On midday, Saturday, a woman huffed sharply into the receiver as soon as I said hello. She seemed prepped to leave a biting a voice mail and even more offended that someone answered the phone.
“Yes, I am a concerned resident of the Hyde Park area and I was calling about you not providing water to tenants.”
“Not providing water?”
“Yes, you’ve shut the water off on your tenants and I want you to know that I work with tenant-rights groups and we want to know when you will shut the water back on.”
The woman’s tone was stern, eagerly unnerved and ready for battle. There was an air to the phrases “we” and “Hyde Park area;” intended punctuations for the resume that was also her assured, threatening and authoritative position; for to live in Hyde Park, to be a resident there and to speak in a polished American accent says a few things about you and about what you are capable of.
“One moment please.” I grabbed a pen and paper. “And your name, miss?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
“I am a concerned resident.”
“Surely a concerned resident wouldn’t have hesitation to provide a first and last name as well as a number as to where we can return your call?”
Silence. Scoff. “What you are doing is illegal.”
“Miss. I’m sorry, but I think you have been ill-informed. Who gave you this information?”
“A tenant in your building!” By this point, her huffing had grown into a high pitched shrill.
I also felt my temperature rise, but more so in the defense of my character and what I was being accused of.
“Which tenant?”
Yet, before she gave a name (and she did refuse to give any name, including her own), I already knew: Unit 208. The same unit that called just hours before impersonating a City of Chicago Official (A misdemeanor by the State of Illinois) and who called a few hours before that demanding a hotel voucher.
The interesting thing about unit 208, is that this unit is inhabited by a ghost. Unit 208 is supposedly vacant.
30 days ago, when the 20-unit complex was acquired, the rent roll ledger showed 208 as totally unoccupied. However, the previous management company refused to give a final tour before closing and as we struggled to get acclimated, we came to eventually discover: somewhere; somehow a woman with two children stumbled upon the empty space, entered the unit without permission, changed the locks, assumed the utility bills and presided residency. We were unclear for how long she inhabited the space, but a more compelling question arose: How did she know that particular unit was empty and how did she get inside?
One of these answers requires a felony.
“I think you have been mis-informed,” I aimed to speak as slowly and methodically as possible. “We did shut off the water. However, the shut off was engaged by the City of Chicago in response to a severe sewer blockage that, if left on, would send gallons of raw sewage flooding back into the building. We have notified all tenants to evacuate, and we will work out credits for hotel stays as technicians (now over 48 hours into the problem) work to fix the emergency issue. Yet, if the person you are calling on behalf of did not receive notification, it is because we do not have them as an occupant on our tenant roster. Are you sure you are calling for someone who has rights to this property?”
She Paused. “Well, I tend to believe the tenants and not the landlords.” She retorted, still clutched tightly to her stance, but now with a sense of reluctance.
I closed my eyes and nodded. “Yes. Of course. And this is the narrative we aim to confront.”
I wished the woman a good day and ended the call.
Like many issues we face, there are good and bad on both sides of the housing spectrum. Not Surprisingly, Chicago’s Landlord Tenant Ordinance (RLTO) is in response to a long and brutal history of abuse against poor and disenfranchised renters. Prior to the ordinance, large and wealthy landlords illegally evicted tenants by locking them out and stealing their belongings. They kept buildings in uninhabitable and unsanitary conditions, which (at times) brought about sickness, disease, fires or even death. Many of these offenses (though less severe) carry on today. Landlords, both big and small, conduct or fail to conduct activities that bring about the label “Slum Lord.”
Nonetheless, with a history of abuse, commensurate of high-density, urban cities, it has become almost knee jerk for advocate groups to be on the side of tenants. Furthermore, as the fight for fair housing continues, when in doubt of a side to defend, often the safer side is seemingly that of the disadvantaged.
However, the good side and the bad side are no longer clear cut. After the great depression of the 1930’s, individuals began seeing home ownership as a hedge against uncertainties. By 1960’s President Dwight D. Eisenhower signed legislation bringing favor to REIT’s and by 1980, more and more individuals began seeing real estate as an investment option toward brighter futures. According to realtor.com, Small or “mom-and-pop” investors—those who purchase 10 homes or fewer—have grown from 48% of all investor-purchased homes in 2013 to more than 60% in 2018 and it is in this space where the old-time narratives of “big bad” landlords vs. tenants get blurred.
Many landlords of today work full time jobs and use their investments for retirements or college funds. On the contrary, some take advantage of tenants, avoid making repairs, raise rents unnecessarily and squeeze tenants to the point of near poverty for the sake of maximizing their profits. Some tenants have respectful relationships with housing providers and move on to home ownership. Some prey upon unsuspecting landlords; developing fraudulent, squatting rackets and cooperatives with predatory attorneys whose primary business is cleaning the life savings out of newbie investors.
As a management and consultation firm, we stand in the middle of that narrative, on both the side of the landlord and the tenant. More so, we do this with one simple goal in mind: to find the “Win / Win”. Beyond that goal, is a healthy and knowledgeable transition through housing into a place of everyone’s personal comfort level. Those who want to become owners one day, should own. Those who wish to travel the globe with no anchors or ties, should roam. We constantly seek: How can this be achieved in the best interest of public welfare? Ultimately, safety and prosperity are key principals, and we believe that by placing these accomplishments before the bottom line, the future benefits are far more rewarding.
Yet, in this case, 208 was involved in a four-unit narcotic distribution center and this directly violates the safety aspect of our win/win foundation. While making the effort to repair the building’s aged plumbing system and dismantle the trafficking, the building monitoring cameras were stolen; all the entrance door locks were smashed, and the hallways became littered with trash in rebellion.
It will get much worse before it gets better. And we may lose several good tenants in the battle to reclaim the building. At the time, the ban on evictions (while enacted to protect against the spread of COVID-19) opened the doors to a slew of counteractive frauds and blocked efforts to remove illicit activities. Without cameras, proof for an emergency eviction was nearly impossible.
Yet, one day, as we were surveying the building with security, tabulating our losses, and strategizing new repairs; one elderly woman, upon seeing the face of new management, came from her apartment, clasped my hand in her own shaking grasp, and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Thank you.” She whispered. Her eyes darting to the unit that had turned the building upside down in the past six months. “Thank You.”
The curious case of 208 may be, perhaps, only one of several distribution centers along the infamous 79th Street commercial corridor, affectionately dubbed as “Death Row” by local residents. When we agreed to co-manage the building, colleagues, friends and family members echoed identical responses. Are you crazy?
Maybe.
Yet, in our quest to build safe and equitable housing, the need for understanding was greater than having a prided portfolio along the Gold Coast. I wondered: How does a four-unit drug ring flourish in a building that has cameras and a management company? How do co-residents cope; living in fear and compliance? How does crime continually persist beyond police and political efforts? Could there be some level of illegal cooperation by previous management companies and owners?
When I was initially asked to take the project on, I was uncertain. But the elderly woman convinced me of something: If I didn’t do it, someone else would … and what might they allow?
Cole’s ambition toward more fair and equitable housing is the driving force behind their projects.