NMA founder and president Nan McKay is celebrating a major milestone this year: her 50th year in housing. In an ongoing series of posts, she'll be sharing her stories of how the industry has changed over the course of decades.
Nan has previously written for the NMA blog on the topic of executive management and high performance achievement in the HCV program, and was recently profiled in the latest installment of our interview series.
- Part I: Interesting tidbits from 1937 to 1963
- Part II: Urban renewal on Concord Street
- Part III: The most exciting New Year’s Eve
- Part IV: Integrating Concord Street into the new highrise
- Part V: The men of the building
- Part VI: The women of the building
- Part VII: Public housing in the 1960s and 1970s
- Part VIII: The advent of Section 8
Integrating Concord Street into the new highrise
The next hurdle was to relocate the Concord Street residents. I thought it would be easy — the highrise was so much nicer than where they had been living. I knew they would be excited. Not so.
Babe was the biggest challenge. First of all, we had no parking meters to talk to. And no liquor stores just-about-at-the-top-of-the-hill. That didn't deter Babe — he went to the bottom of the hill, back to Concord Street where the goodies were. Then he'd stagger back up the hill to the highrise. Oh, my. The smell was almost overwhelming. And he'd hit on the babes-of-the-highrise in the elevator (when he wasn't peeing in the elevator).
His favorite thing was to go to the space just off the community room where we had card tables set up. The ladies loved to play cards every night. Babe would love to heckle the ladies after a few too many drinks. His advances and witty conversation were not appreciated.
Dealing with the top-of-the-hill women residents was like going into the henhouse where all the chickens were flying into the walls. The solution was to move Babe to the first floor and let him come in the side door. Not a great solution, but at least there was a truce.
The building entrance was on the fourth floor, across a little bridge. The lobby was right there, and there were chairs in the lobby. Remember Mary from Concord Street? She lived in the first apartment, right around the corner from the front door. Mary became the self-appointed greeter of everyone who came into the building.
The minute someone would start over the bridge, Mary shot out of her apartment like a flash. She had a gruff voice, a sinewy body, and a weathered face. Not everyone appreciated Mary's greeting. Many felt they were being scrutinized every time they came in or out of the building. This became a sensitive issue.
Over time, Mary developed some cronies, and the gossip began. Sometimes it was not whispered. "Where do you think she's been?" "Where do you think she's going?" Oh, dear.
My office was just off the lobby, and I had a window from the lobby into the main room, which was used for collecting rent. There was another room for storage and equipment, which eventually became a news center, and a private office where we could discuss rent changes — and where people came to complain about Mary.
The buildings on Concord Street were being torn down. There was no other place for Mary. And we couldn't evict her for greeting people. What to do? I talked with her numerous times, but it didn't really help. Eventually we solved most of the problems by taking the chairs out of the lobby. It lessened the problem, anyway.
Mary was rough, but underneath it all, she was a good person. I got a kick out of her. I'll bet she had seen a lot of life, although she never disclosed what "had been."
Mary's friends were mostly those from Concord Street. Mike lived across the hall from her. He was a short, quiet man who spoke broken English and sometimes pretended he didn't know what you were saying. He was one of the most astute people in the building.
Mike was one of the earliest residents, and took a liking to Jim (the handsome one I told you about, who became my husband about a year after we met). When Jim came by to pick me up at night, Mike would come running out of his apartment and say, "JEEM! I have a little something for you. Come into my apartment."
I wasn't invited. He explained later that this was not for me. Mike didn't drink, but he had a bottle of Slivovitz, which is the most vile-tasting cherry brandy you will ever drink in your life. As I found out, he poured "Jeem" just a little tiny shot of Slivovitz. I know it wasn't exactly the professional thing to do, but it was his greatest gift and he would have been highly insulted if Jim had refused. So Jim got his shot of Slivovitz every once in a while.
Next: Part V: The men of the building
While serving as executive director of a Minnesota housing authority, Nan McKay started one of the nation’s first Section 8 programs. She has devoted the past two years to redesigning NMA’s HCV Executive Management course and rewriting the HCV Executive Management Master Book.
