Our Connection to Champlain Towers

The news of the horrific collapse of the Champlain Towers South Condominium complex, with (as of this writing) 96 confirmed dead and dozens still missing, shot through our industry like a hot knife through butter. It’s heartbreaking to anyone, but to us in the community management business, the shock of such an event striking one of “our own” has many of us reeling.

I live in the Pacific Northwest, about as far away as you can get from South Florida and remain in the continental United States; yet, the catastrophic failure of Champlain Towers South feels like it happened in my town. I’ve thought a lot about it, and I’ve come to the conclusion the reason I feel so emotional is because we managers have a deep connections to our clients, whether we admit it or not. So even today, after not having been a manager for many years, I’m thinking: That could have been my Association. My people, my residents, their children, their friends, their grandchildren. Their pets. My Board. My building, that lived and breathed a life of its own. Now the entire entity, and many of the people who gave it life, are gone. It makes me so incredibly sad, and there is no other way to describe it.

When I first heard about Champlain Towers, my immediate thoughts were: How would their manager process this horrific event? Did his Board members survive? How will they move forward? More information came to light in the following days about the building’s issues (here is the engineering report ) and the current Board’s Herculean effort to obtain funding for repairs through a loan backed by an enormous, $15MM special assessment (and only 136 units).

As we in the business know, it takes a lot of time, and a vast amount of emotional energy, for a Board to make the decision to move ahead with big tasks such as these (read the letter from the Board President to the owners, here ). This community’s political and physical situation is so normal, so every day to us, that for it to end in catastrophe is almost beyond comprehension. I fear – I know - the surviving residents, the Board members, and staff, will suffer emotionally for a very long time. I know I would.

For onsite managers, the connection to the people is very real and deep. You are a part of the everyday rhythm of the community because you’re there, well, all day every day. Managing that corporation isn’t an abstract to you, or one you only see once a month: It’s living, breathing, driving by, walking dogs, stopping in after a round of golf, emailing about a tree and calling about a late charge. Human beings all, with hopes, dreams, illnesses, aches and pains and joy and laughter. Then, in literally seconds, that living and breathing entity is gone. It’s inconceivable.

Your relationship with the Board is far more intimate onsite than it is in a portfolio situation. You spend a lot of time with individuals and really get to know them. Many become good friends. You work with them hand-in-glove to better the community. When the environment becomes contentious between the Board and owners (as it was at Champlain Towers,) you’re in the foxhole with the Board, helping them weave their way through every issue. You become connected professionally, personally, and yes, emotionally. That emotional connection can’t be prevented, and I can only imagine what the manager and the (surviving?) Board members are going through now. Did I do all I could? What more could I have done? What did we do wrong? Did we do anything wrong?

The truth is, some things are in God’s control, not ours. My empathy for this community, its residents, Board members and manager, is manifold. It utterly breaks my heart, and I pray for them all.

We in management are connected to our communities. I don’t think that will ever change. Onsite managers will have a stronger connection for sure, but all of us become invested in the success of our Boards. Their victories become ours, and it’s a large part of the satisfaction of managing community associations. We are forever intertwined.

As of today, we really have no idea what actually caused the tragic failure of this building, a home to so many, and now the remaining portion has been demolished. Champlain Towers, the community, the living and breathing entity, is no more. All that’s left is recovery.

What we in management do know is, this community was no different than thousands of community associations across the United States. It had a heartbeat.

c. 2021 Julie Adamen, Adamen Inc. All rights reserved.