The apparently illegal demolition of two of San Francisco’s few remaining earthquake shacks has been stopped by city building inspectors, but not before they had been reduced to the roofs and some framing.

The historic structures, at 369 Valley St. on a steep block of Noe Valley, have been at the root of preservationist and neighborhood fights against a residential developer for more than 10 years.  According to neighbors, a building permit had been issued that required preservation of the two shacks, which were joined to form one cottage, while a single-family home behind the two shacks was approved for demolition and reconstruction. But that permit allowed only for the shacks to be lifted and moved forward on the lot, not the near-total demolition that happened before the project was red-tagged late last week.

Neighborhood preservationists who are organized enough to have a website called savetheshack.net are demanding that the shacks be reassembled using as much of the historic debris that was left on-site in the demolition as possible.

“After a 10-year struggle to preserve the cottages, we now see that our worst fears may be coming true, that the cottages may be destroyed,” said Marc Norton, a retired hotel worker who has lived across the fence from the shacks since 1984. “We always feared that the developer would destroy the cottages in the process of development and act like it was an accident. It looks like that is what happened.”

Norton said the original developer, John Schrader, who saw the project through to the permit stage, recently sold it. The new owner is not adhering to the agreed upon plan to conserve the shacks as part of the development. The violation notice posted by the Department of Building Inspection states that work is being done “that is beyond the scope of the permit.”

After the stoppage, Norton emailed Kelly Wong, enforcement officer for the planning staff, stating that “the only proper course of action is a thorough reassembly of the historic resource. Without such reassembly there is an environmental impact that cannot be mitigated.” 

The two shacks in question have been empty since the property sold in 2014. They are set back to the rear of the lot and pinned between taller residential buildings on both sides. The building at the back of the lot was unpermitted construction and was already demolished by the developer, Benjamin Steiner.  From Norton’s property, he can see the weather vane of a rooster, though that is about all that is still standing.

But the rubble from demolition is just as important.

“The debris is essential to any reassembly of the cottages,” Norton said. “We are demanding that the planning staff order the developer to leave everything as is, until a plan can be made to reassemble the cottages, under the supervision of a qualified preservation architect.”

On Friday, a next door neighbor sent photos to planning staff, complaining that the shacks were being destroyed. Agents from the Department of Building Inspection were sent out to stop work. 

The developer, Benjamin Steiner, did not respond to requests for comment Sunday. San Francisco Supervisor Rafael Mandelman, who represents the district, also did not respond to a request for comment.

Jane Cryan, a preservationist known as the Cottage Lady, estimates there are now fewer than 20 earthquake cottages left in the city out of 5,610 built in the aftermath of the 1906 earthquake and fire. She took a census in 1983 and has been fighting for the dwindling supply, even after she was priced out of the city and living in Oshkosh, Wis.

Cryan said the cottage at 369 Valley was made up of two shacks, one 10 by 14 feet and the other 14 by 18, and they were attached, as was the norm. Cryan, who has written two books on the shacks, said they were most likely hauled out of their original quake refugee camps in Precita Park and dragged up onto the 369 Valley by their owner, as was allowed once the camps closed in 1908. The third structure in the compound was built to mimic an earthquake shack but was not historic, and that’s why it was allowed to be demolished previously, she said. 

“A whole lot of people became homeowners because of these shacks being built with the idea that people who paid $2 installments on them could take them to a lot and join two or three of them together and make a cottage out of them,” said Cryan, who lived in a cluster of three shacks in the Sunset District and was able to get them declared a city landmark. Cryan said a survey mounted in 2015 identified only 43 quake cottages in the city, with two sets in Noe Valley.

“Earhquake shacks were the greatest act of charity the world has ever known, and they’ve been mowed down by developers,” she said. “They are very endangered, and it is a terrible thing the city allowed to happen in Noe Valley.”

Alice Wong, a visionary disability justice advocate whose writing helped people understand what it was like to live with a disability, died of an infection Friday at a San Francisco hospital. She was 51.

“I did not ever imagine I would live to this age and end up a writer, editor, activist and more,” Wong wrote in a posthumous message on social media. “We need more stories about us and our culture. You all, we all, deserve the everything and more in such a hostile, ableist environment.”

Wong was born with muscular dystrophy. She used a powered wheelchair and a breathing device and said doctors had not expected her to live past 18. 

Her early experiences navigating medical and social barriers shaped her life’s work — turning personal struggle into a public campaign for equity, visibility and change.

Rooted in San Francisco’s vibrant disability justice movement, Wong pushed to reshape how the Bay Area — and the nation — understood equity, spotlighting barriers to access in the city’s universities and restaurants.

When Bay Area coffee shops moved to ban paper cups, Wong told the Chronicle how the decision would burden those in the disabled community with limited mobility or decreased sensation in their hands. For them, glass and ceramic mugs were often too heavy and slippery.

Wong also worked to establish accessible resources for disabled students at UCSF, where she earned a master’s degree in medical sociology in 2004 and later worked as a staff researcher for more than a decade. 

She had moved to San Francisco in 1997 to attend the university, which at the time, she said, didn’t have any accessible places for her to live. The university built her a one-room unit in the garage of a professor’s house, Wong said in her memoir, “Year of the Tiger: An Activist’s Life.” She worked with UCSF’s Office of Student Life to change access for disabled students. 

Wong said she struggled at university and pushed off work for her classes. Around 2001, she stopped being a student before returning to finish her degree. Years later, Wong said one of her professors apologized, saying he was sorry the department hadn’t done more to support her. 

“Disabled people have resisted for millennia efforts to eliminate us and erase our culture,” Wong said in 2024 during an alternative communication research summit. “Doctors told my parents I wouldn’t live past 18, so I grew up never imagining what grownup old ass Alice would look like, and this is why visibility, being able to tell our stories and controlling our own narratives, is why I do what I do.”

The founder of the Disability Visibility Project, which collects oral histories of Americans with disabilities in conjunction with StoryCorps, Wong has been at the forefront of chronicling how COVID and its unparalleled disruption of lives and institutions have underscored challenges that disabled people have always had to live with.

Though Wong often jokingly described herself as an “angry disabled Asian girl,” she brought sharp humor and insight to her activism. In “Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories from the Twenty-First Century,” she edited authors exploring inequities within the disabled community and how society values certain bodies over others.

“There is a cyborg hierarchy,” disability activist Jillian Weise wrote. “They like us best with bionic arms and legs. They like us Deaf with hearing aids, though they prefer cochlear implants. It would be an affront to ask the Hearing to learn sign language. Instead they wish for us to lose our language, abandon our culture, and consider ourselves cured.”

Wong wrote about her own experience transforming into what she calls a cyborg in an article for Literary Hub.

“Doctors advised me to get spinal fusion surgery when I was around twelve, but I was too freaked out by the thought of it because it was a serious-ass procedure,” Wong wrote. “By eighth grade my parents told me I was near the final window for this surgery, which could improve my breathing and alleviate the deep fatigue I experienced every day. I relented — with no idea how it would turn me into a cyborg inside out.”

Wong’s achievements brought national recognition. In 2013, then-President Barack Obama selected her for a two-year seat on the National Council on Disability, which advised Congress and the president. In 2024, she received the prestigious MacArthur Foundation genius grant.

It was also the year, after decades of sharing a home with her parents, she moved into her own apartment in San Francisco with her cats, Bert and Ernie, according to the New York Times.

Wong is survived by her father, Henry, and her mother, Bobby, both immigrants from Hong Kong, as well as her sisters, Emily and Grace Wong.