The Eviction From Manhattan Punch Line Theatre on 41st Street
Wherein a young
non-profit theatre company finds itself in court facing eviction from one of New York City ’s
wealthiest developer’s who fashioned himself a patron of the arts.
We should have known better than to fall in love with a
space we turned into a theatre, offices, (2) a lobby; with one single bathroom
and two other floors in that same building serving as our scene shop and an
alternative rehearsal space, all with the approval of the building management
of Sheldon Solow Inc. But we forgot to get it in writing…the rehearsal space
and the scene shop I mean. Not that Solow Inc. would have put it in writing; no.
It was a favor, granted, I later realized, to enable them to kick us out
whenever they felt like it. After the city and state of NY decided to turn 42nd Street ,
Times Square into a Disney-like extravaganza, Solow and company suddenly felt like it:
We might have thought it likely too if we’d thought about
why they never billed us for all those building expenses that our lease
mentioned on like the 24th page somewhere. I remember Steve coming into my office, (we built separate
offices after we realized we had, shall we say, different ways of doing
things.), with as big smile on his face, and saying conspiratorially, “They
forgot!”
“What?” said I innocently?
“They forgot to send us a bill at the end of the year for
all the buildings taxes and stuff”! he exclaimed.
“Oh come on, they didn’t forget! So we need to put aside the money”
“Why?”, says Steve .
“Because”, says I patiently, “they might one day send us the
bill and we won’t have the money we need to have when that bill arrives.”
We had a board meeting where this was all discussed and we
all agreed that it was a good idea to put aside some funds for that day when or
if Solow sent us a bill for the unbilled but
nevertheless owed amount of dough, which we figured was about $5,000. We never seemed to have any money to put
aside for this likely occurrence, but ultimately, it didn’t matter. Our math
was way off anyway, plus when the Solow Corp decides to get rid of you or break
your lease, you’d best start packing.
Sitting in that board meeting was the very man with whom we
had consulted when we negotiated the lease, Ralph Kreitzman .
Ralph was one of the many lawyers who
advised us for free; pro bono, through the wonderful non-profit service group
called VLA, Volunteer Lawyers For The Arts. We hooked up with the Wall Street
firm Hughes Hubbard and Reed, through VLA. Each of our
lawyers were specialists and so Ralph
was the real estate guy. Ralph and a
few other lawyers came to all our board meetings which pretty much happened
monthly. He looked like our logo; the face with the big comedy nose and
glasses. He enjoyed looking like our logo and enjoyed working for us and we
enjoyed him and his free services.
But this forgotten bill that Solow
sent us was at the end of our first year of MPL’s existence. We squandered our
chance to save money for that inevitable day when the big bill would arrive. It
did arrive, of course, about the fourth year of our existence in the form of a
legal document pasted to our elevator door on the 7th floor at 260 W. 41st St. ,
our home and theatre; in a building whose most famous graffiti phrase was in
the dreary, dirty grey hallway you could only see if you dared walk up from the
ground floor lobby, said lobby itself being a study in old rancid tile smelling
of urine, which pooled every morning and night on a regular basis. We took
turns going down and mopping it up each morning and before every show. Why? The
drunks who were the pee-ers would take advantage of the recessed doorway to our
lobby, and step into the recessed area near the hinges, and discreetly urinate
the liquor they conveniently bought right next door in the liquor store.
Over the years their liquids had rusted the door so badly
that the urine had free flow under the rusted ramshackle metal door. But at
least the winos were able to hide their penises from the passersby, thanks to
the architect’s creation of the recessed door.
Oh, I forgot to tell you the phrase that was graffiti-ed in the 3rd
floor hallway: Vincent Sucks.
But let us backtrack a bit to bring you up on some necessary
facts. Faith left after the first year or two, I am not clear on when exactly.
We were not surprised, but we were upset. I liked Faith and wanted her to stick
around to be part of this effort. She had some fame in those days, and she was
a buffer between me and Steve in
meetings, but she wanted out and what could be done to stop her? She also donated some significant money and
brought in her mother on the board and her cousin with whom she was close and
they all contributed funds to our effort. So she left.
