Proper way to toss a Board of Managers: Not to be confused with tossing your salad shooter.

The original Board of Managers of Wyckoff Lots were voted out at 2008 Annual meeting by a well  solicited blindsided proxy campaign blitz and a few irate owners present at the meeting. The author being the engine of this change was not at the meeting to gloat and watch eyeballs pop.

Please note this blog entry is an incomplete accounting of the true events leading to the ouster of the former Board of Managers. In order to fully appreciate the events, readers will have to wait for the publishing of my book. But below is a sample of the inanity that transpired and I would like to introduce some of the cast of characters in this opera buffa.

 Original Board of Managers:

Cast: Dutch Boy, Mr. Softee Hater, Gulf of Tonkin Dude, Crazy Church Lady, Ahab (author)

Dutch boy: former Board President

Benelux émigré, speaks softly with annoying accent but carries a big ego. Featured on MTV “Cribs” series boasting about living in a cardboard box as his only prior real estate experience. Wannabe leader of the band.

Dress: Often seen sporting paramilitary style jackets of dubious regimental provenance and standard hipster blue or black pro keds.

Management Style: nervously twitches one pro ked sitting cross legged, says very little in meetings then rattle and hums off email missiles challenging others while cloaked behind an ancient roman Imperial Scutum similar to a modern titanium power book Mac. Not to be confused with the more liberal Republican Scutum.

Signature Managerial Move: traded in his Mac Powerbook for a Blackberry Pearl thereby avoiding the need to finish any email thread.

Note: when he could no longer afford to pay for the Blackberry he cleverly maintained the ruse by manually typing in his email signature “Sent via BlackBerry from Cingular Wireless,” ruse was up when ATT acquired Cingular shortly thereafter.

The Sympathy Card Project

The Sympathy Card Project

Cast of Characters:

Moby- Building’s Super

Crazy Church Lady– resident on the first floor wishing everyone happiness and religion until you disagree with her.

Eunuch-crazy church lady’s husband

Mr. Softee Hater-first floor resident and original board member at the time. Gained fame by hating on the Mr. Softee Truck via email to the rest of the building barely a week after moving in.

Egg Harvester– woman next door pushing age forty and desiring to keep her eggs on ice till Mr. Right comes along and does a Han Solo on them.

Around November of 2007, Moby’s mother passed away. Most of us in the building had no idea he had a mother or that she was sick and died. That the building’s super had a mother, most of us had no idea how to even process this fact.

Hello everyone ,

FYI, Moby just informed me that his mother passed away yesterday and he will be traveling to Puerto Rico for the funeral. He will leave tomorrow. He told me he would delegate his duties to LuLu for a couple of days.

Thanks,

Mr. Softee Hater (Board Member)

 

Nobody knew who LuLu was or is. Still. But immediately after Softee hater’s email came the condolence card idea and attempt number one.

Crazy Church Lady:

Hi again everyone,

For those of you who would like to send a formal message of condolence: Mr. Moby Unit #1R Brooklyn, NY 11237

ccl

Since not one unit owner responded, she must have taken this to mean we did not understand the situation. What reasons would people have to not console this man?

Condolence card attempt number two.

Crazy Church Lady

Dear Neighbors, We have the card for Mr. Moby, if anyone would like to sign (you are more than welcome to sign even without a monetary gift.) We’re thinking since Moby has already left for Puerto Rico there isn’t any rush; we believe he’s due back by Monday, if not before. Anyway, feel free to drop by any evening after 5pm; on the weekends you may catch us during the day as well.

Feel free to give us a call if you want to make sure.

Thanks for being such beautiful people

ccl

 

Ten days later, the beautiful people of Wyckoff Lofts still did not care. Condolence card attempt number three.

 Crazy Church Lady:

Dear Neighbors,

Mr. Moby has informed me that he has not received the sympathy card which was sent on behalf of building residents well over a week and a half ago. And so, in case some of you may be wondering why he hasn’t given a return note of thanks, it’s because he didn’t know fully about the outpour of care and concern.

Anyway, I’ll be following up with the postal service to try to trace the card’s whereabouts.

Have a Blessed Thanksgiving.

ccl

 

So I quickly get an email from my neighbor.

Did she actually mail the card? He lives right  next door… That’s silly.

Egg Harvester

The issue should have ended at this point since nobody expected Moby to write thank you cards. We don’t believe he can write. But it gets better.

Crazy Church Lady;

Hi All, Just want to let you know:

1. The sympathy card for Mr. Moby was not sent certified and therefore cannot be traced.

2. There is still a chance that it will be returned.

3. Eunuch and I will replace the card and the funds collected if it is not returned.

4. If we do have to replace the card we’ll let you know so those of you who wanted to contribute will be able to.

It’s possible that I may have contributed to this problem because:

1. I sent the card with both a check and a small amount of cash enclosed.

2. Maybe I didn’t put the right address?

3. Maybe I didn’t put a stamp on it?

Anyway, we will not rest until there is a card of sympathy in the hands of Mr. Moby from the beautiful people of our little residential community.

