By Alan Prendergast
By Michael Roberts
By Michael Roberts
By Amber Taufen
By Patricia Calhoun
By William Breathes
By Michael Roberts
By Melanie Asmar
Of all the indignities Elizabeth Matteson says she suffered at the hands of the government, the worst came after the Environmental Protection Agency had frightened away a tenant occupying the industrial building her husband built. It was after the agency had put up a chain-link fence around the property overnight. And it was after EPA workers had padlocked her out.
"One day I was driving by, and they had left the gate unlocked, so I drove in," the eighty-year-old Boulder widow recalls. "And there were these two young fellows dressed all in nice suits standing there. I said, 'Are you from the EPA?' and they said, 'Yes.' And then I said, 'Do you know who owns this building?' and they said, 'No.' I said, 'I own this building,' and they said, 'You do?' They didn't even know who I was."
Ever hear about the proverbial widow munched by big government? That's Matteson. "If you walked into somebody's house and stole everything valuable in it," she says, "it would be the same thing as what they did to me."
Matteson, he hastens to add, is "an extraordinary lady." Now, five years after the EPA took over her building, she's getting her revenge.
The story actually begins some forty years ago. "My husband moved here from Chicago in 1950," she says. "He had some money to invest, and so he looked around and told me, 'I've never seen a city in this country that doesn't grow up around its airport.' And so he bought this land over in Commerce City and built a warehouse. It is a beautiful building. It was huge, too, 25,000 square feet. When my husband died, that building was my livelihood."
Unfortunately, the warehouse, at 5355 Dahlia Street, turned out to be in the middle of a Superfund toxic-waste site. It was surrounded by hazardous goop on almost all sides. In 1990 the EPA decided it wanted the property closed down. The agency avoided subtlety.
"Mrs. Matteson had a plumbing distribution company leasing the building at the time," Cowan recalls. "And these EPA guys began showing up in moon suits telling the plumbing guys things like, 'I can't believe you're working here--you wouldn't breathe this air if you knew what was in it,' and 'You wouldn't believe how dangerous this ground is.' The EPA literally scared these guys out of the building.
"[EPA officials] took it over because they wanted to use it for a staging area to clean up the surrounding properties. The way we found this out was all through Mrs. Matteson's research. The agency had set up this new magic dirt-cleaning machine in her building--while she still owned it! Well, she had got herself on the EPA's mailing list, and they sent out an announcement about the new dirt machine; they were going to have a big press conference, the governor was going to be there, and so on. And Mrs. Matteson noticed the site for all this activity was her warehouse."
Cowan says he called the EPA and "threatened to make a big stink--bring our own reporters and hold our own news conference. The government cut Mrs. Matteson a check within four days."
Matteson brought two copies of the deed to the warehouse when the sale closed. The EPA brought a check for $225,000. The deal was done, and a copy of the EPA's check was recorded in the Adams County Assessor's office. End of story.
"But a year later," says Cowan, "Mrs. Matteson gets this letter from the assessor. And it's a tax bill for the warehouse. So she calls me and says, 'Why do I have this tax bill?' And I told her to just call the assessor--it wasn't her property anymore, and it wasn't her problem."
The assessor looked up 5355 Dahlia and told Matteson she still owned it. The tax bills kept coming: $990 in 1992, $990 again in 1993, and $997 in 1994.
Still, it wasn't until after a call from a development company that Cowan decided something needed to be done. "This nice young woman called me and said, 'We'd like to buy your warehouse,'" he recalls. "And I said, 'Wait, wait, wait--we don't own it.' And she said, 'Well, I looked it up at the assessor's office, and it's owned by Mrs. Matteson.' I told her, 'I'd love to sell it to you, but we don't own it.' Finally, I called the EPA."
The EPA lawyer who had handled the purchase of the warehouse had quit and moved on to private practice. Another EPA lawyer, Richard Sisk, tracked down the attorney and told this story to Cowan:
After the closing, the original lawyer sent one deed to the government's land-acquisition people and kept one himself. "This guy had worked for the government, so he knows," Cowan says. "He knew the guy he sent the first deed to would lose it. Which, of course, he did.