Steve and I met and discussed what to do to replace her…not
for the creative part so much as the financial part….we decided we like the
triumvirate structure, so we spread the word that we were looking for someone
to join us who is a creative theatre person, but who also can “buy” into the
group. We had a pretty good sense of our
theatre’s growing influence and we were not disappointed when we were
approached by Jerry Heyman …Doctor Jerry Heyman .
He had a doctorate in drama and wrote his dissertation on comedy, so what more
could we ask. Well, there was the money….he told us that we could count on
him…and his friend, to come up with the 25g’s. His friend was Richard Ericksen ,
an actor who Jerry worked with. Richard and I got along famously, but Steve didn’t care for him, a fact that would later
come to a bad ending, and I, on the other hand, did not care for Jerry so much... Part of what bugged me about Jerry was all the money we received seemed to come
only from Richard , not from Jerry . Richard
was generous to a fault. Jerry was not
generous.
So by the time we got this 42nd Street inspired
eviction notice, actually it wasn’t that, it was just a bill for thousands of
dollars for rent on the 6th and 8th floors which we were
using for the aforementioned uses, and for all those years of expenses that
Solow had “forgotten” to send us, but was now due in 30 days along with all the
other dough….somewhere in the 40 thousand dollar area. So we called HHR, Hughes Hubbard
and Reed and sent them the paperwork and they confirmed that we were in some
trouble here. They said they would send a guy to handle us in housing court
when our date came up.
We discussed all of this with Jerry
and Richard and we decided to have a
meeting with the Solow group, and I set it up. Solow of course, was not there, high atop 9 West 57th Street , but some
large gent who looked like he’d grown up eating his way to the top. He was
rough acting and slightly disparaging to our crowd, Me, Steve ,
Jerry and Richard .
This guy looked at Jerry ’s Gucci
Loafers and chided them on being able to help us out by paying this bill. Jerry and Richard
offered to buy the building for 300 thou which this guy laughed off. I thought
it was decent for Jerry and Richard to offer to buy the building….it would
certainly have been a good investment given that the New York Times now sits on
that same plot amongst other parcels. Ironic that the N. Y. Times, who
discovered us and literally put MPL on the map, should, in the end, live atop
our grave. Like a parent burying their child.
So we three left the meeting with Solow
without any resolution, so we knew now that we were destined to go to court.
Housing Court is downtown and on our appointed time Steve
and I showed up. HHR told us one of their attorneys would represent us. I was
not aware of his name then or now, nor do I remember him talking to me before
the trial. When we saw him we were scared. He looked young and scared. The
atmosphere in Housing Court
was brusque to say the least. Everyone seemed to be going about their business
without acknowledging that we were clueless.
Finally our case was called, The Solow Corporation vs
Manhattan Punch Line Theatre Company, Inc. Our green attorney, whose hands were
trembling, started to say, “Your Honor….”when he was cut off by Your Honor.
“What are you doing?! I’m not ready for you! He shouted. Our guy looked
shocked. After a while the judge said, “Go ahead.”
“Your honor our client….” The stenographer, a large woman,
screamed at him, “I can’t hear you!” Nonplussed the attorney started over. He
was interrupted a number of times by both the stenographer and the judge, who
asked questions in the middle of green
attorney’s statements.
Finally we were
called up separately and I and Steve
testified to what terrible landlords Solow was and
how they let winos pee in the lobby and we had to paint the lobby and clean up
the building because they wouldn’t and….it was useless. None of what we
testified to was accepted on any level as a legal argument by anyone in the
court. It really came down to; do you owe this money or don’t you? We did and
so if we don’t pay it we get kicked out and have a judgment against our
corporation and that would be the end of that.
Just then the green attorney came up with some previous case
law that stumped Mr Judge, so he had to take it under advisement, which gave us
time. The trial ended until a later date and our butts were saved temporarily.
In desperation I called a board meeting and one of our
directors, Alice
Burns , an assistant manager of
Citibank told us that she had a connection with the West Side Democratic Club
and she would find us a better attorney. Soon we were in the office of said
attorney, Bernie
Cohen of Santangello, Santangello
and Cohen . He was a dese dem and dose guy for sure.
