Liberty Wells
Erika Carlsen
“I’m asking myself what does it mean to be a good ancestor to this city.” When Erika Carlsen says this, it does not sound like a campaign slogan. It sounds like a daily examination of conscience. It is the question she returns to when she walks into a Salt Lake City Council meeting, when she drafts a newsletter to District 5, when she sits with a small business owner worried about rent or zoning or survival. To understand why that question anchors her, you have to go back to Ogden.
Erika was born and raised in Ogden in a large Latino family. Community was a way of life. It was loud, layered, and constant. Her grandparents were originally from Mexico but settled first in Chicago where her mother grew up one of eleven children before the family relocated to Utah in the late 1970s. It was a home where barbecues were frequent and doors stayed open. “At my grandmother’s house, random people would just stop by, and she would invite them in and feed them,” Erika remembers. “I just thought that was the coolest thing.”
As a child, Erika was quiet but constantly observing. She watched how adults treated one another. She noticed who showed up when someone needed help. In the summers, Erika worked in her stepfather’s "tiny title company," filing papers, answering phones, taking messages in carbon-copy notebooks, correcting documents on a typewriter with white-out. At the time, it felt tedious. Now she sees something else. Growing up, she heard her parents talk about the trade-offs of small business ownership - the months when revenue dipped and stress crept in. “Well, I’ll pay my employee this month,” her stepfather would say, “but I’m not going to bring home a paycheck.” Those moments shaped her understanding of responsibility and sacrifice long before she knew she would one day serve in public office.
Another early influence came through books and film. Erika read The Autobiography of Malcolm X and watched Ghosts of Mississippi. “I grew up really loving the civil rights movement,” she says. “Just feeling a connection to movements for justice.” But another reality was unfolding quietly during those same years.
“Being a young, queer kid in Utah twenty years ago was not easy,” Erika says simply. “And being Latina.” One moment still sits with her. She was seventeen, in a park with her girlfriend. They kissed. A family nearby stared. Minutes later, a police officer approached. “We’ve received reports that you two have been indecent with each other,” he said, warning they could be ticketed. Erika was not out to her parents. Her mother worked at the courthouse. Fear took over. “We’re just friends,” she told him. That moment - the fear, the shrinking - helped convince her she could not remain in Utah.
At eighteen, Erika left for the University of San Francisco. There, she came out to her family during spring break of her freshman year. College became a laboratory for activism - immigrant rights, labor rights, organizing alongside dining hall workers. In 2005, as anti-immigrant legislation surged in Arizona, she and fellow students undertook a five-day political fast. A year later, she was selected for a fellowship that took her to Spelman College in Georgia for a summer policy institute. “That fellowship opened up my whole world.”
The fellowship also funded a study abroad program in Spain’s Basque Country. Erika took politics classes in Spanish at a university in Bilbao. It was her first time leaving the United States. One of Erika’s fondest memories came when her mother flew to visit her, and they traveled through Europe together. Her mother, who had never had the opportunity to pursue higher education herself, was suddenly walking through foreign cities beside her daughter. Erika still becomes emotional when she speaks about that trip.
After graduating in 2009, Erika entered the Coro Fellows Program in San Francisco, rotating through nonprofits, government agencies, political campaigns, labor unions, and private businesses. “We had to figure out how to work together,” she says of being paired with people whose politics were vastly different from her own. “A functioning democracy has all of those elements.” Yet something deeper tugged at her. She had studied policy, but she kept returning to the moral and spiritual foundations beneath social movements. The leaders she admired were often grounded in faith. “If I want to make change,” she realized, “maybe I start with the faith part.”
Erika applied to one program - Harvard Divinity School - and was accepted in 2012. In divinity school, she began redefining what ministry meant for her. “If you look up the definition of the word ministry, it means to be an agent or medium through which something is accomplished.” For Erika, ministry did not have to mean a church. It could mean organizational leadership. It could mean civic life. It could mean cultivating compassion in institutions that had forgotten how. Her master’s thesis explored exactly that - how to cultivate compassion in for-profit contexts and why it matters.
Upon graduation, Erika noticed Harvard did not have a Latino recognition ceremony like her undergraduate university had. So, she helped create one. Parents walked across the stage with their children - migrant farm workers, first-generation families, immigrants who had sacrificed everything. “It was just awesome,” she says. And the best part for her is that Harvard continued this tradition.
