c. 2025 Rod Ice
All rights reserved
(11-25)
The election of Zohran Mamdani as mayor of New York City did not seem to have any specific relevance to my home state of Ohio, or the isolated community where I lived in Geauga County. But after searching online for clues about Proletariat Property Co-op, LLC, and discovering that there were few details available anywhere, I turned to my distant contact, Yarl Trite. A friend I had known decades ago, when living the life of a younger, more impulsive and naïve individual. A fledgling writer on the streets of a Finger Lakes city, south of Syracuse.
Yarl was older, yet still retained a level of curiosity about technical innovations that was laudable. He had the personal style of a rocker, with longish hair and leather attire, but held the perfectionist vibe of a computer nerd in his heart. He had outlived most of my other friends from that region, despite battling afflictions that were common to men in their 70s. I liked the persistence of his forward-looking attitude. And relied on him when stumped by riddles of a perplexing sort.
PPC barely seemed to exist, at least from my vantage point in the heartland of America. But upon reconnecting with my cohort from the Empire State, I soon realized that having skills as a professional nerd could make an enormous difference when snooping in cyberspace. He rang up my cellular number, late on a Friday evening. When I had already dived into a pool of cold brew and Tennessee whiskey. Something that brought out my true personality in full force. A dangerous condition to share with anyone not already familiar with my habits.
“Link! How are you doing, old man? By now, you must be drunk as usual!”
I had to clear my throat, which was burning from the high-proof wash of liquor.
“Old man? C’mon now Yarr, screw that nonsense! I was in diapers when you were hitting record stores around town. I’m still an overgrown kid, okay? Sure, I might look like a shaggy caveman, but it’s just a trick of the light. You’ve got the endurance trophy, I think...”
He laughed long and hard, before tapping noisily on his computer keyboard. The clicking pecked at my ear with sharp, short repetitions. Much like the point of a chicken’s beak, foraging through kernels of corn.
“Kid, my ass! You’re more of a tired, cranky workhorse. Wandering in the pasture, maybe, but not ready to be processed by a pet food cannery! Anyway, I had a look around at some of the trolling websites that we use at work. It helps track down results for customers that get lost on the information superhighway. You said that the trailer park has been taken over by a new owner, right? Not a bank or holding company, necessarily, but an entity from my area, apparently...”
I nodded while sipping my fiery beverage.
“That’s it. The name sounds unfamiliar. When I went hunting, it didn’t come up as any sort of legitimate, financial concern. There’s got to be an interesting backstory, we ain’t been told much of anything here in my park.”
Yarl ceased the incessant tapping, and began to read from his oversized monitor.
“What I’ve got here is a registration of the original group, a collection of student investors. They were formed in the hippie era, as an alternative to the mainstream idea of owning land and buildings. Did you never hear the quote, ‘From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs?’ That’s in their mission statement...”
I stammered while reflecting on the quote, mentally. It evoked distant memories, long left dormant and forgotten.
“What’s that, Karl Marx? From his Critique of the Gotha Programme?”
My techie chum whistled with affirmation.
“That’s it, they had a perspective on ownership that was separate from the usual banking crowd. The cooperative is run as a way to make everyone equal in assets and responsibilities. No one legally holds any property as an individual, it’s all collectively owned. That opened the door for lots of young insurgents who couldn’t afford to get into the housing market originally. Now, that plan has been revived by friends of the mayor in NYC...”
I had to catch my breath. His revelation made me intellectually dizzy.
“Who’s backing that co-op though? Don’t they need a guarantor of some kind?”
Yarl sighed heavily, over my lack of comprehension. As if beholding a pupil attempting to learn in his classroom.
“Link, use your gawdamm brain! New York State underwrites the co-op! That’s the best assurance anyone here can get! With shadow participants in foreign countries that wish to be involved...”
I was still puzzled about the acquisition.
“So, they let this communal bunch buy out whoever owned the property, before? Really? That’s one hell of a change, especially for anything in my part of the country...”
He snorted at my comment. Then, dropped into a monotone of professorial explanation.
“Look man, I don’t figure your trailer has much value on its own. That whole park can’t be worth a lot, compared to other developments in Ohio. It just stands to reason. You’ve been complaining about changing owners and company managers for years. I’ll bet that Buckeye rathole has been sold a dozen times over, since you’ve lived there. What does that indicate? Nobody wants it now, there’s no potential for turning a big profit. Certainly not with all the violations of EPA guidelines, safety concerns, and residential rights...”
My face was burning. I felt grateful that fall temperatures had arrived. On the porch, there was enough seclusion to keep me safe and invisible, while using my phone.
“If nobody is technically an owner, then what does that mean for me? I’m the poor schlub that has to live here, Yarr! What’s the upside for me?”
My adviser hummed to himself while scrolling. Then, made a sales pitch for the idea of shared debt and duties, as a business strategy.
“It’s good for you in the end, because nobody gets sued. Nobody gets evicted unless you leave the co-op. Nobody gets bullied by lawyers or the police. Do you understand? From what I see here, you have to be expelled by a vote of your peers. It works for regular inhabitants on your street, and for those who oversee the asset portfolio, at offices in the city. Each member is equal in status, top to bottom. I’d say it’s a great deal for everyone...”
I had become too inebriated to argue the point, philosophically. But it did not matter. He had finished my lesson in real estate finance. We were done bantering for the evening.
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