Shortly after we had evened up things with the Landlord on Bay 13th we turned our energies into buying a Brownstone on Bay 14th Street. The owner was an elderly widow. It was a two family house, right across from the elementary school and around the corner from relatives. The place needed much work but the price was right for us. We were in negotiations when I learned from Mrs. C, the elderly widow, that her daughter and her daughter’s husband and family occupied the upstairs apartment. We knew there was a tenant but had no idea that they were related to Mrs. C.
The middle-aged daughter had two grown sons. One who was out of the house and married and one twenty year old who still lived with his mother and father in the building. It was the 20-year-old who we got to meet up close and personal.
Prior to going to contract we were taking one last walk through with Mrs. C. She was telling us about the beautiful roses that bloomed in the small Brooklyn backyard. They were probably beautiful because they had a vicious dog that pooped all over the yard. No one bothered to pick it up so there was tons of fresh fertilizer feeding the flowers. We were still discussing the flowers when her grandson, Bobby, came storming into the apartment screaming at his grandmother. “Are you going to give us half the money? Are you?”
Mrs. C was a tough old lady. She yelled back, “No and go to hell!
With that the level of his rage elevated to a pitch. He picked up one of her dining room chairs and flung it through a back window. “See if they want to buy it now?” he shouted as he ran out of the apartment. He never looked at us. The vicious dog started to bark ferociously adding to the chaos. It is as if we were watching a movie. We were in the midst of it and untouched.Mrs. C didn’t even look shaken. She told us not to worry the window would be repaired before we moved in.
We went to contract with the proviso that the daughter and family would move out within three months or their rent would double. About a month later we closed on the house. I doubt if anyone realized it at the time but I was only 20 years old, an infant under the law. and my signature wasn’t worth the paper I wrote it on the day of closing. In the long run it made no difference we made every mortgage payment until the day we sold that house.
Mrs. C’s family moved out within three months and the miserable grandson never looked us in the eye the entire time they were living in our building.
As for Mrs. C – she took off with her friend for Vegas the day after the closing. I heard about a month later she contacted her family for some money to get home.