After graduation, Erika worked at the Harvard Kennedy School focusing on leadership development. Then life asked something more of her. In 2017, her aunt, who had been in the delivery room when Erika was born, went into kidney failure. Erika was a match. At thirty, she donated her kidney. “I would do it again in a heartbeat,” she says. “Hands down, best thing I’ve ever done in my whole life.” Recovery was long, and then, in 2018, her mother died of breast cancer. All those classes on death and dying became personal. “We’re all still the ages we’ve ever been,” she says now, reflecting on grief. The child in Ogden, the teenager in the park, the student in Spain, the daughter walking beside her mother through Europe, they all remain present in the woman she is today.
During the pandemic, Erika returned to Utah from San Francisco re-immersing herself in leadership development and nonprofit work, returning to the fellowship program that had once expanded her world.
In Utah, Erika bought a home in Salt Lake City’s Ballpark neighborhood. She remembered going to the farmers market with her dad, to Bees games, seeing her first Pride flag and realizing there might be space for her here after all. And, when the Bees prepared to leave the neighborhood, she organized. That organizing led neighbors like Missy Greis of Publik to encourage her to run for District 5 City Council. She said no at first. Then she said yes. Now, one month into her term in 2026, Erika represents Ballpark, Liberty Wells, and the 9th and 9th area. She helps to approve the city budget, hosts City Budget 101 workshops, champions small businesses, and is launching a Neighbors in Action campaign to highlight residents who quietly make their blocks better.
Erika understands her work, and her life, as a conduit for something larger than herself. “My faith and spiritual orientation deeply guide how I show up.” When asked what has shaped her most - beyond policy, beyond titles, beyond office - she does not hesitate. "It is my family. It is my community. It is the example of sacrifice that I watched growing up and the love that I received."
Kathia Dang
“I thrive best in an environment where I’m the stage handler. I love setting up the stage props, pulling back the curtains, and letting the businesses, who are the performers and the true stars of this block, take the spotlight.” Kathia Dang, the Milk Block / Liberty Wells developer, says this easily, almost instinctively, as if it has always been her role. Sitting with her husband, Sam Sleiman, and their son, Michael, it becomes clear that this philosophy is not just about design or development. It is how she lives. She creates space. She listens. She builds quietly, with care, and then steps back so others can be seen.
Kathia’s story begins in Saigon, now Ho Chi Minh City, where she spent her earliest years in what she remembers as a good life. That sense of stability was abruptly interrupted when she was five years old. Her family had to flee Vietnam just days before the fall of Saigon. In 1975, they moved through a series of temporary stops and refugee camps before eventually arriving in Utah. When Kathia speaks about that period now, she does so without bitterness. Instead, she speaks with perspective, shaped largely by watching her mother navigate loss and responsibility with strength and resolve.
Her mother worked constantly, holding the family together and creating a sense of forward motion even when circumstances were uncertain. Kathia learned early to focus on what was possible rather than what was lost. That outlook became foundational. “I try to focus on all the positive things that happen in my life,” she said. “I have so many good things.” It is not a denial of hardship, but a choice about how to move through it.
That positive way of seeing the world showed up early in creative ways. Curious by nature, Kathia would take things apart and put them back together just to see how a mechanism functions. She revels in finding solutions, sometimes the “MacGyver” way, but it works. Kathia begins a project by picturing the final finished product. From there, she works backwards. “It’s satisfying to create something that I’ve designed in my head and bring it to life for others to enjoy.”
Kathia’s grandmother could stand back and guess within inches of accuracy the dimensions of a room. This talent for spatial awareness was inherited by Kathia who started designing spaces for her own businesses. This moved into work for clients, before investing in real estate, and eventually construction and commercial development.
As a child, Kathia designed her own Barbie houses, imagining spaces that felt more authentic to her than the bright, packaged versions sold in stores. “I love color, I just never liked ‘Barbie pink.’” Her room was always evolving. Kathia laughed as she remembered cutting up her mother’s old stoles, and turning them into tiny rugs, costumes, and fashion pieces. Even then, she was reshaping what existed into something that felt more personal and more thoughtful.
