Nice spin there, Mr. Epps. Bishop Painter sounds like an obstinate child who couldn't get his way, which was for the "bells" to ring every day, on the half hour, plus assorted songs which were all blasted over a loud speaker set on top of the church roof. The neighbors were there long before that church moved in. What happened to "love thy neighbor"? Bishop Painter's sense of entitlement reflects an attitude of "piss-off thy neighbor."

On March 16, 2008 - Palm Sunday - the bells began to chime.
They were supposed to ring every morning at 7. But there was a glitch, and they rang at 6, well before sunrise. For the next 14 hours, the bells rang every half hour, plus songs at 9 a.m., noon, 3 p.m. and 6 p.m. Jim Lee, the church's deacon and administrator, said ringing the bells was doing the Lord's work. "He told us," Deacon Jim Lee said. "He told us to go forth and proclaim."

The neighbors

Al and Reva Brooks were asleep in their bedroom on March 16, 2008. They have slept in that room, in their home on Caribbean Lane, since 1962. The window was open. "I knew I had to do something about those bells the first time those things woke me up," Al said. Two doors down, Anna Casbeer was getting an earful. Her home is closest to the church. She found the bells disturbing. Annoying. Stressful.

Marcia Sielaff lived in her home on Caribbean Lane for 48 years. Her house was for sale, and she suddenly worried if anybody would buy it. Three doors from Al and Reva, Sam Jensen could not believe it. He had lived in his home for 38 years and loved the morning quiet, which was suddenly gone. Maddening, he called the bells. The bells don't rattle plates or windowpanes. But they can be heard across the neighborhood.

People a few blocks away might even find them to be pleasant. But of course, the closer you get, the louder they are. And nobody was closer than the folks on Caribbean Lane. Brooks called the police on the very first day.

The compromise

Instead of bells from 7 a.m. to 9 p.m., they offered, the bells would ring only from 8 to 8. Instead of twice an hour, they would ring once an hour. Instead of four songs a day, there would be just one.

The church would elevate the speakers to help project the sound beyond Caribbean Lane. And it would put foam around the speakers to cut the volume.

The neighbors had a different idea of compromise. Play the bells on Sunday, they said. That's it.

But the church had gone as far as it would go. At 8 the next morning, the bells began to ring.

The noise

The bells would ring for the next year. Every morning, they would begin, and every time they rang, it felt unfair.

Jensen bought a machine that creates background noise so he might be able to grab a nap or sleep in. The artificial sound of falling rain helped. Brooks stopped reading the paper on his back porch.

Casbeer started to schedule her day so that she would not be outside when the bells rang. The bells, she said, were too much. "But sometimes I get so busy in my flowerbeds and stuff, I overstay," she said.

The residents of Caribbean Lane, retired and home most of the day, could never get used to the hourly toll. Instead of learning to live with them, they came to dread them.

On the first morning the police came, Officer Cook had suggested the neighbors contact the Phoenix School of Law, which offers a free mediation clinic. The neighbors pursued it, and an appointment for the two sides to come together was set.

Then the church backed out.

"They had told us it was non-binding mediation," Bishop Painter said. "But when we saw the paperwork, we saw it could form a legally binding contract on when we could ring the bells. Well, we couldn't do that."

They created a packet with a cover letter, an aerial map of their neighborhood that showed their proximity to the church, and a recording of the bells from Jensen's backyard.

They mailed these packets to the police; to their city councilwoman, Thelda Williams; to their local police station; to the city prosecutor's office; and to the Phoenix School of Law.

They made countless phone calls. The neighbors figured somebody, eventually, would have to listen.

And the bells continued to ring. A collision was becoming inevitable.

The Ruling

In February of 2009, a letter arrived at the bishop's home. Section 23-12 of the city code addresses the issue of "nuisances and noise." It says: "Subject to the provisions of this article the creating of any unreasonably loud, disturbing and unnecessary noise within the limits of the City is hereby prohibited."

City prosecutor Aarón Carreón-Aínsa has been with the city for 31 years and cannot remember a case like this. But, he says, all city residents should be able to enjoy their homes. "The law says you are entitled to peace and quiet," Carreón-Aínsa said. "If a noise bothers you, you get to go to court."

The Municipal Court judge, Lori Metcalf, was not swayed by the broader arguments. In her court, a person's right to enjoy his home is inviolate. "People cannot enjoy their homes," Metcalf said. "And what else do we have if we can't enjoy our homes?"

With that, she found Bishop Painter guilty on two counts of disturbing the peace. One for the first time he played the bells, and one for when he turned them back on. He received a 10-day suspended jail sentence and three years of probation.

Then she addressed the issue of the bells. They could ring, she said, but only once a week. And only on Sunday morning.

LINK