My tiny apartment is on the first floor in a dear little old building beyond a courtyard. I am shielded from some of the noise and exhaust fumes of the street. From my back window, which has a wide sill where the cats like to sit in nice weather, you can hear the birds sing. I can sit on my front stoop or on a deckchair in the courtyard reading the paper in summertime. I am near the West 14th Street subway stops and not far from Union Square.
When I moved in, near the beginning of 1976, my apartment was $105.00 per month. Now it’s just gone up to $602.76. My relations with my current landlord have not always been cordial, but for years things had seemed fine, and the young women working in the landlord’s office were warm to me.
Suddenly in late February I received a letter with a lawyer’s letterhead telling me my tenancy would end on March 5, and I was accused of not maintaining my apartment properly. The angry words of the letter contained real falsehoods, with unsupported accusations.
It felt like an assault upon my person. I was terrified. I couldn’t see how I could find a comparable apartment with a comparable rent for my income as a retiree. I’ve struggled financially just about all my life, and was grateful to be able to retire and be able to buy inexpensive concert tickets, have a decent meal in a restaurant, and so forth.
I was told the landlord couldn’t lock me out of my apartment any more than he could really terminate my tenancy March 5th. But if he could send an illegal letter like that without being arrested, couldn’t he do anything else he wanted? I pictured workers kicking the door down and throwing all my things out on the street, along with my two cats and me. Would the police come? What help would there be?
I wanted to cry sometimes but was afraid to, as if that would be an acceptance of the idea I would have to move and suffer like so many others in costly apartments up many flights of stairs in iffy, faraway neighborhoods near some X train (since I can’t handle stairs well, that would make me a virtual prisoner in my apartment).
I can’t do it. I don’t want anyone else to go through that either. I am just one of many thousands who deserve affordable rents in good locations. The only reason my rent seems low is that other rents are far too high. My rent is not low, really.
I’m grateful to lawyer Yetta Kurland and Zachary Albright Whiting, from her office. They have helped me through this ordeal, and have pushed back against the landlord—courteously, logically, but firmly.
The matter is far from over, and the landlord in his papers asks that I pay $3,000 per month. This seems to be what is at the heart of the landlord’s efforts. He doesn’t want to accept my $602.76 when he believes he can get $3,000 per month.
The hearing went well. More papers will be sent between the two lawyers and we’ll be back in court May 1st.
It is a huge relief that the judge seemed to understand what was going on. Here’s hoping, going forward, that the landlord doesn’t continue to try to wear me out. May he fail, utterly.
It’s like being mugged in the street because I innocently possess what someone else covets.