Sam’s story carries a similar thread of resilience, though shaped by a different geography. He grew up in Beirut, Lebanon, and left home at sixteen, navigating life first in Paris and later in Dubai before coming to the United States to study. When he speaks about those years, he does not romanticize them. “For me, it was survival,” he said. Without mentors or a safety net, he learned to rely on his own judgment, to adapt, and to keep moving forward. That quiet self-reliance remains part of who he is today. With his strong conviction to overcome hardships, he is a self-made man, with a successful career in wealth management.
Kathia is the visionary behind the real estate side of the family business, while Sam prefers to remain behind the scenes, steady and supportive, fully invested without needing recognition. Watching them together, it is clear they are true partners - in life, in work, and in the long view of what they are creating.
Michael grew up inside that environment. Curious, thoughtful, and observant, he was surrounded by conversations about space, construction, and possibility. Construction crews were a normal presence in his childhood, whether at home or at one of Kathia’s projects. Architecture, design, and the built environment were not abstract ideas, they were lived experiences.
After high school, Michael left Utah to attend the University of Washington in Seattle, where he studied real estate development as part of the College of Built Environments program. The coursework brought together architecture, urban planning, construction, and design - disciplines that felt familiar, even if he did not fully recognize it at first. Like many young people, he did not arrive knowing exactly what he wanted to do, but the foundation had already been laid.
After graduating, Michael returned to Salt Lake City to work alongside his mother. With still a great deal left to learn, he shadowed Kathia, absorbing as much as he could. He is slowly taking over many of the day-to-day responsibilities. Kathia believes Michael’s greatest superpower is his ability to say less and listen more intently. This skill serves him in tenant support and problem solving - helping ensure that the spaces they have built continue to function smoothly once the construction dust settles. He spoke about wanting tenants to feel cared for, about addressing issues before they become problems, and about rejecting the traditional notion of a distant landlord. Kathia does not even like the word landlord. She sees herself as a builder of community, and Michael has absorbed that approach fully.
At the center of their shared work is the Milk Block - a project that represents years of persistence, patience, and belief. The site included an old neighborhood market building, originally constructed in 1942, that had long since lost its original purpose. Rather than tearing it down, Kathia and Sam chose to bring it back to life, reimagining it while preserving its history. That building now anchors the block - restored and ready to serve the neighborhood once again. “We wanted to make sure that we replace it with an adaptive reuse, which, of course, is a grocery store. And not just any grocery store; it’s going to be the Wasatch Food Co-op, which has been in the making for over fifteen years.” The hope is that it will open in the spring of 2026.
Building the Milk Block was not easy. The process stretched over years and required navigating extensive city approvals, neighborhood concerns, and the realities of constructing within a largely residential area. Kathia spoke openly about the resistance they faced and the concessions they made: shrinking the footprint of the new construction, adjusting plans to reduce congestion, and prioritizing walkability and connection to the Nine Line trail. For her, building a community meant listening to residents as much as future tenants.
The new addition, completed in 2025, anchors one side of the block and mirrors the footprint of the adjacent Manoli building, creating balance and continuity. Together, the buildings frame a space that now feels cohesive, and distinctly a part of the neighborhood. The Milk Block does not exist in isolation. It ties together 9th and 9th, the stretch of Liberty Wells along 900 South, and the 900 block of the Maven District, creating a recognizable destination where previously there had been gaps.
At the end of 2025, Milk Block is home to a mix of small businesses - many of them first-time brick-and-mortar owners - alongside longtime neighborhood favorites. Equality Utah has also found a home for their headquarters on the block. Kathia and Sam were deeply involved in making these openings possible, often offering concessions, build outs, and support to help businesses take that leap. Many of the leases were negotiated and signed before construction began. For Kathia, success is not just filling spaces but ensuring that the people inside these spaces have a real chance to thrive.
As Kathia talks about Milk Block now, there is relief, pride, and a sense of quiet accomplishment. The work was hard, the process long, but the result reflects exactly what she set out to do - create a place where others can shine. “I’m so grateful Michael moved back to help me see this project to the finish line. He’s been my greatest constant this past year.” Michael spoke about the joy of walking into those businesses now, seeing them full of people, knowing he had a hand in helping bring them to life, and just as importantly, knowing he can step back and let them belong fully to the community.