He knew his way around Housing
Court . In fact he told us that when Solow ’s
attorney saw him the attorney would say, “What da fuck are you doin’ heah?!!
A couple of days later we all went downtown for said meeting
and Bernie exited the meeting and told us he got our deal: If we leave the building
we owe nothing. So we agreed and started the process of leaving. Oy.
The last show we did on 42st Street , was the Henry Aldrich
play, What A Life, by ? and I was in it as well as Anne Gartlan
who later became my pal at AFTRA
NY , where we are both officers. Jerry Heyman
directed and it was pretty good, but one of those old comedies that gets its
charm from the time it was written, having an innocence that we no longer have
or even understand. A nostalgia piece for some and an antique trinket for others.
But the call was for all hands on deck and we started
throwing stuff out, finding spaces to store costumes and other equipment, a
place to build sets, etc. Our benefactor was good old Fred Papert
of 42nd Street Development Corp and a board member of ours. He told
me to call Jack
Garfein of the then Actors and
Directors Theatre Lab and have him rent out one of his floors he had the Fred . I did and Jack
wanted us to pay him rent of 2500 a month, which was way more than I was ready
to pay. I called Fred back and told
him and Fred got angry and cursed and
said, “Oh for Christ ’s sake, I’ll rent the floor to
you for the same thing he is paying, $1200 a month!” And he did.
While that sounds great, especially these days, it wasn’t a
theatre. It was an empty floor with a carve out for the buildings heating and
air-conditioning unit and so it could only be used for an office and rehearsal
space. At least we had a place to move into. Fred
also gave us some temporary space on the Row for storing our costumes and set
equipment. That turned out to be a short term favor as this was space he needed
back for development a short time later and we ended up donating all our
costumes to the The Costume Collection.
But we spent many days and nights carrying stuff out of 41st street
and driving over to 42nd
street and 9th Avenue . I remember that
our guy Henry was part of that effort,
and he worked alongside us with great energy and dedication.
“$250 a week”, I thought? “That’s more than our Artistic
Director makes! “ What to do? I knew that I could not let this opportunity for Henry slip away. I/we owed it to him for years of
hard and loyal services for practically no money from us. I told Jack about Henry
and he was hired.
To say that Henry
was delighted was an understatement. He was off Welfare for the first time in
years and whenever he saw me he thanked me profusely. I swear he would have
done anything for me if I’d asked him, but I was glad to do it for such a kind
and sweet guy. Garfein was grateful too. For the first time he had a dependable
employee.
For sometime after we got to Theatre Row, I was still looking
around for theatre space. By being evicted we had quadrupled our budget and in
order to rent a theatre we had to shell our at least $2500 a week! So we went
from having a loft with 5000 square feet for $800 a month to 1200 square feet
of office and a small rehearsal space! So I continued to get calls about
various spaces around the city that could have a theatre built into them. But
when I returned from looking at them and told Steve ,
he would feign interest…but would never go look at them. After this went on for
some time, I finally gave up. He was in love with Theatre Row. Well so was I, I
mean other than the money aspect, what’s not to love? It only offered a
friendly landlord, and beautiful theatres and a ready audience.
Our offices were spacious enough with rooms even for some of
our classes we taught through our theatre school we founded. I taught my
voice-over class there, but eventually moved to the board room of Fred Papert ’s
office. For free as was Fred ’s wont. What a guy.
That first year the Theatre Row theatres were all rented out
so we produced our season in a few other theatres around town. But the Row was
home from that day forward to when MPL went out of business, 13 years after it
started. I left about 8 or 9 years before that happened…
but that is another story.
Looking back on this eviction I had the thought that maybe
we could have reached a deal with Solow to stay
longer if we came to them with more rent and to allow a 30 day kick-out clause
to be part of the new lease? The building sat mostly vacant for many months if
not years after we left. We would have still had a theatre and would still have
saved money over what we ended up having to pay to be on the Row and renting
theatres there and elsewhere.