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The basketball hoop along Jill Lewis' driveway at 17170 Shirley St. was at the center of a lawsuit by the Merrifield Village Homeowners Association. Neighborhood officials cited concern about neighborhood covenants. Lewis contended they're picking which rules to enforce.


CHRIS MACHIAN/THE WORLD-HERALD


Judge, not ref, settles hoop feud

By Todd Cooper
WORLD-HERALD STAFF WRITER

Jill Lewis' hoop dreams turned into hoop reams.

As in reams of court documents, jammed into six three-ring binders sitting on lawyers' tables in a Douglas County courtroom.

As in 40 exhibits, three attorneys, one judge and five hours of testimony over one thing: the basketball pole that Lewis and her three sons cemented into the ground next to their driveway near 171st and Pacific Streets.

A hoop on a driveway?

Neighbors said no way.

The Merrifield Village Homeowners Association filed a lawsuit against Lewis last year — and went to trial Wednesday to try to take down her hoop.

Forget about March madness. For both sides, this was a march into madness.

"This is ridiculous," one woman said loudly from the second row as the trial got under way.

Both sides conceded that. But they disagreed on who deserved the ridicule.

Merrifield Village association officials said Jill Lewis clearly was told that a permanent basketball hoop would not be allowed.

Further, they say, homeowners were so against the hoop that, in a recent association meeting, they voted 51-10 to authorize the group to continue with its lawsuit.

They were quick to note that they offered to allow Lewis to put up a portable basketball hoop in the driveway — as long as she took down the permanent one. She refused.

"We're not against basketball," said Scott Jochim, attorney for the neighborhood association. "We're not against children. We're not against exercise.

"We're concerned about the integrity of the covenants of the neighborhood."

Jill Lewis, in turn, argued that the neighborhood was picking and choosing when to enforce its rules, thus making the covenants null and void.

She said she had signatures of 84 neighbors who had no problem with her hoop — many of whom were unable to attend the meeting where the vote took place.

And her lawyers, Aaron Smeall and Jerry Slusky, pointed out several other external improvements — flagpoles, fences, lampposts, etc. — that had been erected on neighbors' properties. Those improvements were never approved in writing and often were approved after the fact — both violations of the neighborhood covenants.

"They played fast and loose with their own rules," Smeall said.

Neighbors described their subdivision of Benchmark-built homes as quiet and well-kept, with several empty nesters.

Jill Lewis saw all the flagpoles and fences and trellises throughout the neighborhood. Here's what she didn't see: the harm of a basketball hoop.

In September 2010, she had the hoop installed — green pole, glass backboard — for her sons Tyler, 21, Chris, 18, and Kyle, 11.

Soon after, someone called Ray Zimmerman, the reluctant chairman of the homeowners association's "Architectural Control Committee."

Jochim, the attorney, asked Zimmerman if he had coveted a spot on the committee — a group that essentially serves as the neighborhood's enforcers.

"No way," Zimmerman said.

In time, the 69-year-old Zimmerman got word of the hoop — the very hoop he and board members had denied. He walked over to the Lewis house.

What happened next depends on the point of view.

Zimmerman said he asked Lewis' youngest son if he could speak to Jill Lewis. When she came outside, he said, he told her that she had violated the board's order that she not put up the hoop.

At that point, Zimmerman says, Lewis became contentious. According to Zimmerman: Lewis told him that she didn't care what he said, that her attorney had advised her that the neighborhood covenants were unenforceable.

Jill Lewis offered a different replay of that confrontation.

She said Zimmerman marched up to her house and grumpily hollered at her then-10-year-old son, reducing him to tears. So she asked Zimmerman to leave. She said her son was so spooked that he refused to go outside for days afterward.

The tension was evident in the courtroom Wednesday.

Lewis' attorney, Smeall, took Zimmerman through photos of several "external improvements" that, they argued, were no different from a basketball hoop. A fence. A driveway extension. A rock garden.

Zimmerman said some of them had been approved beforehand; others hadn't.

Then Smeall introduced a picture of a lamppost — Zimmerman's lamppost.

Zimmerman quickly defended the lamppost, explaining that it was temporary because it was sitting on bricks, not embedded in concrete.

Smeall asked what the difference was between a basketball hoop, a flagpole and a lamppost.

One word, Zimmerman said: Safety.

People don't shoot basketballs at flagpoles or fences or lampposts, Zimmerman said. In turn, balls don't roll into the street.

"To compare a basketball hoop to a flagpole is not right," Zimmerman told Smeall. "How would you feel if her son was hit by a car in the street? My job is to make sure the neighborhood is safe."

Smeall: "Your job is to ensure the safety of my client's children while they play in her yard?"

Zimmerman paused.

"No," he said, "that's her job."

Ultimately, the judge's job was to serve as a referee over the hoop feud.

Douglas County District Judge Marlon Polk wasted little time. He noted that neighborhood covenants specifically required neighbors to get written approval for exterior improvements.

There was no evidence that anyone had ever gotten approval in writing, Polk said. Thus, the judge ruled, the covenants were void.

Polk further questioned why the neighborhood was willing to allow Lewis to put up a portable basketball hoop but not a permanent one. That led to several lengthy explanations, including one neighbor's suggestion that digging a hole for an in-ground hoop could sever roots and kill trees.

Polk swatted away that argument before ruling that Lewis could keep her hoop.

"A basketball hoop, in and of itself, is not an improvement that hinders the neighborhood," he said.

Jill Lewis felt like she had just hit a game-winner. Beaming, she hugged her attorneys and several neighbors who had gathered to support her.

She acknowledged that the "whole thing was ridiculous" but said she was standing up for what was right, for a simple hoop dream.

"This is America," she said. "If an 11-year-old boy can't play basketball in his driveway, what have we come to?"

Contact the writer:

402-444-1275, todd.cooper@owh.com


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