Christchurch property investor Liz Harris remains undaunted in the wake of the devastating February 22 earthquake. Photos and text: David Killick.

Last time I met Liz Harris, back in October 2009, her life couldn’t have been sunnier: She was one of New Zealand’s most successful private property investors with a large, meticulously managed portfolio. We strolled around one of her housing blocks in the spring sunshine for photos (Liz was the cover story in the November 2009 issue of New Zealand Property Investor.)

This time, when Liz bounded to the door of her Fendalton home she looked different. “Come on, what’s changed, haven’t you noticed?” she challenged. Liz has slimmed down, losing 24 kilos, the result of careful diet and exercise.

But Liz has also been recovering from Bells’ Palsy, a form of neuralgia that also caused one side of her face to droop. (She is now a lot better.) Early last year, Liz and husband John bought a holiday home in far-off Mexico, an exotic, romantic destination. Life was coming right again. “After the Bells’ Palsy I made a conscious decision to change my lifestyle and make it less stressful,” says Liz.

Then the September 4, 2010 Canterbury earthquake struck. Centered just west of Christchurch, the quake destroyed two of her properties and damaged others. That was bad enough. Then came the big February 22 earthquake. In less than a minute’s shaking, everything changed. “We got a real hammering,” says Liz.

Daughter Jenna, who works fulltime managing Liz’s portfolio, reels off the figures: 52 apartments and houses and 39 boarding rooms unable to be tenanted at all; most buildings will or have come down. Of these, 20 have no loss of rents payments, then the rest have loss of rents payments for six months. Some have one year. 70 apartments and houses still tenanted although some badly damaged (piles, lathe and plaster, etc). One office building is already gone. 90 car parks are unable to be used and damaged by liquefaction.

For most people, just losing one rental property would be devastating. But 91? Liz estimates the repair bill will run into the millions – possibly tens of millions – of dollars, and cash flow will run backwards for most of the year before it picks up again.

When the quake struck, Liz was in Nelson in the midst of a fire alarm and too busy to talk when her husband called from Christchurch. She actually hung up, then panicked when she heard about the quake and couldn’t get through. She tried to get a flight but couldn’t, then drove four hours into the night back to the shattered city.

Jenna, meanwhile, found herself in the city centre, close to where the Pyne Gould building was flattened, killing scores of people. With destruction all around her and sirens and alarms wailing. Jenna calmly set about visiting all of the Harris tenants to see if they were all right. It was just one of the courageous yet unrecorded acts of kindness that afternoon.

Amazingly, none of Liz Harris’s tenants was killed or injured. If tenants wanted to leave, that would be fine, Liz told them later – despite what the agreement said. “People come first.” However, while some tenants did opt to leave, many decided to stay. “It’s their life, their home,” says Liz.

Figures are one thing, but to get a real understanding of the quake’s impact on property you have to see for yourself. I hadn’t been into the central city since I left on foot after the quake. So Liz, Jenna and I jump into the car and we go for a ride.

As we round Hagley Park, the autumn sun is lancing through the trees, highlighting golds and reds. It’s a beautiful day. We pass some large buildings, some built less than 10 years ago. “That’s coming down,” says Liz. “That one will probably come down.”

Exclusive and expensive properties line Carlton Mill Road with a frontage on the Avon River. It has been a great place for new architectural townhouse developments. Now the street is quiet. There is something very wrong with Liz Harris’s older apartment building: The bottom-story windows and walls are leaning drunkenly to one side, like a buckled cardboard box. “It’s coming down,” says Liz matter-of-factly.

Colombo Street is Christchurch’s main thoroughfare. Another of Liz’s buildings leans inwards, and is slated for demolition. She had just had spent about $90,000 renovating four apartments, including new kitchens, laundries, and carpet. One tenant had lived here for 30 years.

To get to the next buildings, we need to get through a military checkpoint. We really need photo ID, but because Liz has been here before, the young soldier lets us through and accompanies us into the restricted zone. No one, except VIPs, is allowed into the red zone near Cathedral Square. Here is bad enough. The first things we see are an abandoned crushed car, and a pile of rubble that used to be the Pyne Gould building.

