Empty Nests

NovaStar says the coalition's charges are baseless. In court papers, the company said its actions were based on legitimate business reasons: It avoided Baltimore rowhouses because they had abnormally high instances of mortgage fraud; writing loans on Indian reservations was "like lending in a foreign nation"; and it stayed away from adult-care facilities because of its policy of not making loans to purchase commercial-use property.

On June 21, NovaStar agreed to pay $5.1 million to resolve the class-action suit in Washington state. Approximately 1,600 borrowers will receive a settlement. "By winning this lawsuit, we hit them where it hurts — in the pocket," said one of the borrowers, Larry Brown, at a press conference.

In a statement, NovaStar said it settled the case to avoid paying further legal costs. The company said the broker fees ("yield spread premiums," in industry parlance) were appropriately disclosed and standard practice. On June 29, the lawyers who represented the Washington borrowers filed a similar suit against NovaStar in San Francisco.

Meanwhile, the subprime-lending default machine continues to grind. Four days after the settlement was announced, NovaStar turned over residences in Grandview and on the east side of Kansas City, Missouri, to its auction house. The newspapers are late.

It's 2:30 a.m. Gary Butcher has parked his Honda Odyssey at the warehouse near Nieman and Shawnee Mission Parkway where he picks up 600 editions of The Kansas City Star every morning. "It never fails," he says. "I get here early, and they're not here."

Butcher is wearing a T-shirt and denim shorts. Sitting in his van, he tries to tune in a St. Joseph radio station that plays old-time radio shows — his favorite is Challenge of the Yukon. Other drivers kill the wait with cigarettes and gossip.

Butcher has been delivering papers for six years. He used to work at FedEx but quit when his hours changed. Most of his subscribers live around old Shawnee. He took on a second route when he began seeing more of his original subscribers in the obituaries. (Earlier this year, Butcher contacted an apartment manager after noticing that one of his elderly subscribers hadn't picked up the previous day's paper. Police found the 86-year-old man, who lived alone, lying on his bedroom floor. The Star wrote a story about Butcher's alertness. The old man, who was suffering from pneumonia, died a week later.)

Today is Monday, an easy day. The paper is small, and Butcher doesn't have the children with him. On nights when Tracey works the 6 p.m. to 6 a.m. shift, he loads the kids into car seats for a ride along the delivery route. "They usually just sleep," he says.

Butcher can finish his route in about three hours. He wraps the papers in rubber bands as he drives and flings them out both front windows. He keeps an eye out for nocturnal creatures and police officers who like to ticket rolling stops.

Before the bankruptcy, Butcher took classes at Johnson County Community College. He planned to become a teacher. That's all on hold now. When Greta, the youngest, starts school, Butcher would like to find a different job. The circulation masters at the Star, he says, "haven't given any raises in I don't know how long."

Cruising down a dark and quiet Johnson Drive, Butcher says he's had an easier time than his wife when it comes to dealing with the loss of their home.

"My wife, she wants a house," Butcher says. "I don't really care — less work for me. It's kind of a blessing in disguise."

At least this way, there's no grass to mow.