Riverside County migration patterns show plenty of income coming and going.
IRS filing data for 2015, the latest figures available, details how many taxpayers came from, or relocated to, Riverside County and what level of adjusted gross income was on the move.
Where were the big dollars moving? Contra Costa County provided Riverside with 136 new taxpayers — with an average 1.72 dependents — who had an average federal taxable income of $92,559. That’s the county that sent Riverside the highest per-filer average incomes in 2015.
Here are the other counties with the highest-paid taxpayers who came to or left Riverside County.
Coming to Riverside from …
- Santa Clara County: 204 filers with an average 1.88 dependents and income of $83,137
- New York County (Manhattan) : 176 filers with 1.64 dependents and income of $79,455
- Snohomish (Washington) County : 166 filers with 1.81 dependents and income of $78,163
- King County (Seattle): 190 filers with 1.78 dependents and income of $66,842
Compare that wealth to typical inbound movers. Countywide, 38,159 filers came here from around the state and nation with an average 2.09 dependents and income of $49,256.
Leaving Riverside to …
Contra Costa County : 153 filers moved with an average 1.88 dependents and income of $86,948.
Pierce County (Tacoma): 133 filers with 2.04 dependents and income of $58,677.
Orange County: 4,653 filers with 1.95 dependents and income of $57,920.
Alameda County: 212 filers with 1.50 dependents and income of $57,363.
San Bernardino County: 7,032 filers with 2.15 dependents and income of $54,611.
Across Riverside County, 35,353 filers left with an average 2 dependents and income of $50,222.
When you look at income migration on a state-by-state basis, IRS data show California gaining the largest per-filer average incomes in 2015 from Connecticut at $127,017; District of Columbia at $102,704 and New York at $102,681. The largest departing incomes went to Florida ($113,488); Delaware ($105,090) and Vermont ($102,621).
Seattle, Detroit, Baltimore Best for Recent Grads
For recent college graduates, Seattle, Detroit, Baltimore, and Pittsburgh are some of the country’s best places to live, according to new Trulia research released on Wednesday. Trulia used real estate listings on its site, as well as job postings on Indeed.com, to determine the “sweet spots” that offer both good jobs (ones appropriate for recent graduates) and in-budget housing (properties that a recent graduate could presumably afford).
About 6 percent of young college graduates moved locations for a new job last year—more than four times the amount of all adults in general.
“These educated young adults are particularly prone to move for a job or a job search,” Trulia reported. “Whereas just 1.4 percent of all adults moved in the past year to take or look for a new job, 6.2 percent of young college grads did.”
Ultimately, Trulia found, the markets with the most job opportunities and the highest earning potential are the most out-of-budget for recent graduates. These areas include Washington, D.C., San Francisco, Houston, New York, and San Jose, California. Still, there are some metros that are affordable and offer a decent job market for a young grad.
“The bad news is that the local markets with the most opportunities for young grads are among the least affordable,” Trulia reported. “The good news is that some lower-cost markets also offer numerous opportunities for recent grads, though not as many as the priciest markets. While there’s no place that offers the magic combination of extensive job opportunities and easily affordable housing (and if that place existed, it probably wouldn’t stay affordable for long), we found six metros where you can spend a bit less on housing without giving up too much on the job options.”
Detroit came in at No. 3 in terms of living affordability, while nearly 42 percent of listings in Dayton, Ohio, meet the typical new grad’s budget. In Seattle, Trulia revealed, nearly 24 percent of all job listings are appropriate for new graduates, while Baltimore has a strong job market and Hartford, Connecticut, offers great median income.
Pittsburgh offers the best of both worlds, according to Trulia. It ranks No. 17 in affordability and No. 37 for jobs.
Communal living is hardly a departure from tradition—it’s a return to how humans have been making their homes for thousands of years.
Belonging to a relatively small household has become the norm even though it can make daily life more difficult in many ways. Privacy may be nice, but cooking and doing chores become much less time-consuming when shared with an additional person, or even several people. Water, electric, and internet bills also become more bearable when divided among multiple residents. There are social downsides to living alone, too. Many elderly people, young professionals, stay-at-home parents, and single people routinely spend long stretches of time at home alone, no matter how lonely they may feel; more distressingly, many single parents face the catch-22 of working and paying for childcare. Living in smaller numbers can be a drain on money, time, and feelings of community, and the rise of the two-parent dual-earning household only compounds the problems of being time-poor.
