind this saga. Consider
that Aguirre had gathered some juicy gossip about BICAS through the
rampant downtown-artist grapevine. “I heard that they had made a play
to acquire the building with $100,000 that they had in the bank,” he
says. “And I was like, wow, that’s great that they were able to save
that much money. And then I started looking at the rent and I was like,
‘Holy shit.'”

Aguirre says he started thinking about the nice arc welder BICAS has
in their basement haunt. “Also, they just built a gorgeous fence over
in the Iron Horse Neighborhood, 210 feet long, with lots of welds.”

He started crunching numbers, and minus utilities—which are
included in BICAS’ rent—he determined that the group was paying
just a few hundred dollars or so each month for their space. They use
plenty of juice, he says. “You know, for that welder, and then they
leave their lights on at night and stuff.” In an April 21 letter to
BICAS announcing the rent hike, he estimated those utilities at about
$640 a month.

Attorney Erik Ryberg specializes in bicycle-accident cases and
serves on BICAS’ board of directors. He says Aguirre has trotted out
evolving reasons for jacking up the rent. For instance, Ryberg points
out this Aguirre comment in the Arizona Daily Star: “The
building needs roof repairs,” Aguirre told a Star reporter.
“Corridor lighting needs to be redone. There are plumbing issues.”

But in that letter to BICAS announcing the increase, Aguirre cited
other reasons. “The county is now charging more for garbage pickup,” he
wrote. “Water use is up, and the electrical usage is way up. Managing
it all has its costs, too.”

Regardless, Ryberg says that BICAS tried talking to Aguirre about
those utility bills. “We pointed out to him that (the bills) seemed a
rather specious reason to raise the rent $1,000. We don’t use that much
in the way of utilities. And he has pointed out how the lights are
always on. Well, the lights are on because we don’t have a switch to
turn them off. As for the welder, people I’ve spoken to say that
welders don’t use much energy. So saying we use $600 a month in
utilities is pretty crazy.”

In the end, Ryberg has his own Aguirre theory. “The most likely
reason he raised the rent,” he says, “is because there’s money in our
bank account that he thinks should be in his bank account. BICAS has
been saving for awhile and doing the best that we can. We have 13
employees; we have a $100,000-a-year budget; and we’re a nonprofit
organization. We want to be sure that, if times go sour for a little
while, we can keep our people employed.”

For his part, Aguirre blames Ryberg for fomenting the rift. “I call
him the bicycle version of an ambulance chaser,” Aguirre says.

Such is the increasingly personal nature of this fracas. But it also
reflects the uneasiness of downtown’s ever-shifting warehouse scene,
where artists and other alternative denizens find themselves scrambling
for a diminishing space and trying to protect what they have. Some are
positioning themselves to take over warehouses they already lease, when
and if those buildings are released from government hands.

This has led to speculation that Aguirre—long a player in the
downtown arts scene, and head of several galleries including the Arts
Incubator, Dinnerware and Rocket Gallery—is setting himself up to
buy Citizens once the state relinquishes control. There’s also a chance
the city will take over that and other warehouses, leading to the
possibility of municipal pressure on Aguirre and other landlords to
start boosting the rent.

That suggestion is vigorously denied by Lou Ginsberg, real estate
special projects manager for the city of Tucson. “There has been no
discussion between the city and David Aguirre,” Ginsberg says,
“regarding anything he’s done in Citizens Warehouse about raising
rents. It’s not our building. We don’t manage it, and we don’t have any
leases. That is strictly between David Aguirre, the Arizona Department
of Transportation and, of course, his tenants.”

Underlying this is concern about whether downtown can remain
affordable for artists and other nonprofits. Consider Citizens. After
paying his bills, Aguirre says he currently nets about $1,000 for his
troubles.

But he says he also needs money to update the warehouse, which dates
from an era when building codes were haphazard, at best. “Whether I
manage Citizens or not, I want this to be a long-term thing. But if I
go to a bank, and I have to put a business plan together, I don’t want
to be laughed at. This thing has to look like it is going to pencil
out.”

This article appears in Jun 11-17, 2009.