A car park, one of Liz’s investments, stands empty. Who would use it? She didn’t have insurance. Another of her buildings in Manchester Street is gone. She was about to move into new offices here. No longer.

In Oxford Terrace we come across a gleaming white concrete block building. It’s about 50 years old and was one of the first to be designed by the celebrated Christchurch architectural firm Warren & Mahoney. It has structural cracks. It, too, will have to come down.

Tenants, whether wrongly or rightly, initially showed a marked preference for timber over concrete construction, although that has now eased, says Liz.

In Kilmore Street we view another condemned building. Four houses are coming down. The displaced tenants, some of whom had lived there for 30 years, have moved into the place opposite. A few are living in the garage.

An old villa in Armagh Street dates from the early 20th century. With its lofty ceilings, double-hung sash windows, and plaster ceiling roses, it still retains a gracious feel. But one side is open to the street. It will have to go. All the fittings, and irreplaceable New Zealand native timbers – most likely rimu, totara, and kauri – will probably end up in the landfill. It’s such a shame but nobody seems to care. Liz is doing all she can to salvage stuff, such as expensive air-conditioning units.

A large handsome building in Gloucester Street leans drunkenly, like the first house. When the quake hit, 12 people jumped out of the window. This place, too, is going. Here we meet a Japanese film crew, filming a documentary for the families of the Japanese students killed in the CTV building.

Another of Liz’s buildings, this one in Hereford Street, caught fire a few days after the quake. It had 12 apartments. “They were really nice,” says Liz. “It was a lovely art deco building.” Here, too, Liz had spent a lot of money on refurbishment.

Our final stop is in Cashel Street, near the Arts Centre, where a man warns us officiously not to come in. “Buildings are red-stickered,” he tells us unnecessarily. (Actually. some appear to have survived in surprisingly good shape.)

One of Liz’s buildings near here has already come down; another will follow. One has survived. I help Jenna carry a water cylinder back to the car. Otherwise, thieves could steal it.

Montreal Street, once bustling at 5:00 p.m. on a Friday evening, eerily empty.

“Sometimes you will be as depressed as hell. You come out of the city and just feel dreadful,” says Liz.

So what now? In short, regroup and rebuild.

Liz says insurance will cover replacement in most cases. She had to change from AA to Tower because AA stopped insuring domestic rentals. Some buildings are insured by NZI. “On the whole, I’m insured very well. The Carlton Mill ones on the river, they’re rebuilds, they are nice houses.”

Or she hopes she can rebuild, but that depends on the land. Other places will cost several million dollars each to rebuild. Cash flow is her main concern now.

“Short term I do know I’m down about $10,000 a week in rents now, and that’s probably going to move to $20,000 a week in loss of rents.

“So it’s crucial to me to get that money, to get the EQC money to get things back in operation again so that we get that income back before the losses are too difficult. I’m very lucky I’ve got a very good business in Wigram Lodge which can prop this one up and in Franklin Village in Nelson.

“[Although] I’m down about $10,000. I can live on that because we’ve cut expenses in other ways. Once we get up to about $20,000 when the loss of rents run out – there are two tiers of that, one after six months and one after 12 – we start getting squeezed but I’m expecting around that time I’ll have a lot more EQC money back that pays off the mortgages and helps reduce that...”

However, Liz remains committed to staying. “Absolutely. We’re in for the long haul, and we will rebuild everything…and to help the city get established again, we need places getting back going.”

Nobody is doubting the magnitude of the task ahead for anybody involved with property in Christchurch following the earthquake. But if anyone can do it one suspects it will be Liz.

Tips for coping

Liz Harris has some advice on how to manage should disaster befall your property:

Before:

1) Ensure insurance is up to date – replacement cost for the building; contents; and rentals (at least one year, preferably two)
2) Ensure you have good records, including photos of your property, and contact details for tenants
3) Make a list of whom to contact in an emergency, including repair people, and maintain a good rapport with tradespeople.
4) Make sure your property is equipped with safety equipment; encourage tenants to have survival kits
5) Have adequate income to meet short-term needs.

After:

6) Keep calm. Make sure everybody is safe
7) Salvage what you can from the building before access is restricted – but be careful
8) Be patient! Expect the process to take time, but be proactive, get on the phone, and follow up.