Where to Live During Repairs? The Doyles Weigh the Options

“Because of the Sierra Madre earthquake our house has to be rebuilt,” sixth-grader Andrew Doyle penciled into a homemade notebook as part of a school assignment. “So we’re going to live in a motel for about three months.”

However, Andrew’s father saw it differently. “I’m making an executive decision,” said Bart Doyle, a 41-year-old general counsel for the Building Industry Assn. of Southern California. “We’re not staying in a motel. It would be claustrophobic.”

Although his resolve showed signs of wavering last week, Doyle still advocated that the best solution for the family seemed to be a short-term lease on a house in town.

They were considering a three-bedroom home with gorgeous views from a perch in the San Gabriel foothills and plenty of room for two adults, three children, a golden retriever, a cat, a cockatiel and a fish.

So far, no final decision has been made.

The children continue to lobby for the Residence Inn in Arcadia, where popcorn is freely dispensed, hot dogs are a main course on Thursday nights and the swimming pool is open 24 hours daily.

Sharon Doyle, 43, took the middle ground in the debate last week, noting that maid service would be great. But she said she couldn’t imagine the whole family surviving for long, even in the Residence Inn’s two-bedroom, two-bath, two-television “Penthouse Suite” with its daily rate of $135.

More than three months after the June 28 earthquake rocked their two-story house on Baldwin Avenue, this is a time of tension and decision for the Doyle family.

They spend their days and nights puzzling over questions such as how they will finance upwards of $70,000 in repairs and remodeling of the rambling, turn-of-the-century house, which was cracked from top to bottom.

They wonder whether to borrow from Sharon’s parents to make up any shortfalls after their Small Business Administration loan, personal savings and insurance earthquake coverage are used up. As a television writer, Sharon’s work is starting to flourish this fall. She has a new assignment to write a made-for-TV movie. But hers is a feast-and-famine occupation with paychecks arriving unpredictably.

Over the dining room table and in home-to-car phone discussions, they are asking: If they decide to go with an inexpensive chimney, can they afford a tile bathroom floor, instead of linoleum, upstairs? Should they add electrical outlets where wiring is antiquated?

In addition, everything seems to take longer than expected. Two weeks ago, they thought they would sign the contract with the contractor, but didn’t. Reading the contract in bed one night, Sharon discovered the numbers didn’t jibe. She uncovered a typographical error that added $30,000 to the cost.

“It gets more and more complicated every day,” Bart said. Regardless, he said, “We’re on the verge. Everything is starting to happen.”

And last week that meant investigating moving. On Wednesday, Sharon took the children for a look at the Residence Inn. Andrew hadn’t been before, although his brother and sister had.

Fortified with soft drinks from the “Hearth Room,” where the “Tiny Tunes” cartoon show transfixed them, the three children were finally lured away by the notion of the pool.

Their mother stayed behind to chat with another earthquake victim, Vicki Halasey, 36, who was staying there with her husband and two children, and their two cats and hamster.

“Our house is 3 1/2 feet above its foundation today,” Halasey said, noting that repairs should be done soon.

Seven families from Sierra Madre were living at the Residence Inn while their houses were being repaired, said Suzette Pascua, the facility’s director of sales who led the Doyle children around the compound of two-story gray buildings.

After a poolside stroll, the Doyle children passed a recreation court where several earthquake-displaced Sierra Madre boys played ball.

Later, inside one suite, Nick opened the microwave and called to Andrew to see the appliance they don’t have. “Well, we’re going to be eating a lot of microwave burritos,” Nick said with excitement.

After running upstairs and down, the three children landed on a couch in front of a television. “One room for mom and dad. One for us,” Andrew said. “They get to watch their TV. We get to watch ours.”

As the children left, they pleaded their case. “We have to negotiate with daddy,” their mother replied.

For his part, Bart has no fondness for hotels or motels. In his job, he stays in them regularly. At age 14, when his family was undergoing a move in Torrance, he stayed in a motel. “I was bored out of my mind,” he said, adding that he was worried that, after a few weeks in a suite, “the novelty will have worn off.”

From the Residence Inn, Sharon drove the children to the vacant, three-bedroom rental house high in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains in Sierra Madre.

“Clubhouse, here I come,” Felicity shouted as she ran inside a playhouse where her brothers were already making their way down a ladder under a trap door.

Sharon, sitting on the deck’s built-in bench, mused aloud about how wonderful it would be to have parties there. “Isn’t this pretty?” she said.

Dusk had arrived. A sea of light flickered across the San Gabriel Valley. Silhouettes of downtown Los Angeles skyscrapers came into view against the pink haze of sundown. Felicity and Nick thundered across the deck.

“Mom,” Andrew said with a yell from where he lay on a patch of St. Augustine grass below the deck. “I don’t want to live here. I want to live at the Residence Inn.”