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On my way home from the doctor's office, I regularly pass the New York apartment building where I grew up. I would invariably stop, stare, and feel an overwhelming desire to visit the place I hadn't seen in perhaps 60 years. The street door hadn't changed a bit.
A few months ago, on a whim, I looked for the buzzer to apartment 6D, pressed it, and a woman's voice answered. I promptly said, "Hi, I'm Tom Engelhardt. I grew up in the apartment you now live in and was wondering whether you'd let me see it again." To my amazement -- yes, this is New York City! -- she promptly buzzed me in and I found myself riding to the 6th floor on the barely updated gate elevator I used as a kid. Ours was, I must tell you, a remarkable apartment. Even to get to it, you had to step out of the elevator, walk down a short corridor out onto a covered but open catwalk (where you can still see the roofs of New York around you), and then down another corridor.
So many years later, I did just that and, when the present resident of 6D let me in, felt overwhelmed with memories as I saw the staircase to the second floor where my old bedroom was, the living room with the remarkable skylight under which my mother drew her caricatures, and even the little porch beyond it. And yes, it sounds, I know, like quite a place, which it was (and remains). Today, fully renovated, it's undoubtedly a wildly expensive coop or condo, but, in 1946, when my parents got that duplex apartment, just after my father left the Air Force in the wake of World War II, it was rent-controlled and cheap as hell. (Lucky for them as, in the 1950s when I was a kid, they were eternally short on cash.) But no surprise then either. After all, at the time, all of New York was rent-controlled and veterans stood a reasonable chance of getting a fine apartment they could actually afford.
As in much of the country now, rent control in New York is largely a thing of the past as rents here have all too literally gone through the roof, with even studio apartments soaring toward $4,000 a month. As Bloomberg News reports, there's never been a worse time to rent in the big city. More than three bedrooms will cost you an average of $9,592 per month. And yes, that's to rent, not buy! Imagine that! Once upon a time, that apartment of mine was something like $190 per month! And with that in mind, let TomDispatch regular Rebecca Gordon fill you in on rent madness in twenty-first-century America. Tom
Don't Try to Find a Home in Washington, D.C.
Or Pretty Much Anywhere Else If You're a Renter
In 1937, the American folklorist Alan Lomax invited Louisiana folksinger Huddie Ledbetter (better known as Lead Belly) to record some of his songs for the Library of Congress in Washington, D.C. Lead Belly and his wife Martha searched in vain for a place to spend a few nights nearby. But they were Black and no hotel would give them shelter, nor would any Black landlord let them in, because they were accompanied by Lomax, who was white. A white friend of Lomax's finally agreed to put them up, although his landlord screamed abuse at him and threatened to call the police.
In response to this encounter with D.C.'s Jim Crow laws, Lead Belly wrote a song, "The Bourgeois Blues," recounting his and Martha's humiliation and warning Blacks to avoid the capital if they were looking for a place to live. The chorus goes,
"Lord, in a bourgeois town
It's a bourgeois town
I got the bourgeois blues
Gonna spread the news all around"
And one verse adds,
"I want to tell all the colored people to listen to me
Don't ever try to get a home in Washington, D.C.
'Cause it's a bourgeois town"
Such affronts, Lead Belly sang, occurred in the "home of the brave, land of the free," where he didn't want "to be mistreated by no bourgeoisie."
There are music scholars who believe that Lead Belly didn't really understand what "bourgeois" meant. They claim Lomax, later accused of being a Communist "fellow traveler," provided him with that addition to his vocabulary and he simply understood it as a synonym for "racist." Personally, I think that, in a few deft verses, Lead Belly managed to show how racism and class stratification merged to make it all but impossible to find a home in Washington, as in so many other places in America.
Still a Bourgeois Town
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