ON Dunemere Drive, it seems as if just about everyone has a gripe against the owners of No. 311.
The elderly woman next door complains that her car is constantly boxed into her driveway. A few houses over, a gay couple grumbles that their beloved ocean views are in jeopardy. And down the street, a widow grouses that her children’s favorite dog-walking route has been disrupted.
Four years ago, when he was just a well-heeled civilian in search of a quiet beach house, Mr. Romney paid $12 million for a three-bedroom Spanish-style villa with unobstructed views of the Pacific and a rich history: Maureen O’Connor, the former mayor of San Diego, once lived there, and Richard Gere had used it as a vacation rental.
[M]any of the residents of this exclusive tract in La Jolla say they are rankled by what they see from their decks and patios as the Romneys’ blindness to their impact on the neighborhood. And personal politics is fueling their frustration as much as anything else, several days of interviews with about a dozen residents suggest.
It turns out that
Mr. Romney — who has likened President Obama’s policies to socialism, called for cutting back on federal funding to PBS and wants to outlaw
same-sex marriage —
has moved into a neighborhood that evokes “Modern Family” far more than “All in the Family.” (There are six gay households within a three-block radius of his house, neighbors said.)
Four doors up the street from the Romneys is the home of Randy Clark and Tom Maddox, a gay couple who meet regularly with other residents worried by the candidate’s renovation plans.
The men, who married in San Francisco four years ago, were asked by Mr. Romney’s architect to sign a document that stated they have no objections to his planned renovations, which would obscure a portion of their ocean view. They refused.
A few houses up on Dunemere are Michael Duddy and his partner, James Geiger, who make no secret of their discomfort with some of Mr. Romney’s politics. Chatting with Mr. Maddox and Mr. Clark a few weekends ago, Mr. Geiger playfully proposed hanging a gay-pride flag from the Italian stone pine tree in his yard “so that Romney’s motorcade has to drive under it.”
Three houses away from Mr. Romney is Mark Quint, a Democrat who said that he is tired of watching neighboring homeowners bulldoze small beach houses to make way for McMansions, fearing a “nightmare of construction.” He sees a discrepancy in Mr. Romney’s ambitious renovation plan.
“The only thing he wants small is government and taxes,” Mr. Quint said. “He likes big houses, big families and big religion.”
On paper, the house sounds luxurious: it is 3,000 square feet, with vaulted ceilings, five bathrooms, a 20-yard lap pool and Jacuzzi shaded by a Torrey pine, a wraparound second-level deck and a lawn that slopes down to the ocean.
The Romneys have said that the current configuration cannot accommodate their family of 5 children and 18 grandchildren. The new house, by contrast, will be 11,000 square feet with a split-level four-car garage equipped with an elevator to ferry cars up and down.
“There are plenty of other big houses they could have purchased,” said a Dunemere resident who spoke on condition of anonymity, worried about antagonizing the Romneys and their friends.
“This is a quaint little one-way street.”
Mr. Romney has hired a lawyer to shepherd the project through the local zoning process and has spent about $22,000 to lobby city officials for various permits. But construction is not expected to begin anytime soon. In fact, among his immediate neighbors, there are rumors that Mr. Romney has given up on building his dream home and will instead purchase the bigger and grander estate of his longtime friend Mr. Miller.
Despite attempts to blend in, though, the Romneys retain all the inconspicuousness of a neon billboard these days. Their comings and goings are heralded by sudden spasms of security: Secret Service agents fan out across the street. S.U.V.’s move into place. Traffic is stopped. A motorcade arrives. And whenever Mr. Romney is at home, a giant S.U.V. is parked diagonally across the entry to the cul-de-sac at the bottom of Dunemere, blocking all incoming traffic.
Mr. Clark eyed a couple of Secret Service men polishing a black S.U.V. and playfully asked if they would mind washing his car. One of them gave him a knowing look. “You’ll be fourth in line behind Mrs. Romney,” he retorted playfully. “She’s always asking, ‘When will you do my car?’ ”