{"id":236,"date":"2010-10-05T10:44:40","date_gmt":"2010-10-05T14:44:40","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/sidebarforplaintiffs.naomifein.net\/?p=236"},"modified":"2012-02-23T17:54:20","modified_gmt":"2012-02-23T22:54:20","slug":"how-i-became-a-plaintiff-part-3-i-was-still-managing-my-building-but","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/sidebarforplaintiffs.naomifein.net\/?p=236","title":{"rendered":"How I became a plaintiff:I\u2019m still managing my building but\u2026"},"content":{"rendered":"

A community is like a ship; everyone ought to be prepared to take the helm. \u2013 Ibsen, An Enemy of the People<\/span><\/p>\n

Well in theory, yes, but in reality I was the only one at the helm of the Little Crooked House Tenants Corp. Joel and Blondy had returned to Florida, where they actually lived, popping up north occasionally for NYC culture and Board meetings. Two of my original co-op partner shareholders sold their apartments back to Joel and Blondy; one moved out, the other remained as a tenant.<\/p>\n

Smart, edgy Blondy died of AIDs in the early \u201890s. Joel, who was positive but not sick, soldiered on, eventually introducing me to his new guy, the indecently gorgeous, much younger Joey Perhaps, who legally added \u201cDuffle\u201d to his name, as a way of marrying Joel and\/or being adopted by him.<\/p>\n

But by 1998, I\u2019d had ten years of everybody calling me up at night and whining about some problem for which I wasn\u2019t responsible, so I found an excellent building management firm, Rarus P. Griggsby Building Corp., to whom I turned over all the co-op files.<\/p>\n

The last of my original co-op pals retreated at high speed into senility, sold his apartment to Joey Perhaps Duffle, moved out and died.<\/p>\n

So that\u2019s how I became the only minority shareholder and Board member resident. Joey and Joel owned the rest of the shares and related apartments, all of which they were now renting out for income.<\/p>\n

Now I<\/em> had complaints: the downstairs tenants, Eurotrash identical twins, smoked. Identically. The smoke floated into my apartment and from there into my lungs. I tried diplomacy. Didn’t work. I reported this to Joel and Joey. Their response? An offer to buy me out for enough money so that I could easily purchase an ample West Village coat closet. I graciously declined.<\/p>\n

One day I ran into Educated Edmund, a real estate lawyer whose firm shared a floor with the law firm where I worked. I stopped him in the hall \u2013 he was heading for the men\u2019s room \u2013 and asked his opinion about my situation. Ed paused thoughtfully and said, \u201cYou\u2019re the only remaining shareholder in a co-op otherwise owned by the original sponsor?\u201d Hm, yes, that was<\/em> my situation. <\/p>\n

Ed then informed me that my apartment was worth more than its market value, worth in fact anything someone would pay, since my presence blocked any sale of the building as a potential single-family townhouse. Because, \u201cThis is a case,\u201d Ed said, \u201cwhere the value of the whole building is much greater than the sum of its individual apartment parts.\u201d<\/p>\n

So if Joel put his six individual apartment shares on the market at that time he\u2019d gross, say, $1,076,000 after lengthy, pricey, complicated negotiations with crabby, demanding, bi-polar individual buyers and their similarly psychologically impaired realtors.<\/p>\n

Not bad. But if Joel owned and sold the entire townhouse, he\u2019d gross a possible $1.7 million in one swoop.<\/p>\n

Ed had taught me Co-op Law 101. Then he went to the men\u2019s room.<\/p>\n

Summation<\/strong><\/p>\n