In my neighborhood, though, nothing was for rent. Everything was being co-oped. This is a process in which the owners of rent-controlled buildings are allowed to sell shares in the building equivalent to the value of individual apartment units at their fair market value, and usually this earned big profits. In order to do this legally, however, they needed 50 percent of the tenants in the building to agree to buy their own apartments. This could be achieved only by selling to tenants in occupancy at 50 percent discount of market value or better. The real profit would then come from the owner selling vacant or vacated apartments.

This system meant the owner would make a lot of money. Tenants could make a lot of money by buying their apartments at a fraction of the price landlords could charge in the general market. Therefore landlords wouldn’t rent vacant apartments. They’d all be hoarded. If you wanted an apartment, you’d have to buy it and pay through the nose. Many tenants, though, didn’t have the money to buy or—in the case of my neighborhood, where Japanese corporate employees lived on temporary stays in America—were afraid of getting involved in a market with which they were unfamiliar.

Desperate to get Junior an apartment, and unable or unwilling to pay the exorbitant market rates, I figured out that if I paid one of these Japanese workers a fee I could buy the apartment in his name at a discount and then sell it to myself without having to pay a markup. Once the occupant returned as scheduled to Japan, the apartment would be mine. The Japanese, though, were afraid to get involved with a system they didn’t feel comfortable with. But if I got a Japanese attorney to hold their hand, then they wouldn’t be that scared at all. The Japanese Embassy directed me to such an attorney, and I soon had my apartment.

A funny thing happened, though. They say each child brings his own luck. Well, Junior’s started before he was born. A landlord friend of my father’s agreed to very inexpensively rent us a much nicer apartment than the one I’d bought from the Japanese guy. Now I was stuck with two apartments. Well, maybe not exactly stuck. I was soon able to sell the first apartment for twice what I paid. This was almost as much as you’d make in a whole year of brochure distribution. It almost felt like stealing, but nobody got hurt. Everybody was happy—the Japanese guys, the landlords, and most of all, me.

I had a lot of time on my hands and making money like this seemed as good a way to keep busy as any. Soon I was buying every Japanese apartment I could get my hands on. In fact, anytime any tenant in the neighborhood wanted to make some quick money without taking a risk, I’d buy that tenant out. It was great. Like shooting fish in a barrel. I more than doubled my money every time. Sure, it was temporary. Once everything was co-oped in a couple of years, the whole game, we all knew, was sure to end. But what a great way to make hay while the sun shines! Anyway, like I said, I needed something to do, with Jerry managing the brochure business. I wound up making way more off co-ops than I did from brochures. Did I work harder at it? No. Did I put more creativity into it? No. Did I need to set up a great organization to do it? No again. I was just in the right place at the right time. I was never really able to tell myself what a great talent I was for succeeding at this because I have little capacity for self-deception. Seeing how hard it was making money in real business and how easy it was coming here made me actually feel guilty about the profits.


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