Have a bright day!.

ccl

Three attempts to send a condolence card to a person living in the adjacent building. Given the strangeness of this woman and her insanity, it would seem her attempt at kindness would at most be benign. But the real and relative issue is that this woman would soon be appointed to the Board of Managers, and her inability to send a piece of mail directly next door is a glimpse of what is to come once seated in a leadership position.

But the issue did not die there with her admitted incompetence. When all forms of rationalizing poor judgment fails, invent a conspiracy theory and deflect your own stupidity.

Crazy Church Lady:

Dear All,

It was brought to my attention by a concerned resident, the belief that there seems to be some evidence of mail tampering going on in our building; at least 3 residents have attested to finding opened or partially opened mail on more than a few occasions (and I still have not seen head nor tail of Mr. Moby’s sympathy card).

In any event, this concerned neighbor of ours has already filed a postal complaint, and is suggesting that any past, present or future victim do the same to report any incident: the # given is 1 800 275-8777.

May your day be Bright,

ccl

See, it is not her fault she couldn’t mail a letter properly, some nefarious forces aligned against her. What kind of nonsense do you think this woman would be up to once firmly ensconsed on the Board of Managers?

Plenty to come.

The Dream of Home Ownership

Three years ago I joined the ranks of the propertied class of home ownership in New York City. I was overjoyed with the prospect of a condo in a one-hundred-year-old converted factory building with a short train ride to  and from the wonderful and up-and-coming neighborhood of Bushwick.

My sense of community was in overdrive. I had previously e-mailed with a few of my future neighbors during a first walk-through and came away thrilled thinking I was part of such a smart mindset.

The initial encounters and meetings with other co-owners, some of whom would become the elected board members of this amazing building, were positive. The fun-loving bridge-builder in my personality was shining through and my sense of hope for all of our futures in this lucrative investment was at an all-time high.

The one element I had not counted on was that this gainful venture happened right at the height of the madness of the real estate bubble. I began to encounter individuals, now elected with my backing, making major decisions on my property–people who had no previous ownership experience or even the ability to read a property tax bill. Every new owner here was a former renter who felt empowered and worse qualified simply because they easily obtained a sub-prime loan and now possessed a deed to real property.

The real conflicts began over a split amongst the owners regarding the employment of our super, someone who was acknowledged as being not only unqualified but whose character and actions and sobriety were frequently challenged. Since this is a small building, the super plays a large role in our daily lives.

Complaints from many owners were filed, but no changes were made to terminate his employment. By keeping an employee of his questionable caliber on staff and creating an unsafe environment for us all, we were all in fact personally liable to any of his possible future misdeeds.

The diplomat in me communicated time and again that “this was not a place for politics.” Reminding board members that their decisions “played with people’s lives and budgets,” and that “this place is run for the benefit of the owners and not the employee’s.” I used all channels available to me to bring about change, and was growing frustrated and angry that one man was single-handedly destroying all of our original hopes, expectations and possibly eroding our long-term investment.

I began to see “transference” in its full effect. Instead of dealing with the true problem at hand, I became the easy target. Simply put, the way to make this problem go away was to silence the messenger: Me. But I wasn’t going away, and I vowed to see this to the end and had rallied a majority of owners to proxy their votes at the annual meeting and vote out the initial board members with the hopes of restoring order and sanity.

There were and still remain times that I no longer recognized myself through my actions.

My confrontations with hostile co-owners defending an indefensible employee were dark reflections of our humanity as a community. I was now militantly detailing all our super’s mistakes, hyper-focusing in a militant Nazi-like fashion in the hopes of finally having this chapter behind us.

I resented what I had become and the role I had been forced to play; and worked tirelessly to find a suitable replacement so that I could go regain my initial peace of mind and easygoing temperament.

Unfortunately, the nightmare continues …out here in Wyckoff Lofts … 9 Stops Out

From Bagehot to Bushwick

At particular times a great deal of stupid people have a great deal of stupid money (bankers and lenders)……At intervals….the money of these people—the blind capital of the country—is particularly large and craving; it seeks for someone to devour it (over leveraged potential homeowners), and there is “plethora”; its finds someone (people who overpaid and should have never purchased to begin with) and there is “speculation” ; it is devoured, and there is “panic.”

walter bagehot (Feb. 1826-March 1877)

Nine Stops Out. A three year odyssey of a factory loft condo conversion in Bushwick and the madness of the real estate bubble.

Combine the good fortune, luck and genius of a few of developers and realtors with many inexperienced buyers and you have a recipe for disaster. Witness the American dream of home ownership become a nightmare when incompetent elected board members believe a sub-prime loan and a deed is all you need to manage not just your own real estate, but others.

9 Stops Out, the novel. Coming Fall 2010, snippets soon to be published