Real Music & Real Estate . . .

Yiddishe Cup’s bandleader, Bert Stratton, is Klezmer Guy.
 

He knows about the band biz and – check this out – the real estate biz too. So maybe he’s really Klezmer Landlord.
 

You may not care about the real estate biz. Hey, you may not care about the band biz.  (See you.)
 

This is a blog with a gamy twist. It features tenants with snakes and skunks, and musicians with smoked fish in their pockets.
 

Stratton is an occasional contributor to the New York Times, the Times of Israel, the Cleveland Plain Dealer and City Journal. He won two Hopwood Awards.


 
 

YOUR MANAGER TRIED TO KILL ME

Mr. Shuck said the tenant above him was running a big fan on the floor and keeping him up all night.  It was November.  Why would anybody have a fan on?

I thought, “Shuck is out of work and has too much time on his hands.  Forget about it.”

Shuck called: “I was pressing my arms over my ears so hard to block the noise, it took the muscle off the bone by my upper arm.”

“Have you tried earplugs?” I said.

“I had tubes in my ears as a child.  I’m not sticking anything foreign in my ears.”

“I’ll look into this.”

“I’ve lost hundreds of hours of sleep over this. Look into this!”

I called the tenant upstairs.  She did have a fan — a box fan on the floor. She said she would place it higher off the floor.  I said, “You need physical space between the fan and the floor.” Matter settled.

Not settled. Shuck called again. “They’re literally stomping in the apartment above me.  I’m having palpitations right fucking now!  I’m calling the police.  Your manager won’t do anything.  I’m having a heart attack.  If I die, it’s on your head.”  (A Browns party was going on upstairs.)

Shuck lived.  He called and said his bathtub was backed up, and he mentioned the manager had threatened to kill him.

I said, “I’ll get the plumber on the bathtub right away. I’ll call the plumber.”

“The plumber is in my apartment right now!” Shuck said.  “He woke me up.  I have contusions on my legs and have had to sponge bathe for four weeks because the tub didn’t work.”

“Four weeks?” I said.

“Also, your manager stole money from me.”

“How much?”

“Five dollars.”

Five dollars?  Why so little?  “Your tub was down four weeks?” I said.

“Your manager tried to kill me.”

I know.  OK.  “When?”

“Three years ago. She tried to force me to drink a beer.  I’m a recovering alcoholic.”

“We’ll have the bathtub fixed right away.”

“Somebody is tampering with my mailbox.  That’s a federal offense.”

There was a noisy fan above Shuck.

“Shuck” is a pseudonym.

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3 comments

1 Marc Adler { 11.19.14 at 2:24 pm }

Do you offer psychological counseling to your tenants?

2 Bert Stratton { 11.19.14 at 2:41 pm }

To Marc Adler:

Nope. I would like a tenant to offer me psychological counseling.

3 Ken G. { 11.19.14 at 5:45 pm }

My father could have written this – 50 years ago. It’s never-ending.

Incidentally, Rachel got into having a fan on all night through the winter. First it bothered me, as the idea is to make a house comfortably warm in the colder months. Then I noticed many places keep fans on during the cold months – like ceiling fans in restaurants.

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