Building New Ventures

I was, improbably, the owner of an eight-unit apartment building.

I grew up working in a family business, and I always knew I would build one of my own. But first I chose journalism, working for two decades in newsrooms. Later in my career, I helped build new products to try to maintain a competitive edge, hooked to creating connection with local readers.

By 2007, evolving news operations meant smaller staffs and more freelancers. There were lots of editors and fewer jobs. I wanted to work on my own terms. 

I considered a pizza shop or other restaurant, a grocery-delivery business, etc. but for me, nothing seemed as recession-proof as property investment. And my family was in the restaurant business; you’re at the whim of Sally and Sam choosing to buy your wings or pizza or pancakes. My plan was to build something that could stand on its own so one day I could help create or invest in another type of business — ideally, a media company where I could produce journalism on my own terms.

I wanted to develop an approach that was an answer to journalism’s antiquated business model, while offering a more story-driven and connected approach to advertisers.

I’m charged up by a challenge — even a risky one, and by getting good deals.

So in 2008 I found a building through a friend of a friend in a community just outside of Pittsburgh. The aluminum siding was banana yellow, set off by rough-cut lumber accents. The rough-cut theme carried through to each unit—early shiplap. The building appeared to have minimal interior updates since circa 1975.

I loved it.

My friend threw his hands in the air. “You don’t know how to change a toilet.”

“So what, I’ll learn,” I said.

“I’d rather change a wax ring on a toilet than work somewhere else outside the newsroom.”

“And I’ll never become homeless, because I could live in the big apartment upstairs!” I clapped my hands together in delight, thrilled at the prospect of not ever being homeless. 

Never mind the large sum required for the 20 percent downpayment plus closing costs required for commercial loans. Nevermind there were no legitimate leases, and I had little history about the residents. Nevermind I had no experience writing leases, handling evictions, or fixing a leaky faucet. Nevermind the bankers had no incentive to offer a commercial loan or that I had to work the phones to find an affordable insurance policy.

My eye had fallen upon it.

I WANTED IT.

Nothing would stop me — I’d figure out a way.

And I did.

And I then found that only half the residents were paying something each month, at rent rates about 10 years out of date. A new investor’s nightmare: low cash flow, high capital costs and a building of belligerents. And yet I viewed this as an opportunity.

The problems began at once.

The promises of rent that never came.

The late-night calamities that jolted you from asleep to 500 mph in 10 seconds.

The resident who left two inches of Carpet Fresh through the apartment. The bobcat. The Angry Man who left the shower running for days at a time — which reflected in the $800 water bill.

The hoarder.

The hissing lizard.

The late-night emergencies.

The unanticipated dramas. One resident called, to report another was taking all four parking spots out front. He spread out his clothes “to air out” one spring after his wife pitched him and his threads outside the winter prior, “because she didn’t like his girlfriend.”

One call came on Thanksgiving eve. I was two hours away at my parents’ house.

“Uh, Kim, we have a situation. The front porch steps are gone.”

“WHAT?????”

“My sister and I were ….uh, we were just dancing and it…um…it fell apart. But don’t worry, the fire department’s on the way over. They’re going to help my sister.”

I hear the wail of sirens.

My insurance flashed before my eyes. I break into a sweat and feel a surge of adrenaline.  I scream at everyone around me to shut up, even though no one was talking, as I check to make sure I paid the quarterly insurance bill.

The resident and her sister — a guest — hosted a party. The steps had become separated and crashed to the ground.

I’ve learned a lot by doing. I worked nights and weekends to handle evictions, install toilets, rip out carpet, install flooring, hang doors, drywall, and more.

You also learn that landlords can help contribute to a community in the most meaningful of ways. We can provide clean, comfortable, reasonably-priced housing. 

In turn, I am responsive to the residents; for maintenance calls, someone is there within 24 hours. I offer tools to help people build credit. I want the residents to be happy and comfortable — it’s good for business. It’s good for everyone.

For me, it’s about the money — but not only about the money. It’s about building a profitable business that is limited only by the hard work, creativity, and vigor you apply to it. It’s also about helping people build credit and improving the community by offering moderately-priced housing. Not too high, not too low, but just in the middle.

Today, I can spot applicants who work hard and take pride in themselves and their living space. 

In turn, I aim to make improvements regularly, although the building is never really done.

I’ve always wanted more and more, so months after I took a buyout from my employer in 2016, I acquired and gutted a single-family home on a half-acre of land. There was no running water and no working toilet. The shower was stained orange from rusty water. The kitchen cabinets were askew and worn. A 36-inch, territorial snake, lived in a crack in the basement wall 

A colony of salamanders had taken over a dank corner in another portion of the basement.

But there is a giant, sweeping oak in the backyard. A cornfield abuts the property. In the evening, you get a clear view of the sunset. The neighbors are lovely. The whoosh of leaves blowing and the smell of fresh-cut grass is all around you in the summer. And there’s an iconic ice cream stand near the tree-lined road.

That’s the living room, above, with new flooring, paint, trim, and doors. It was one of the best summers I ever had, ripping, fixing and building back up. The residents moved in on Halloween weekend. I love them. I back them up just as we do with all the residents. They are partners in the success of the business.

Next up: I want to bid on a government-owned house with a tree in the kitchen, a smashed out bathroom and a dirty mattress in the bedroom. 

I found the house while running through the neighborhood. I stopped and stared.

Love at first sight.

There was a tattered picture on the bedroom floor of the former owner in happier times. I researched the owner history and the owner.

HEY LOOK, I said, in a third-floor bedroom, the home gets a lot of natural light.

That was because all the windows were broken. Also, part of the wall was missing.

Still, I think it’s perfect for a picture window.