I hate roaches.

My friend had been swindled by drug addicts. She had paid “key” money for a low-income housing apartment in a city-owned building. When she went to take occupancy, the door was padlocked. She contacted management, who told her that things did not work the way she planned – these apartments were for welfare recipients and the needy, not a woman who just needed a cheap apartment. Through a miracle of persuasion (which included crying), my friend obtained a lease for an apartment she was not qualified for at a very low, $125-per-month rent. The place was in a small tenement building, but it was in the heart of the West Village. It was the coup of the century.

I accompanied her on the first visit to her new place. It was disgusting, as would be expected with a place formerly occupied by drug addicts. Nothing, however, prepared us for the bathroom, which was not just roach-infested but where the ceiling was a TAPESTRY of moving cockroaches. So much so that we only peered in to avoid roaches falling on our heads. A roach bomb was required, as well as a cleanup of dead roaches.

At one time, these kinds of opportunities in Manhattan housing were not uncommon. Most remarkable were the SQUATS. In retrospect, squats are almost unfathomable – apartments for the TAKING. Of course, squats are romanticized. Who really has the fortitude to live in horrific conditions for decades? These buildings had the most awful conditions imaginable. But, after the fact, they certainly are the envy of many a New Yorker, particularly those without substantial means.

From the Villager:

The East Village was then full of vacant buildings the city had taken possession of for landlords’ failure to pay property taxes. Many of the properties were severely damaged, needing extensive repairs that would daunt even the most experienced professional contractors. Doing all the work themselves, the squatters were rehabbing the burned-out tenement shells, transforming them into viable living quarters, bringing life back to desolate blocks.

In a series of high-profile clashes — particularly on E. 13th and E. Fifth Sts. — the city forcibly evicted many of the squatters in the 1990s. But in 2002, City Hall took a radically new approach: Eleven of the 12 remaining East Village squats were sold for $1 apiece to the nonprofit Urban Homesteading Assistance Board. Under the agreement, the squatters, with UHAB’s guidance, would bring their buildings up to code within one year, then buy them — for just $250 per apartment — and the buildings would become permanently affordable, Housing Development Fund Corporation, or H.D.F.C., co-ops.

The deal between the squatters and the city was historic, making headlines around the world. Now, more than six years later, a number of the 11 squats are set to undergo formal conversion to co-ops in the next few months. All of them should be converted in 18 months to two years, according to UHAB.

Similarly, although not a squat, my friend also took possession of her apartment; the building was purchased from the city by the tenants for a nominal sum of money and turned into a co-op. Each tenant purchased his or her apartment at an extraordinarily low price. The coup of the century got even better.

I recently met Mike Kennedy at a concert in Tompkins Square Park. He currently lives in one of the landmark East Village squats at 733 East 9th Street, one of the properties ceded over by the city to the tenants in 2002 for $1. It has been a long road for them, and whatever “windfall” they may have received was well earned. I am sure that on their long and winding road, there must have been many ROACHES 🙁

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I arrived in northern Italy very late one night with a companion. We were not in the best of moods. Our reservation for an inn south of Florence had been placed by mail and was never received. They were booked solid. We drove north to Florence in hopes of securing a place to sleep for the night. We were relegated to the only place in the city with a room: a very overpriced hotel.

We had rented a car, and the hotel was located across from a train station. Adjoining the station was a municipal parking lot. Attendants in uniforms and caps were busy directing parking and collecting fees for overnight parking. I recall that the cost was around $10 – a fair amount at the time. The next morning, we examined the signs and realized we had been hustled; parking was free. With audacity, aggressiveness, and a few uniforms, those men had established a nice little night business with no overhead or taxes at the expense of ill-informed visitors.

In New York, the hustle takes on many forms tailored to to the city: chess playing, cigarette sales, subway swipers, three card monte, umbrella sales, highway water, flower sales, etc. Some activities are illegal, while others are just aggressive opportunism.

One variant of the street hustle is taking advantage of a captive audience dining al fresco on the sidewalks of the city. New York has few restaurants or cafes where outdoor dining is reasonably buffered from non-diners
(see Insult to Injury). Flower vendors will sometimes accost diners, as well as the homeless asking for money.

Over the years, I have seen a number of instances where individuals with pets, particularly unusual species, are demanding to be paid by onlookers who want to take photos. In 2006, I wrote Snake Charmer about a man with a snake, alligator, and macaw. More recently, I encountered a man with an enormous pet iguana on a leash in the park, demanding money as we took photos. Of course, photography in a public space for non-commercial use is perfectly legal, but many will try to intimidate amateurs and tourists into paying for the “privilege.”

Here, in the photo at the Trattoria Spaghetto on Carmine Street, we have a hustle which combines the captive diner with the paid photo op extortion. As diners, passersby, and I took photos, Mr. Zoo York “asked” for payment.

Whether late night in Florence or by day on the streets of New York, adapted for the time and place, you will always find some variant of the urban hustle…

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