“She’s loaded. You need to get to know her”..
New York Real Estate Stories #2
Mrs. P was a New York City landlady I met early in my real estate career. One day while chatting with a Hispanic landlord outside his Upper West Side townhouse a disheveled woman shuffled by us.
He whispered “She’s loaded, you really need to get to know her”.
She looked like she was broke to me but I took his word. Having just started in NYC real estate and needing apartment listings urgente I said adios to him and followed her up the block.
When I first introduced myself she just grunted. I kept yammering on about real estate until she noticed my Australian accent. Muttering something about a niece in Tasmania and without further argy bargy she agreed to let me list her only available rental apartment. It was in her own building just off Central Park and it was $10,000 a month.
Mrs P was in her 70’s I guessed. She wore a raggedy cardigan, stained floral shirt and baggy track suit bottoms. Her glasses were on crooked, her hair unkempt and a few of her front row teeth were AWOL.
‘Orright my luverly”
She had a cockney ‘Orright my luverly” accent.
The $10,000 apartment she let me list was in the Pre War building she herself lived in. It turned out she owned 6 townhouses nearby. She had inherited her Irish husband’s real estate empire. After they immigrated to the US he started buying buildings cheaply as the Upper West Side was then a bad neighborhood.
Mrs P had no management company to maintain the buildings only an accountant and her Super. He doubled as her building’s part time Doorman.
Communicating with Mrs P was always challenging. She would only answer her phone after 4 pm. Her answering machine was permanently full and didn’t accept messages. And when she did answer the phone she couldn’t hear you so you’d have to go and talk to her in person.
If I did meet her in her lobby and she ran into a tenant a screaming match would invariably occur especially if their rent was late.
Every time I talked to her I thought WTF have I got myself into? I was quickly learning New York City had more than a few certifiably insane landlords.
The apartment she let me list was a Classic 6 which in Manhattan real-estate means 2 bedrooms, living room, formal dining room and a Maid’s room.
Back then Craigslist was where you found tenants. And that’s is where I found my European diplomatic family. They applied for the apartment sight unseen from Europe based on my photos and a few phone conversations. After Mrs. P approved their application I couriered the leases to the embassy. They came back a week later with certified checks for rent and security. After delivering them to Mrs P I expected her to be pleased and to countersign the leases. Instead she moaned about having to get the apartment ready. And she was too busy to sign and told me to come back later.
I’d call each day asking for the countersigned lease but she fobbed me off by saying ‘I’m too busy’ or ‘I haven’t eaten’ or ‘call back later’. Or she just wouldn’t answer.
Move in Day
On the morning the Diplomats were moving in I staked out her lobby early. The Embassy had insisted they had to have the signed lease before the move in.
Finally she stepped out of the elevator and I noticed her right arm was bandaged and in a sling.
“Mrs P what did you do to your arm?”
“Oooo it’s ever so sore,” she moaned. “I slipped and fell. I’m in terrible pain. I won’t be able to sign the lease. Can you ask them to come back another time?” she said.
WTF? Ask them to come back another time?
WTF was she talking about? They just moved all the way from Europe they were expecting to move in today. They could not come back at ‘another time’.
Just then a moving truck appeared in front of the building. It was the Diplomat’s furniture.
“I can’t ask them to come back another time!” By now I was exasperated and sweating profusely. “Their moving truck’s outside and they’re arriving any minute.”
She insisted she couldn’t sign anything today, “My arm’s too sore.”
What was the family supposed to do I protested: “They’re expecting to move in today.”
“Tell them to go stay in a hotel, I’m not signing anything today,” was her final answer.
It was at this point I realized that Mrs. P had more than one kangaroo loose in her top paddock.
Meanwhile the movers were starting to unload the truck on the sidewalk outside the building. Panicking l went out to talk to them. They agreed to take an early lunch break but insisted they would unload the furniture afterwards.
There was no reasoning with Mrs P when she was determined to be a b.
As frantic as I was I was also hungry, so I headed to a nearby cafe for coffee and sandwich. I decided to get Mrs P a cup of tea and a toasted cheese sandwich. Maybe she’s hangry I thought.
When I got back she was still in the lobby.
“Here you go Mrs P here’s a nice cup of tea and a toasted cheese sandwich.”
Well! You’d have thought I handed her the British crown jewels! Her eyes lit up and she was actually smiling. I’d never seen her smile before. She was ecstatic.
“Ooo that’s just what I wanted! I’m starving!”
She started tucking into her toasted cheese sandwich like there was no tomorrow and with her mouth full she announced:
“My arms feeling better already. Now where are those those leases? I can sign them now.”
A few minutes later a taxi pulled up outside the building. It was the diplomats. Grabbing the keys and countersigned lease covered in toasted cheese crumbs I went out to greet them.
Handing them the lease and keys after a few pleasantries I tried to bid them good day.
But Mrs P was not done. She wanted to meet the diplomats. In person.
I had been dreading this moment. And was terrified she was going to say something that would scare the diplomats from moving into the building.
But thanks to her full belly she was on her best behavior and effusively welcomed the diplomats into the building. They looked at me as if to say who is this shabby homeless woman in the lobby of their new building?
Shrugging as if to say she’s a resident looney just humor her, I decided I’d tell them later who she really was. They left to go upstairs to see their apartment for the first time.
As I turned to leave Mrs P pulled out two crumpled checks. They were for rent and security and were the ones I gave her from the diplomats. Had they been in her pocket for two weeks?
“Ooo I better go bank these.” she cooed.
I offered to walk her to her bank a few blocks away. As we came out of her building Mrs P turned and started going through the trash cans.
“These people throw all kinds of good things out”, she said, rummaging and hoping to find some treasure. Here she was sitting on a multi million dollar real estate empire and yet she was going through the tenant’s trash.
Finding nothing she wanted we walked down the block towards the bank. Crossing the avenue some bits of paper flew out of her pockets. It was the certified checks for rent security. They were as good as cash money: $20,000 worth. Anyone could’ve cashed them. As we neared the the bank she decided it was time for lunch again even though she’d just had the toasted cheese sandwich minutes ago.
McDonald’s was her favorite restaurant. “I eat there all the time”, she said. I left her as she went in.
The morning’s drama with the diplomats was more than I could handle and I realized she had deeper issues than a couple of loose kangaroos in her top paddock. I realized she couldn’t be relied on to look after the interest of her tenants and I bowed out.
A few years later the McDonald’s she went into would be where she signed away her $100 million fortune to a gangster in a witness protection program. But that’s a whole other New York Real Estate story.
