By Jared Chausow
By Katie Toth
By Elizabeth Flock
By Albert Samaha
By Anna Merlan
By Jon Campbell
By Jon Campbell
By Albert Samaha
Desmond Giddings, a tenant at the Hersh-owned Colonial House Hotel at 611 West 112th Street, said in a 2002 affidavit, "Just two days ago, I ran into Mark, and he asked me when I was leaving. I will never forget what he said: 'Whenever I look at you, I don't see a human; I see a dollar sign.' Over the years, I also witnessed Mark charging mentally ill tenants 'fees' for cashing their checks. They would line up in the lobby and Mark would tell them that he was going to take $100 from each check." HPD filed Giddings's affidavit and 12 other tenants' statements in a 2005 proceeding opposing a permit for Hersh to convert the Colonial into a more profitable residential building.
Giddings is now the sole tenant at the Colonial. He's lived there for 12 years and although he says he's afraid of his landlord, he can't afford to move. A middle-aged African American with a bushy beard and rough hands, Giddings does tai chilike exercises almost every morning in Riverside Park, then heads off for a job of carpentry or other hard labor. He says the barbarity he described has been going on as long as he's lived therebefore Hersh started emptying the building by buying tenants out, refusing to make repairs, or chasing them off with his bat.
The Voice tapped Hersh in 1990 as one of the city's worst landlords. He was dubbed the "West Side Batman" for using a bat to intimidate tenants at his Manhattan single-room-occupancy hotels (SROs). Most of them didn't stay very long. In 1990, his tenants told the Voice, Hersh commanded a goon squad that was told to throw out anyone causing him trouble. Back then, they said, he used to lurk in the hallways at the Colonialbat in handintimidating those who lived in the squalor he lorded over. They said he evicted tenants by force.
Many things have changed in 16 years. In 2006, owning a building on the Upper West Side, between Broadway and Riverside Drive, can be better than discovering gold in your backyard. But that's only if you can sell the property or renovate it and turn it into something more profitable. Hersh can't do either. He needs a special permit from HPD, called a certificate of no harassment, to renovate the Colonial. The city won't give that to him because it says he ran a ruthless campaign to empty the Colonial before he applied for the certificate in 2002. Hersh contends in a brief Voice interview that potential buyers are aware of his fight with the city, so they are making lowball offers that he won't take. From Hersh's perspective, he's sitting on a pile of money and the city is screwing him out of it. He blames it all on Deborah Rand, the former director of the West Side SRO Law Project, who now heads HPD's increasingly aggressive litigation unit. He says that she's been out to get him for years and that he's "never harassed anyone."
"It's a catch-22," Hersh tells the Voice. "They tell you to fix up the building, and then they say you can't make repairs without a permit, and you can't get a permit without a no-harassment certificate, which they don't give. So your hands are tied."
It's ironic that Hersh would say this, especially because he received a certificate of no harassment for another building just a few years ago. The city issues them only in cases in which tenants have not been forced out or coerced into giving up their rights. Owner of several SROs, Hersh is familiar with the laws that protect them. He knows what it takes to get a certificate of no harassment: You can't harass anyone. And administrative law judge John B. Spooner ruled in January that Hersh has done precisely that at the Colonial, finding that the landlord had even "threatened tenants with a bat in an effort to force them to vacate the building." Hersh filed a lawsuit on May 15 challenging HPD and Spooner's findings. There are 134 rooms at the Colonial, and most of them were full before Hersh sought the certificate. By 2002, only five tenants remained, and now, just Giddings.
Before the 2005 hearing, Hersh paid hotshot lobbying firm Greenberg Traurig $40,000 to try to convince HPD to give him the certificate without taking the case to court. Lobbyist Edward C. Wallace proffered a $500,000 settlement, that on top of another deal he had made with the Coalition for the Homeless, adding that there was "a better way to resolve the dispute than for each side to gamble on the outcome of the hearing." The city rolled the dice on the hearing anyway.