By LAUGHING MATTERS BY JACK NEWORTH
In “Macbeth,” Shakespeare wrote, “Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, creeps in this petty pace, from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time. And all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!”
Willie had quite a way with words, eh? Among other things,he seems to be saying that life is way too short. Unless of course you’re in line at the DMV,in which case it’s way too long.
I've lived in the same apartment complex for 30 years. Landlords call that rent control’s “golden handcuffs.” Over that time one sees all stages of life: Babies are born, people get married — usually in reverse order — and sadly, neighbors pass on. Such was the case years ago with my friend Lenny. I was chosen to tell the landlord and I’ll never forget his grief-stricken reaction, “Did Lenny have a one-bedroom or two?”
It’s only human nature, but for Santa Monica landlords the death of a tenant might be expressed in three little words: Fair market rate. A new tenant might pay as much as four times the deceased’s rent. If you’re curious, go to: http://4.36.254.85/mar/ and type in your address and you can see what everybody in your building is paying for rent.
I know time is money, but at my building sometimes it seems like the dearly departed are barely cold as they go out one door while the painting crew comes in the other. Then the carpet crew, the drapery crew, all followed by a cheerful, yuppie tenant pleased with his or her luck that an ocean view apartment suddenly came on the market.
In 1999, our building was for sale. A rumor spread that the new buyers had hired actuaries to estimate how long each of us had to live. Gulp. When escrow finally closed some of the more superstitious tenants took it as a bad omen. The actuaries were basically saying, “don't buy any green bananas.”
In the past seven years, the number of fair market tenants here has gone from zero to 300, while surviving rent-control residents number around 230, and dwindling, daily. Some rent-control residents have moved because they had a baby and needed a house; some were evicted for sub-leasing or ordinance No. 3304, which states second residences are not allowed under rent-control protection; and some “moved” because the actuary was right. Second gulp.
Don't get me wrong, my landlord has been great to me, that is, until they see this column. They put in a gym, totally refurbished the lobbies and painted the 17-story exterior, which was no easy feat. The old, weathered paint had always given the buildings that cheerful East Germany look. Recently, they put in rather hideous, dark brown carpeting in the hallways that at first I thought was padding. But I’m not complaining. Or maybe I am?
And each summer, management caters a party at the pool, free to residents. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I notice as delicious as the food is it’s always a tad on the rich side, as in loaded with cholesterol. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day rent-control tenants received complimentary breakfast at their door each morning, say, artery-clogging bacon and eggs? I can envision an older tenant, in mid-bite keeling over, and moments later a “Now Leasing” sign goes up out in front. Last gulp.
I wonder what Shakespeare might have said about rent control? Perhaps... “A dif-f’rent cause, says he, the same effect may give, poor renter fears, that he shall die, his landlord, that he may live.” I also wonder what Shakespeare might have said about green bananas, but I’ll spare us both that groan. In the meantime, until my next column... “Out, out, brief candle.” (Jack Neworth is a freelance writer who has lived in Santa Monica since 1976. He loves everything about his apartment except for the carpeting in the hallways. Unless you are his landlord, he by e-mail at)
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on July 21, 2006. Read the original PDF.