Tens of thousands of years ago, all living was communal. Being a hunter-gatherer meant being free of many of the distinctions that govern life today. “There’s no division between your social life and your private life,” says Mark Dyble, a postdoctoral researcher at University College London who studies modern-day hunter-gatherers in the Philippines. “Your whole life is open to other people. There’s no way to be isolated.” The hunter-gatherer camps Dyble studied, whose members change week by week, consist of anywhere from five to 18 deeply interdependent “households,” each usually made up of parents, their children, and perhaps another relative or two. These households are involved in virtually every aspect of each others’ lives.
While relatives often stick together, these families are anything but self-sufficient. “A chimp mother is capable of feeding herself and her offspring. That’s not the case with humans,” Dyble says, pointing out that human children take a long time to mature and take care of themselves. “By our biology, we are obliged to have support from others. You couldn’t survive as a single-family household among hunter-gatherers.”
On top of that, people moved constantly among houses. “Home was the place that sheltered you at the moment, not the one special place associated with childhood or family of origin,” Gillis writes. Single people sometimes ran households, and marriage was not as narrowly defined as it is today. Most kids spent time living away from their families, especially as teenagers. Living with strangers was common, and locals would often treat houses like public property. “People entered without knocking, even without acknowledgement,” writes Gillis. “It was often difficult to tell which family belonged where … In big as well as little houses, the constant traffic of people precluded the cozy home life we imagine to have existed in the past.”
For all its popularity as a comforting idea, the godly household was hardly common 500 years ago. It was completely unrealistic for most people to find the time, money, and resources to run a household on their own. Even those who did usually had big households full of unrelated people; they relied on the larger community far too much to survive as a single-family unit.
It wasn’t until the 1800s that people began drawing a sharp distinction between family and friends when it came to who they lived with. So, during the latter half of the 19th century, the godly family started to take shape in reality. Industrialization made extended communities less vital for earning a living. When societies were mostly agricultural, production was centered near the home, and families needed all the labor they could get to run the farm during busy seasons. But as industrialization took hold, people started leaving home to go to work, commuting to factories and, later, offices. Something communal was lost, and by the early 20th century, industrial efficiency permitted a lifestyle of domestic privacy: Households shrank down to nuclear families, much more closed-off from relatives and neighbors than ever before.
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Homeownership is still viewed as a central component of living out the American dream, but the ways that many present-day Americans are pushing back on modern living arrangements closely resemble what came centuries, even millennia, before in other parts of the world. Family members, relatives, neighbors, and strangers are coming together to live in groups that work for them—a bit like medieval Europe. “Today, all across the nation, Americans are living the new happily ever after,” writes the social psychologist Bella DePaulo in her 2015 book How We Live Now: Redefining Home and Family in the 21st Century. “The ‘new’ part is that people with whom they are sharing homes and lives are not just spouses or romantic partners.”
Instead of limiting their households to children, parents, and grandparents, plenty of people are going a step further, making homes with friends and even strangers. Cohousing, in which a large community lives together and shares household duties, is gaining popularity. In cohousing, individuals or families generally have their own houses, bedrooms, or apartments but share things like kitchens and community spaces. They’ll commonly trade off on responsibilities like cooking and chores. Milagro Housing, for instance, is a cohousing community located in Arizona’s Sonoran Desert. There, families, couples, and single people live in 28 homes in a tight-knit community that shares a kitchen, laundry room, library, meeting room, playroom, and storage rooms.
Cohousing has shown itself to be a useful living arrangement for groups of people with all sorts of priorities. In Silicon Valley’s hacker houses, dozens of computer programmers, most of them very young, bunk together while they work at start-ups or on their own projects. The website CoAbode links single mothers who want to live and raise children together. In Los Angeles, about a dozen young adults live together in one large house called Synchronicity LA. There, they make art together, hold salons, divide up chores, and trade off cooking communal meals four days a week. “It really feels like living in a big family,” Grant Hoffner, a longtime Synchronicity resident, told me.
Cohousing models can get pretty creative. In Hope Meadows, a neighborhood near Chicago that DePaulo describes in her book, retired people live together with at-risk foster kids. There, retired folks, many of whom used to describe their lives as boring and lonely, raise the kids together. And in Deventer, a town in the eastern region of the Netherlands, that model is flipped: Some college students there live in nursing homes alongside elderly people, who they socialize with and assist with various chores.
