I could tell you that I saw a run-down industrial strip of land, perfectly situated along the river, and that I imagined an urban utopia rising in its place. I could act nostalgic and tell you that I experienced the neighborhood in a previous, thriving form, and longed to see it reborn into a magnet of an ideal community. I could talk about the people who’ve endured the ebbs and flows of flight to the suburbs and held on for the long haul. I could talk about the flashes of beautiful sights hiding in plain view for those willing to take a chance and look. I could tell you all that – and I probably have told some version of those stories to some – but that wouldn’t make it true. The truth is I have no historical attachment to the neighborhood. I didn’t grow up nearby or even know the place existed until it was presented to me as an investment opportunity. Of course, I care about it now, because I’ve had a hand in creating the very public perception that drives the growth of the neighborhood.
I first learned of Fishtown when an old golfing buddy mentioned he was looking to diversify his portfolio by strategically investing in blighted neighborhoods. I tagged along when he toured a bunch of different neighborhoods ringing Center City. I mostly kept my mouth shut as he mulled his options. I took it all in and only offered opinions when asked. I saw limited opportunities in a few different places and told him as much. I didn’t get too excited about any one place. I didn’t want to tip him off to the rising sense that I was on the precipice of something huge. You see, his general idea to buy up large swaths of land in one or more of these places was smart on its face, but was limited by any actual plan to create the change and return on his own, or at least have a significant role in that. His plan was to buy, hold, and wait for change to come organically. I saw a new activist model being born where I could buy, hold, and manufacture the kind of demand that would yield a massive return. I could transform a neighborhood by treating it like any marketable commodity. A brand in simple terms. If I wanted it be artsy I pulled that lever; if I wanted it to be a secure bedroom community I could pull that lever as well. That’s not to say that I’m God. As much as I like to think I am, there are limitations to my powers. These things don’t happen by decree or the stroke of a pen. They happen when facts are fungible and the power of media can be used as a canvas to paint whatever picture you want. Politics taught me that. I just used the model to see if I could do the same for my bottom line. A little test to see how far I could take the concept.
Whether or not I dissuaded my friend from buying in Fishtown I don’t remember. He wound up investing in other areas or abandoning the idea altogether. I don’t remember which. I lost touch with him or we had a falling out of some kind. It’s been so long that I have trouble recalling how the friendship ended. I do see him from time to time and he seems to avoid me. I have plenty of friends and won’t dwell on minor improprieties that I can’t even remember. I think its his loss.
Anyway, some time after our little tour I called together my top team to devise a plan for Fishtown, which we simply called the Fishtown Project. I’m not a fan of covert nor catchy names for things. I want no ambiguity when we’re talking about a specific project. I didn’t get a lot of resistance from the team when I presented the concept. They never really challenge me in a meaningful way though I can tell when there is apprehension, or lord help me, dissension in the ranks. I did have to do some convincing on which neighborhood to use as our guinea pig. It was clear to me from the outset that the availability of public transportation and number of vacant, formerly industrialized properties lining the commercial corridors was like nothing else available in the city. Someone on the team, or it could have been me, called it “the next Williamsburg rising from the ashes with our hand at the wheel steering it into the future.” Yeah, I probably said that. I can be whimsical sometimes. Once everyone had a chance to assess the maps and overlay available properties we decided to move quickly. It was always going to be that way. I just like to make the team think they are part of the planning. It gives them agency, makes them feel useful to me or maybe themselves.
The first phase of the plan was fairly obvious. I needed to acquire as much land and buildings as possible. I created a number of LLCs and worked with a few different real estate agents, all through intermediaries, to acquire almost everything along the stretch of Frankford Ave between Delaware and York; then I pushed into residential areas between Frankford and Girard, buying every empty lot and dilapidated house available for sale. I also bought a lot of the storefronts along Girard Ave, between Susquehanna and Front Streets. Fishtown is shaped like a triangle and the two main commercial roads, Girard and Frankford, along with Delaware Ave (more of a through road) run along the perimeters, enclosing within a perfectly delineated core residential neighborhood ripe for growth. We wanted to make sure we started with that area first then spiral out to the abutting areas once the activist part of our plan started to take root. When I was done with my buying spree I owned about seventy percent of the Frankford Ave, fifty percent of Girard Ave, and over fifty different properties within the residential area. I was surprised how cheap it was to put together the entire portfolio. Our initial projections were a bit high. It left us extra money for the next phase.
Every city and desirable area of city follows the same blueprint. It’s pretty obvious when you think about it. There is always a vanguard of artists and young people that move somewhere chasing cheap rent, large spaces to practice their art. Usually there is small community of like minded people, all frequenting the same coffee shops and dive bars. There is a symmetry and unironic way these urban pioneers perceive a uniqueness that is similar in look and feel as other neighborhoods and other cities. I say artists as a catchall. It doesn’t really matter if they are artists or not. What’s important is that the migration of those people creates a sense of cool. Cool is the most sellable commodity there it is. It doesn’t matter if the art movement is successful or influential or bourgeoning into something big on its own. It doesn’t even matter if there is really any there there, if you know what I mean.
