Mark Hersh

'Threatened tenants with a bat'

Generations of tenants tell similar stories about Mark Hersh: They've seen him threaten tenants with a baseball bat and sometimes beat them with it. One former tenant says he was the victim of such a beating in 1992. Some say he refused to accept their rent then evicted them for not paying. According to affidavits he takes money from the welfare checks of his disabled tenants in exchange for cashing them. They tell of squalid conditions, tenants begging him for repairs that never get made, and a lack of heat and hot water.

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 chi–like 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 there—before Hersh started emptying the building by buying tenants out, refusing to make repairs, or chasing them off with his bat.

The Colonial House Hotel is the nearly emptied headquarters of the West Side Batman, Mark Hersh
photo: Giulietta Verdon-Roe
The Colonial House Hotel is the nearly emptied headquarters of the West Side Batman, Mark Hersh

Details

See also:
  • Apartments in Hell
    Photos you won't see in the real estate brochures

  • Your Turn: Got a Landlord Story to Tell?

  • Welcome to the 10 Worst Landlords
    Scraped from the bottom of the barrel, tales of living hell

  • HUD
    'The No. 1 Worst in the United States'
    by Jay Bachhuber and Samara Smith

  • Steven Kessner
    'All I do is fix, and they damage'
    by Taina Borrero

  • David Melendez
    'Horrible bedbugs coming from one of the walls'
    by Roger Peter D'Arceuil and Taina Borrero

  • Olufemi Falade
    'When it rains, it rains inside the building.'
    by Olaf Bertram-Nothnagel

  • Jacob Selechnik
    'Sometimes they don't open the windows and let the walls breathe'
    by Ryan Vu and Joanna Raccuglia

  • Abdur Rahman Farrakhan
    'When he came in, all the problems came in'
    by Charlene A. Joseph and Kendall J. Matthews

  • Fitos Neophytou
    'We were greeted by blood in the elevator one morning'
    by Dana Eshghi

  • John Kosman
    Most of the bathrooms leak
    by Ruben Gonzalez

  • Margaret Streicker Porres
    'No question she's going to push me out'
    by Allison Steinberg
  • 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 Colonial—bat in hand—intimidating 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.

    1
     
    2
     
    All
     
    Next Page »
     
    My Voice Nation Help
    0 comments
     
    Loading...