Apartment 300 G

Facilitating is work landlords and developers could handle on their own. Many do. But if the stakes are high enough, they often want a pro, in part because the negotiations are time-consuming and in part because many tenants won't trust a landlord, no matter what.

For every assignment, Grabow must pass an interview during which he explains his approach and track record to his would-be bosses. He gets $3,500 to $7,500 per household moved, plus a bonus of between $5,000 and $100,000 when a project is completed.

So does Grabow actually do right by the tenants he moves? That's surprisingly hard to say. Last week, he called some developers and landlords who've hired him and asked for permission to share the names and numbers of some relocatees. They all said no. ("They don't feel that there is anything to gain.") About half of all deals end with confidentiality agreements and anyway, he added, most tenants are wary of discussing their sudden wealth -- which is taxable, by the way. You hear the same story from tenants' attorneys -- their clients have no interest in discussing their affairs in public. One of those attorneys, William Gribben, dealt with Grabow recently on a buyout and, for what it's worth, he had perfectly kind things to say about the experience.

"No bad blood, no threats," Gribben says. His client, who he said would be mortified to see his name in the newspaper, wound up with $300,000. "The deal went down quickly and there were good feelings all around."

There aren't a lot of good feelings about facilitators like Grabow in places like the Metropolitan Council on Housing, which calls itself New York's oldest tenant union, however.

"We look at buyouts as another destructive tool that landlords use to diminish the stock of rent-regulated apartments," says Stuart Lawrence, a council volunteer. "We prefer to advise tenants to stand up for their rights and understand the value of rent regulations for the community as a whole."

Grabow has a less sympathetic view of rent controls, not surprisingly, but he leaves those views out of his work and presents himself as an even-tempered emissary from the corporate world.

He says he doesn't have any special skills other than a strong sense of empathy and lots of patience. Many of the tenants he meets are old, and they tend to be suspicious and terrified of relocating. If a tenant dreads moving day, Grabow will send an air-conditioned car to the apartment at 9 a.m., pick up the residents and drop them off at 4 p.m. in their new home, with the boxes fully unpacked.

"If they like the second lock on their door and it doesn't transfer to the new place, we buy them a new lock," he says. "Whatever it is."

The hardest cases are people who don't care about money. Like the 80-year-old guy who'd lived in his neighborhood for decades, who couldn't imagine what he'd do with a sudden windfall.

"I kept saying, 'Tell me what I can offer.' He said, 'That's the problem, I don't think you have anything I want.' I got to know him. I said, 'Do you have any kids?' He said, 'Yeah, I have one son.' I said, 'Look, we're all mortal, we're not going to live forever. If I paid you some money, wouldn't it be nice to be able to leave that for your son?' He said, 'To be honest, my son hasn't been that good to me and we're not on good terms.'

"So I said to him, 'Any grandkids?' He said, 'Oh yeah, I've got a grandson,' and his whole demeanor changed. Eyes started to shine. I said, 'When you're gone would you like your grandson's education to be paid for? Would you like your grandson to say, my life is comfortable because my granddad left me this?' " That did it. Eighty thousand dollars changed hands.

"He moved to a very comfortable apartment, I found him something in the neighborhood. He shook my hand, blessed me, and he was a happy guy."