Artists do however require patrons. It’s been that way since we had monarchs. Today’s rich people are yesterday’s monarchs. And you can always count on them to take the best of what’s produced and co-opt it as an investment both in the art itself and the areas where there is a palatable sense that something is happening. I consider myself a connoisseur in this particular area. The whole idea underpinning this investment is that cool sells and it could be manufactured. Of course once the rich move in themselves the artists and young get pushed to other areas, and the vibe changes. It loses the original appeal. Then the bigger retailers come in and the Michelin restaurants. The housing prices go through the roof and the place becomes inaccessible for almost everyone. People forget what came before and start to consider themselves core to whatever they perceive is important to the community.
But I’m getting ahead of myself a little bit. When I first started investing there was a cool sheen on Fishtown. It was maybe cool lite, or too cool would probably be more accurate. There were a lot of young and more radical people living there – anarchists, ultra-liberals, vanguard hipsters, and only a few strivers. It was more of a weigh station for people figuring out if they were going to drop out forever or graduate from their mostly self-imposed exile and join the life grind on a more formal basis. I needed less radicals and more strivers. I needed the beginnings of a young person exodus out of other places on the cusp of change and to the neighborhood. I needed the Fishtown to win in the race to became the city’s artsy nerve-center, at least during the first phase. So I did what any budding capitalist would do if the conditions on the ground aren’t up to par: create new conditions.
I created a little nonprofit called Fishtown LLC to “sponsor” various artists. The idea of nonprofit was a little contentious among the staff when it was created. Some people thought we should have created a new shell company, or used one of the companies we already used to buy property. I wasn’t too sure myself but it proved to fruitful in the long run. It created an anchor presence. An organization that could do real community work even if the origins and financial controlling interest wasn’t made clear to anyone. I seeded the organization with some start up capital and gave ten prominent artists free rent and space to work in two properties I owned. I put no conditions on the the sponsorship. I knew all I had to do was install them in the neighborhood and they would do the rest with social media.
That’s not to say we didn’t do a little greasing of the wheels. The team I installed at the nonprofit was astute. They were committed to the mission. The mission I invented for them to latch onto. They organized events. They did all of the promotion. They made sure the local media and influencers were there. It was all a wild success. That little cadre of go-getters did a lot of the work themselves allowing me the time to focus on other investments and opportunities. And they did it in record time. I had a time horizon of roughly three years to effect real change. I gave the team two years. They delivered ahead of that.
About a year in there was serious buzz developing around the neighborhood. I figured my real estate portfolio alone had already doubled in value, though that was just table stakes. I knew there was a lot more to wring from project. I knew I had crossed a significant line when I saw how many real estate agents were clamoring to be the top dog in the neighborhood and the language they were using to describe the neighborhood. They were the second wave, following in the people I had strategically placed there.
The next phase became clear to me immediately. I brought in a trusted stooge to lead the nonprofit, a family member who could be leader in name, while exhibiting no discernible skills for business. I know that sounds counterintuitive, but there is method to that seeming madness. The person I hired, John Stevens was an aspiring and not very good actor who thought of the job as an extended role. He is also my cousin. I’ve aways thought of him as a dreamer half-wit. I promised his mother I would look out for him. I convinced him to act like an enigmatic and benevolent leader. I wanted him to be looked up to for his magnanimity while maintaining an edge of elusiveness that would keep the larger team on their toes. Under that figure head I installed a real leader who reports directly to me and makes the tough decisions without any of the blowback. Her name is Bonnie Cartwright and she’s my most trusted employee. She could probably do my job if I let her. Together we hired the best marketer money could buy. A skilled strategist drawn from the nonprofit community alliance sector who was lacking in just enough self-confidence to question authority. Maybe he wasn’t the best that money could buy. He was just the best for this particular project.
While that final hire was coming into form I sped up some of the final plans for phase 1 – creation of a community bookstore, subsidizing a new cafe restaurant opening. I needed the neighborhood to be at the tipping point for the next round, where the experts could take over. You see I wanted to get to the point where high-end white tablecloth restaurants and boutique hotels and shops were clamoring to open an outpost on one of the main commercial roads. Actually I could have done that myself if I’m honest. I just didn’t have much appetite for it. Part of the joy of these little experiments of mine is keeping the laboratory as clean as possible. I always reserve the right to put my finger on the scale of course. I just like knowing that I’ve created a glass cage, stacked with the right ingredients. It’s better than television. Take my word for it.
GLAZ 