Developers are starting to see how appealing cohousing is to some people. Commonspace, for instance, is a company that designs and runs apartments consisting of about 20 small units around a common area occupied mostly by young and single people, sort of like a dorm for adults. The first distinctive cohousing setup in the U.S. was built by developers 25 years ago, but the concept hasn’t gained much traction, as there are now only 160 American cohousing communities built from scratch. Perhaps that will change as developers court young people who envision a lifestyle different than the one they’ve inherited from the 20th century.
Among other things, many residents are drawn to the company that cohousing offers, which DePaulo says is the main reason people choose to live like this. Cohousing can feel a bit like summer camp, with people always around to talk to and spend time with. But it also provides deep support systems. “If someone is hospitalized, cohousing friends are there to visit,” writes DePaulo. “When a cohouser is ailing at home, neighbors show up with chicken soup and the latest news from the community.”
One anthropologist DePaulo interviewed decided to live with more people after being unhappy on her own, even though her boyfriend lived nearby and she had some friends in her building. “I would come home and cry,” Leanna Wolfe, the anthropologist, told DePaulo. “I was just so lonely.” She wasn’t the only one: Americans have fewer close friends than they used to. Since 1985, the number of Americans who have no friends to confide in has tripled, reported a 2006 American Sociological Review study.
In addition to the sense of community it builds, there’s an obvious upside to shared living: saving time and money. In a typical American house or apartment, individuals or small families are in charge of each meal themselves. But cohousing communities can divide up cooking schedules. Many residents only cook once a week and come home to cooked meals everyday.
DePaulo argues that it would be particularly helpful to integrate cohousing into public-housing policy. “People who work on housing for the poor have to deal with people’s whole lives,” she argues in her book. “They can’t just give them a place to live and forget about them.” Keeping rent affordable is the foremost concern for people in charge of managing public housing, but cohousing can fill in other difficulties of living without much money: Splitting cooking, childcare, and household expenses can save lots of time and money. For these reasons and others, Danish and Swedish governments have long supported cohousing. American governments (especially local ones) could do the same, perhaps by converting abandoned hotels into mixed-income cohousing, building affordable shared-living buildings, or even just by connecting interested locals and helping them refashion their neighborhoods into something that better fosters community.
Humans have never lived the same way for long, and many people are finding today’s urban and suburban neighborhoods, which are based on an idealized version of home that is by now hundreds of years old, to be lacking. Humans may never return to the days of having strangers and distant relatives dropping in to live for extended periods of time, but it’s clear that a group of people are tapping into the past that John Gillis wrote about: “Until well into the nineteenth century, heaven was represented not as a community of families but as one large community of friends.”
Can Riverside’s Harada House, a civil rights landmark, be saved?
The Japanese-American Harada family fought hard to keep their home.
First, white neighbors pressured them to move from the downtown Riverside house. Then, a 1915 lawsuit challenged their ownership of the property.
Now it may be Riverside’s turn to fight for the historic Harada House.
The national historic landmark has plywood covering the walls to keep plaster from falling off. Parts of the house appear to be sinking. And officials worry it might not withstand an earthquake. The need to restore it is so dire that failure to do so is holding up re-accreditation of the city museum, which manages the house.
The boxy, tan two-story home on Lemon Street became the subject of a civil rights test case that helped establish Asian immigrants’ right to own land. It was added to the National Register of Historic Places in 1977.
The city’s long-term goal is to open the more than 130-year-old house as a historic and educational site. But today it’s “at risk of collapse,” with foundation problems, and water and termite damage, city records state.
A few people have even suggested demolishing the house if the cost of restoring it is too high, said Riverside Metropolitan Museum board chairman Elio Palacios, Jr., who rejects that idea.
“It’s too easy for us to say it’s going to cost too much, it’s going to be too difficult, there’s too many problems, we should just let this go away,” Palacios said.
“I think that would be a disgrace for the city’s history, because 100 years ago the city stood behind the Haradas.”
Though the family’s old home is in poor repair, the Haradas occupy an important place in the history of Riverside and civil rights.
Husband and wife Jukichi and Ken Harada and their young son, Masa Atsu, left Japan in the early 1900s to fulfill their dreams in the United States. They settled in Riverside, where they ran a restaurant and boarding house.
As the family grew, and they lost a child to diphtheria in the close quarters of the boardinghouse, the parents began looking for another place to live. Because California’s 1913 Alien Land Law barred non-citizen immigrants from owning property, Jukichi bought the Lemon Street house in the names of his American-born children.
