Confessions of a Minneapolis landlord

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In the Bible, the number 40 is often used for a period of testing or trial. Moses and his flock, for example, spent 40 years in the desert.

I was a Minneapolis landlord for just shy of 40 years. The trials and tribulations were hardly biblical. Still, I feel I've reached the metaphorical promised land of retired landlords.

I was a tenant myself in four south Minneapolis apartments before buying a building in 1983. As a lawyer, I occasionally sued landlords or at least helped tenants with claims.

My last apartment in Uptown was on the top floor. A couple of windows had cracks and there was no insulation between ceiling and roof. In winter it was hard to get the temperature above 59 degrees. Appeals to the owner and even my city councilperson went unanswered, so I bought an electric space heater.

The apartment before that had a sunroom looking out on what was then known as Lake Calhoun, but no fridge or oven. That was up to me. The place hadn't been touched since it was built in the early 1900s. It had adequate heat but a surplus of cockroaches. They never seemed to get very big, maybe because I was too poor to feed them properly. To be fair, the deal was clear: rent was reasonable but no maintenance.

Over the years there were good tenants, so-so tenants, and others who would have caused me to tear my hair out if I'd had enough to spare. Being a guilty liberal, I rarely kept a damage deposit or imposed a penalty for late rent. I did not discriminate based on race, sexual preference, kids, etc. I always provided snow removal and dropped by to pick up litter. I even swept the alley. I replaced and fixed things, trying to be the opposite of my landlords back in the day. My only citation from the city was when I reported my own property after discovering 50 piles of dog poop in the tiny backyard after snowmelt.

I figured a fine deducted from the dog owner's deposit would change behavior. Didn't work. A dog poop addendum was thereafter added to leases for dog owners. It charged "five dollars per pile beyond three piles, piles to be determined by landlord."

Then there were cats. Several years ago, stopping by to replace the furnace filter, I noticed cat poop on the kitchen floor. Returning a month or so later, the same cat poop sat in the same place. I'm not obsessed with animal poop, but a certain level of hygiene in this area seems reasonable. A quick tip: Cut a hole in a tennis ball and insert a handle from a busted snow shovel. Wet the ball, put cleanser on it, and voila! Cat stain scrubber.

Periodically, floor drain backups, furnaces conking out in February and other maintenance issues assail the landlord. Something always seems to go wrong just as you're leaving on a trip. Then there's cleaning.

Departing tenants did a good job, a medium job, and "Yikes, people live like this!" Some tenants leave piles of stuff behind, under the impression it's the landlord's job to sort and dispose of their debris. Oh, and there was this once: Someone shot out a picture window and two side windows with silver BBs a few years after I'd moved out. Were they mad at me or a tenant? Who knows?

Now for the good stuff. You live on one side while rent from the other helps make your payment. There can be deductions for mortgage interest, taxes, insurance, improvements and depreciation. Rent tends to go up over time, same with the value of the building. The stock market might drop 50% tomorrow and bonds fall in value when interest rates rise. Property exists in the real world while most assets reside on computers, somewhere.

There is, of course, rent control in certain venues. Is it fair to limit rent to a 3% increase when taxes and insurance go up 15%?

Anyway, I'm out of it and have just the house I live in, which is plenty. Oh, and if you do buy a rental, advise new tenants to open the garage door before backing out.