At its core, this is a family story. A woman who learned early how to rebuild and imagine. A man who understands the value of steadiness and support. A son who carries those values forward with humility and care. Together, they have created something lasting - not just buildings, but a shared space shaped by generosity, patience, and belief in the people who will fill it.
And true to Kathia’s words, they have done it by setting the stage, pulling back the curtain, and letting others sing. As she says, “Two people came to this country displaced, and made a life for ourselves, and we built it together. We raised our kids, and now we built a block and share it with our Milk Block family. All are welcome here.”
Margaret Coppin
“The thing that stands out when you say, ‘what do you want people to know about Liberty Wells?’ It is… that it exists. We have our own unique vibe and character that is different than other communities here in Salt Lake City.” For Margaret Coppin, that “unique vibe” is not an abstract idea. It is the sound of kids racing through the splash pad in Liberty Park, the sight of brick bungalows framed by mountain views, and the steady hum of small businesses along 900 South. As chair of the Liberty Wells Community Council, she spends much of her “free time” ensuring that this corner of Salt Lake remains a place where history, everyday life, and the future share the same streets.
Margaret grew up in Washington State. Despite her childhood in the Pacific Northwest, Margaret never felt like an outsider here. Her story has always circled back to Utah. Both of her parents are multigenerational Utahns; her father was born at Holy Cross Hospital, just up the road from where she lives today. “We come from Mormon pioneer heritage,” she said. When he retired, the family moved back because “he wanted to take care of his family.”
After graduating from high school in Utah, Margaret enrolled at Utah State University, majoring in political science. She finished college in 2001 and moved to Salt Lake, sharing an apartment with a friend in Marmalade.
A political science degree often leads to campaigns or public policy work, but Margaret took another path. “So, I majored in political science, and I’m now actually the chief quality officer at ARUP Laboratories,” she said with a small smile. She knew early on that she did not want to go into politics, yet she longed for a way to tap into the civic interests that had inspired her as a student.
That “something” turned out to be community. The skills Margaret uses in her professional life - facilitating meetings, staying organized, thinking in systems - now quietly shape her work at the Liberty Wells Community Council. "As far as the relation of what I do for the council and what I do for my job, very, very little overlaps. This is definitely my side gig.”
Salt Lake is also where she built her home life. Margaret met her husband “the old-fashioned way, at a bar.” They bought their first house in Liberty Wells in 2007, “right before the market collapsed,” married in 2010, and moved into a second Liberty Wells home in 2012. “No kids, two cats,” she said with a laugh. The two of them bike nearly everywhere - to the farmer’s market, up to Sugar House for dinner - simply because it is easy. “We love this neighborhood. We will always have a home in Liberty Wells. I can’t imagine moving away from here.”
Margaret’s path into community work began at her front doorstep. “I live kind of across the street, sort of diagonal to where a historic LDS church building used to be. It was called the Wells Ward, built in 1919.” Although she is not an active member of the LDS Church, she admired the building’s craftsmanship. In 2019, it underwent a meticulous restoration; months later, the earthquake of March 2020 damaged it severely.
“I started attending the community council meeting to try to understand the council’s role in advocating for these spaces.” Margaret said. She hoped the church might restore it or sell it to someone who would. “Unfortunately, that ended up being kind of a fool’s errand. They considered it unsafe. And it just was heartbreaking to see.” A devastating fire eventually sealed its fate.
But the loss drew Margaret into public life. Those early meetings as a concerned neighbor turned into her joining the board. By late 2025, she had served three years and now chairs the all-volunteer, nine-member council recognized by the city as the voice of Liberty Wells.
Liberty Wells is a neighborhood with a long, layered story. In pioneer days, this part of the valley was known as “the Big Yard” - farmland and orchards that supplied the growing city. Just up the street from Margaret’s home stands the Wilford Woodruff House and farm, once considered the edge of town. As the city expanded, Liberty Wells became what she calls “the first suburb of Salt Lake City.” They used to have a trolley system that ran through the city. The farthest point south it would go was in Liberty Wells. This was the connector for people living in the suburbs to the city. With the trolley came rows of modest brick bungalows built in the early 1900s. Margaret’s own house, built in 1914, resembles a mail-order kit home - typical floor plan, straightforward materials, and timeless charm.
Beneath the neighborhood runs water. “One of the reasons I think it’s called Liberty Wells is there are all sorts of wells underground." The artesian well at 800 South and 500 East sits just outside the council boundary, and a spring inside Liberty Park still serves as a favorite watering stop for runners and cyclists.
At the heart of the area sits Liberty Park, the oldest park in Utah. “It still looks very much like it did in the 1800s. They had the foresight to set all of this aside for public space, green space, open space.” As development presses in, Margaret and neighboring councils work tirelessly to preserve its openness, views, and historic feel. Everyone agrees that it is important to have vast expanses of grass and trees. “Again, we like being able to walk the park, seeing Lone Peak, Mount Olympus, and Grandeur Peak from Lake Liberty. And we don’t want to obstruct those views.”
This balance between growth and character also guides the council’s approach throughout Liberty Wells. Duplexes and triplexes have long been part of the neighborhood’s fabric, often blending so seamlessly that visitors hardly notice. “I think sometimes community councils can get a little bit of a bad rap. Many say we’re just against any type of progress or development. And that is truly not the case. We just want to honor the spirit of this community while balancing that development.”
One of the most visible examples is the parcel at 1300 South and State Street. For years, neighbors watched Coachman’s Café close, the surrounding strip mall come down, and the vintage Coachman sign remain standing - an icon waiting for its next chapter. Today, with new family members inheriting the property, Margaret remains hopeful the sign and perhaps the building will be preserved.
A different challenge came when out-of-state developers proposed a 300-unit apartment complex with major up-zoning. “The community really came out and voiced concerns.” Eventually, the developers withdrew. A new group proposed something far more compatible: roughly 150 townhomes, more green space, two-story height limits, and internal parking. “And that feels like a win.”
That win reflects a broader truth - the fabric of Liberty Wells is woven not only from historic homes and parks, but from its small, locally owned businesses. Margaret lights up when she talks about 900 South - its coffee shops, bakeries, restaurants, potters, nail salons, and vintage storefronts. “I think that’s another thing that’s so great about this area. These locally owned businesses.” Residents can stroll over for coffee, pick up a gift, or take a class. “People want destinations close to home. It’s wonderful to have more housing, but without nearby places that draw people in, you are not really fostering a walkable community.”
Margaret is especially proud of what is happening at the old Milk Block on 400 East; developer Kathia Dang has chosen adaptive reuse over demolition, restoring the warehouse and filling it with local businesses - including the long-awaited Wasatch Food Co-op. “Just not something you would hear from a developer normally,” Margaret said. “All of these are local businesses owned by local people.”
But Margaret is clear-eyed about the challenges. Even successful shops struggle with rising rents and national economic pressures. “I think some of it also is just being able to have policies on the city level that really support and foster these local business owners. I believe that small businesses are the spirit of the community. The fabric of the city, for sure.”
Another concern is homelessness in and around Liberty Park. Margaret speaks with realism and compassion. “I’m sympathetic that housing costs are forcing people into homelessness.” She does not believe in pushing unhoused people out of sight, yet she cannot ignore the public health issues that arise in parks and alleyways.
Her council hosts semiannual cleanups near the former Seven Canyons fountain. “In the last year or so, it’s sort of changed more from cleaning up the leaves to cleaning up trash debris including needles and bottles.” The council is now even considering requesting volunteers to sign waivers due to safety concerns. Clearing encampments simply shifts people elsewhere. She acknowledges that this is not a sustainable solution. Long-term housing, she believes, must be part of the answer.
When asked what she considers her greatest achievement as chair, Margaret does not point to a single project. She points to connection. “The biggest thing that we do as a council is really just connecting folks who care about their community with what’s going on in the community.” She values the moments when community feedback truly shapes development. But her deepest pride is reserved for Liberty Wells itself - for the neighbors who may not realize that they live in a place with its own name, identity, and story.
Margaret issues a quiet invitation to anyone who feels discouraged by the headlines. A small volunteer board may not wield much power, but it carries real influence when neighbors speak up together. Many people feel distressed about national or state politics; her advice is to redirect that energy toward what is right outside their door - the parks, the businesses, the streets, the people. “We may be small, but when we get involved in hyper-local city politics and city government, that’s where our voice can really be heard. This is where we can make a difference and protect what we all love about living here.”
Liberty Wells Businesses