After some neighbors complained and urged the Haradas to move, the state attorney general filed a lawsuit alleging the family had violated the state law. In 1918, the Haradas won the case. Decades later, the law was declared unconstitutional.
The home stayed in Harada hands even after the family was sent to wartime internment camps — where Jukichi and Ken died. A friend looked after the property until Sumi Harada, one of their adult daughters, returned after the war.
Harold, Jukichi and Ken’s youngest son, inherited the house when Sumi died in 2000. He began the process of donating it and its contents to the city so it could be preserved as a historic site. Sumi had saved furniture, family heirlooms and more.
Who’s to blame?
At this point, some accounts disagree about how the home has been handled.
Assistant City Manager Alex Nguyen, the interim museum director, said the house was “mismanaged – it’s a series of fits and starts with no completions.”
Nguyen noted that the city is poised to return $8,000 in grant funds because it failed to finish a neighborhood vision plan for the Harada House.
In a recent email chain of arguments and rebuttals between him and retired museum director Vince Moses, Nguyen wrote that the City Council accepted donation of the Harada House without knowing the extent of its structural problems, how much restoration and maintenance would cost or how they would be paid for.
Moses, who headed the museum when the house was donated, called the charge of mismanagement “utterly bogus.” Soon after accepting the donation, the city received grants to plan its restoration and to stabilize it following El Niño storms, Moses said.
But, when a final report on the house’s condition came in 2007, Moses had recently retired, he said, and city management at the time didn’t consider the house a priority. That was before the recession hit and the museum’s budget and staff were slashed, he said.
Palacios, the museum board chairman, also partly blames failure to restore the house on a shrinking museum budget.
“Once you get into a cycle where you’re trying to catch up, it’s hard,” he said.
To Riverside City Councilman Mike Gardner, whose ward includes the house, it’s unproductive to argue over who deserves blame for the home’s deterioration.
“The real question is, where do we go from here,” he said.
Around 2013, ballpark estimates concluded it could cost $10 million or more to restore the Harada House and turn it into a museum-quality site for the public to enjoy. Nguyen said there’s no recent, comprehensive evaluation to back that up, but a consultant is working on a full study.
Officials also need to decide how the site would be used. In 2014, the city bought the Robinson house next door to create an interpretive center, but concerns remain about public parking and the impact of a museum-type facility on the residential neighborhood that surrounds it.
Finally, there’s a question of money.
Palacios hopes to see a nonprofit foundation created to support the Harada House, but dollars would be needed for running the historic site as well as for one-time restoration costs.
As city and museum officials hash out those issues, many are pulling for the Harada House. Moses is among them.
With fear and suspicion toward immigrants flaring up again, “This is so apropos of what it means to be an American under the 14th Amendment of the United States,” he said.
The Riverside African-American Historical Society has offered its help, Palacios said. The local chapter of the Japanese American Citizens league and two Harada descendants have spoken or written letters supporting restoration of the house.
“We would like to see it preserved” to remind people of an early chapter in the long-running fight for civil rights in America, said Naomi Harada, whose father, Harold, donated the home as a public resource.
The collection of family heirlooms now in the museum’s care includes kimonos decorated with family crests, embroidered sashes, personal letters, pots and pans, furniture, and Jukichi’s old bowler hat, Naomi Harada said.
Riverside hasn’t always been diligent about saving old buildings.
Residents still mourn the 1903 Carnegie Library, which was replaced by a boxy 1960s structure some hate. And, the near-demolition of the 1925 Press Bindery building by the Fox theater in 2011 – all but one wall of the building was knocked down – was attributed to miscommunication by city officials.
However, Councilman Gardner said, “I think in the overall picture Riverside does a pretty good job of managing and preserving historic resources.”
Like the city, the U.S. has mostly ended up on the right side of history, Palacios said. He likened the Harada House to the Statue of Liberty as a monument to the country’s success at welcoming immigrants.
“We’re not perfect, but overall America has done the right thing, and I think this house represents that,” he said.
DANAriverside | DANA | Development Projects pg 4
For Riverside, the Innovation District is envisioned to be (at least):
Rooted in Local Assets
Arts, Culture, Heritage, Health/Wellness,
Environment, Education, Technology,
Information, & “Makers”-Driven
Inspired by the Entrepreneurial Spirit
Highly Walkable, Bikeable, and Transit
Office of the Mayor
Phone: (951) 826-5551
Phone: (951) 781-5791
~ A fun quiz that incorporates 2 of my loves, Real Estate and Star Wars 😉 ~