A Tenant’s Frustration from 126 Years Ago

“FIVE DAYS RENT DEMAND NOTICE TO TENANT”

home insemination Kit

To: AMANDA STERN

Please be advised that you owe the Owner/Landlord of the aforementioned property a total of $11,424.00 for rent and additional charges for the period spanning from November 2013 to July 2015. You are required to remit this payment within FIVE (5) days from the date this notice was served or vacate the premises. Failure to comply will result in the Owner/Landlord initiating legal proceedings to reclaim possession of the property.

As I read this alarming letter, my mind raced through my finances and I scoured Craigslist for no-fee apartment listings. Not only did I not possess the amount demanded, but I also knew I didn’t owe anything at all. The menacing emphasis on FIVE DAYS felt cold and dismissive of my situation. I was disheartened that this historical correspondence was nothing more than a fabricated threat.

Since moving in eleven years ago, I had adhered to the peculiar “egg-and-spoon” method of paying rent. On the fifteenth of each month, I would write a check, walk from my fourth-floor apartment to the second floor, and discreetly slide my rent payment under the door of the building manager, who happened to be the landlord’s daughter. This slow, roundabout process had worked without a hitch for over a decade, so I was bewildered by the sudden demand for a sum I didn’t owe.

Still clutching the letter, I stepped outside and immediately encountered my landlord, Mr. Thompson, who had just returned from what I imagined was delivering this menacing notice. “Mr. Thompson!” I called out, brandishing the document. “What is this?”

“You owe me money!” he bellowed, his face contorted with rage. “You never pay your rent! I know how many people are living upstairs—hundreds!” Spittle flew as he yelled, which was so out of character for him that I was momentarily stunned. In a fit of shock, I yelled back. We exchanged heated words for a full minute before I retreated to my apartment, overwhelmed and in tears. I called my mother, who was surprisingly unhelpful.

“Do you owe him money?” she asked.

“NO!” I protested.

“Then you have nothing to worry about!”

But I did worry. I had a mere five days to address a staggering amount that was entirely fabricated, or risk losing my home and possessions. I feared stepping outside, worried I might return to find myself apprehended by the authorities. I called the lawyer listed on the letter, disputing the claims.

“You mean you don’t owe any money?” he asked.

“That’s right.”

“You’re all paid up?”

“Yes, I am.”

He expressed concern about Mr. Thompson’s mental state, and I thought that would be the end of it.

Two days later, another certified letter arrived in my mailbox. I attempted to reach the lawyer again, but my calls were ignored. Soon after, a different lawyer sent a letter claiming my debt had increased by $8,000. Now, I supposedly owed $19,992, and if I didn’t pay within another five days, I’d be evicted. How many more of these five-day demands could I expect?

In desperation, I called 311, who directed me to the South Brooklyn Legal Hotline, which operated only between 9:30 a.m. and 11:30 a.m. I was met with busy signals during those hours. I reached out to various lawyers, only to be told there was nothing I could do until I received an eviction notice or was sued. Even if I was in the right, going to court could jeopardize my chances of finding another rental in NYC.

As I contemplated the prospect of sharing a couch with my five-year-old brother and my dog, Maxi, I recognized this situation as extortion. How could a lawyer be so cavalier about sending such letters without any proof? I began researching my rights, but when I found scant information, I sought out accounts of others who had received similar demands. Where were the others like me? Where were my fellow distressed tenants?

This led me to recall a fascinating project by conceptual artist Matthew Bakkom called the “New York City Museum of Complaint.” Bakkom had delved into the Municipal Archives, gathering letters addressed to city mayors dating back to 1751. Inspired by this, I decided to explore the archives myself, hoping to uncover past complaints from tenants in my building, potentially even from my own apartment. With three years of heating issues under my belt and my landlord’s dismissive responses, I figured there must be a history of tenant complaints I could leverage.

Upon my arrival at the Municipal Archives, I was overwhelmed by the vast number of grievances I had to sift through. I quickly hopped on the Microfiche Reader, and though the odds of finding complaints from my Brooklyn building were slim, I discovered a letter from my previous East Village apartment dated August 2nd, 1888. It was a report from James C. Bayles, President of Health and Sanitation, to Mayor Abram S. Hewitt, addressing complaints about unsanitary practices in the streets.

In a similar vein, people had written to the Mayor about various nuisances, ranging from the smell of dead horses to political corruption. The cycle of complaints had remained a constant in the city’s history. Unfortunately, I had spent too much time lost in the past and had squandered precious days without gathering evidence to support my case against Mr. Thompson.

Worried that my absence might have cost me my apartment, I hurried home, only to be delayed by my mail carrier. She informed me that I had another certified letter. As she revealed the news, I learned that landlords across the city were trying to push tenants out in the wake of rising real estate prices. “Don’t give him any reason to get you out,” she warned.

In this ongoing battle, it became clear that the struggle for tenants’ rights is a historical narrative that continues to unfold. For those navigating similar challenges, resources like the CDC’s guide on infertility and pregnancy, or expert advice from the home insemination kit, can provide valuable insights. Additionally, for further information on supporting your journey, explore this blog post as well.

In summary, this narrative reflects the timeless plight of tenants facing unjust demands and the importance of understanding one’s rights. As I sought to uncover the historical grievances of tenants before me, I recognized that the fight for fair treatment is an ongoing battle that requires knowledge and resilience.