The Mystery of Brocante: Update #1

ICYMI: I am attempting to solve the mystery of a ghost store on my block.
Read part 1 here first.

When I committed to solving the world’s smallest mystery, I wasn’t expected anything from you other than “detached amusement” or “mild curiosity” if you have one of those brains that needs to resolve the unresolved.

But some of you got your hands dirty and actually started doing the investigative work of finding leads! We’re cultivating some real “Don’t F*ck with Cats” energy here and I’m absolutely purring in delight.

Before I give you an update, I want to tell you why this mystery matters to me.

Why I care

I’ve been in New York City for twenty one years.

My first apartment was a luxury two bedroom that we converted into a four bedroom. This was not “cool” with the building so we smuggled in sliding doors from Home Depot by wrapping them as a Christmas gift. My room was the corner of an L shaped living room.

My second apartment had floors that were so uneven, bottles would roll off the tables. It was also above a brothel that primarily served the Orthodox Jewish community. The halls smelled like lubricant and men in payos would knock on my door while looking down in shame. “One floor down. But Good Shabbos!”

My third apartment was above a Murray Hill bar that went until 4am every night of the week and always closed with “Freebird.” The floors would rattle from the bass and several roommates moved out because their therapists told them to.

My fourth apartment was a rent stabilized two bedroom that I illegally sublet from an old Irishman fireman. The building figured it out that I was in fact not Kevin Monaghan and I got kicked out of days before my wedding.

I got my fifth apartment in my 30’s. It was real! Two floors and a backyard in a convenient location! I finally made it.

…Except that it floods sewage water into our bedroom twice a year. And we’ve stayed for seven years.

NYC is the school of hard knocks, baby. We make sacrifices to be close to something … that I have stopped being able to put my finger on. But the important thing here is that there’s more demand than supply and it creates weird incentives.

We sacrifice on where we live, and we also sacrifice on incompatible dreams. One of my deepest longings has always been to control a physical space where people can gather. A third place where I belong.

Community is a challenge in this city and community usually needs a physical space in order to thrive. I’ve had a few brief flirtations:

I opened up a conversation salon in Times Square for a month with a grant.

I had a production office for Third Street Blackout for three months.

Caveday had a partnership with Breather (RIP) that allowed me to tap into all their spaces.

But I’ve never been able to finagle it longterm. When I gave up my home office for my newborn son’s room, I rented a 10 x 8 windowless office for Zooms in a coworking space which I pay an embarrassing amount of money for. The unit economics of commercial real estate in this city are legendary. Even with its historically high occupancy rate.

So it really bothers me on some fundamental level that someone would leave a street level space empty for nine years.

I’d do something with that space!

And if I’m honest, there’s another reason I need to solve this mystery.

Somewhere along the way, my relationship to art and creativity got corrupted. I was given access to the possibility that I could do things on a grand scale if I worked really hard. And because it is so hard, that became the only kind of creativity that mattered to me. Exploring something because it interested me or I had an instinct about it was no longer a possibility unless I could see it ending in a noteworthy outcome. It became even more true when I became a Dad and time became even more elusive.

I lost the spark. It’s hurt my work.

Maybe there’s a surprise ending here that I can’t quite yet see. Maybe there’s some magic here.

But there might not be.

I’m proving to myself that it’s okay to follow my gut even if it doesn’t land somewhere. I’m reclaiming the permission to pursue. The question is the answer.

For every great piece of work, every artist has a ticker file of half ideas, flopped investigations, and things they could never quite crack. I’m rejection/failure sensitive. If I’m going to do my best work, I need to get better at finding value in the journey (Welcome to Or Maybe…)

Back to the show

Here are the leads ya’ll came up with:

-One reader looked up property records and found a mysterious man named ANTBON who may own the property management company and accepts summonses at a Mexican Tapas Restaurant on the LES (Promising - more later)

-Another reader discovered another store called Brocante Bed Stuy with an Etsy profile (Dead end: turns out “Brocante” just means “Vintage crap store” in French.)

Something that’s really strange to me is that it almost seems like the store never even existed. There are no traces of it online. No archived reviews or websites.

There’s a foursquare entry, but the only surprise there is that it turns out I have not eaten at any of the places on “Jer’s BBQ of List 2012.”

I decided to google info about the building.

And it turns out, it’s for sale!

They’re asking $4.5 million dollars. Which I think is a small price to pay to land this story in a surprising way. Who’s in for $4.4?!

I noticed they are pitching is as qualifying for a “Substantial Rehabilitation” credit which can be used to deregulate a building. It requires that the building be over 80% vacant and have at least 75% that need replacement systems.

Perhaps it’s as simple as that: it’s worth more in worse condition than it is in mediocre condition so they’ve let it atrophy for 9 years.

Because all I know about journalism ethics is from movies like Nightcrawler and Shattered Glass, I used my old AOL address to pretend to be a prospective investor.

Note: AOL is the butt of many jokes, but true power is being so unconcerned with optics that you never migrated away. I’d wager there are plenty of high net worth individuals still rocking the same address they started with their Steve Case floppy.

Exhibit A? They wrote back immediately:

Absentee Estate Ownership?!

What kind of person/family inherits a building in New York City and doesn’t care enough to extract revenue from it? I have to meet this person.

Only problem is, NYC has no record online of who owns this building.

So where do we go from here?

We’ve got three threads we’re pursuing:

1. The proprietor of Brocante. (Why did the store close? Why didn’t you take anything with you?)

2. The “absentee estate” owner.

   (Why would you not rent it out?)

3. The property management company. (Why did you not clear it out?)

I’ve been told I should be working with a thesis, so here it is:

There’s a sad, weird, moneybags Ewan Roy type who inherited this building and hates everything that it stands for. They couldn’t be bothered to move these things out or collect rent so they’ve left it for a decade. But now, they want to do something good for the rainforest and it’s expensive to borrow money so they have decided to sell it “As is.”

And on the other end, there’s the proprietor of Brocante who couldn’t pay the rent and without notice, got locked of their own store. They moved away and don’t even know the store has been frozen in time. Locked inside is an object of insane sentimental value, perhaps a harmonica given to them by a dead parent, and they thought it was lost forever.

I’m going to introduce them, they will find common ground in hating the deceased Logan Roy type owner, there will be tears, we’ll return the dead parent harmonica, and we’ll all agree to get the store open for a one day for a tag sale where we’ll donate the money to the rainforest.

What do you think?

So here’s my plan.

1. I’m going to go eat at Mexico Lindo on second avenue where ANTBON, the property management company, accepts summonses. I plan to have enough margaritas to get up the courage to ask the staff about him. (Who’s in?)
   

2. I’m going to go to the NYC Housing Authority to see if I can get more history about the building.
   

3. I’m posting a flyer asking for neighborhood tips. Boerum Hill is full of old timers who love to share their knowledge.
   

   

The mystery continues…

Read Part Three here: