Nosy about my landlord

Park Slope Journal
Metropolitan Desk; SECT1
Selling Next to Nothing, 7 Days a Week, and Feeling Quite Blessed
By ANDY NEWMAN
946 words
10 October 2004
The New York Times
Late Edition - Final
43
English
(c) 2004 New York Times Company


In March, Albert Cabbad stepped out from behind the counter of the R&A Discount Store on Fifth Avenue in Park Slope, Brooklyn, and broke his hip. He was 78.
While he was in the hospital, his grandsons sold off most of his vast inventory of clothing and bric-a-brac, much of it seemingly untouched since the 1970's, for pennies on the dollar.
''Some people say that that's the end,'' Mr. Cabbad said, ''but they never know the old man was the tiger.''
Mr. Cabbad, a courtly, round-faced gentleman from Syria, is back behind the counter now, surrounded as ever by photos of himself with politicians, mostly Republican, many now deceased. He is open seven days a week, as he has been since 1966, but the shelves are nearly bare.
The scant merchandise includes a pair of lavender sweatpants emblazoned with the word ''aerobics,'' sewing-pattern magazines from 1987, a box of blank 30-second cassette tapes and a plastic toddler toy called ''Hammer and Bottle'' that, according to the package, ''stimulates child's creative instincts.'' A postcard in the rack on the counter shows Times Square bathed in the glow of Mamma Leone's and a billboard for the new Casio digital watch.
Not that any of it is for sale. All Mr. Cabbad dispenses these days is lottery tickets and wisdom.
On a recent Thursday afternoon, he was recounting his family's illustrious history in Aleppo and his long tenure as chairman of the Arab-American Parade Committee when a young man came in and interrupted to ask which of Mr. Cabbad's phone cards offered cheap rates to New Jersey.
''I wouldn't really know,'' Mr. Cabbad replied.
A perplexed look crossed the young man's face. He scanned the memorabilia hanging behind the counter -- a letter from the king of Morocco sent to ''Cheikh Abboud Cabbad'' at the store's address; photos of a young Charles de Gaulle, of Mr. Cabbad grinning with Al Sharpton, of President Bush in a flight suit. His eye stopped at a painting of the Madonna next to a battered wooden crucifix bedecked with blue tinsel.
''If you're Arab,'' the man asked, ''how come you have Jesus and Mary up there?''
''We are Arab Christians,'' Mr. Cabbad said. ''But we were also Jews, 200 years ago. Then we converted.''
''That's really interesting,'' the young man said. ''Thank you.''
A few minutes later a regular came in. ''Da me 2969 50-50, y 296 50-50, y un Mega,'' he said.
''O.K., caballero,'' Mr. Cabbad said, punching up the lottery numbers.
A young couple from upstairs came in and asked if the mail had arrived.
''Not yet,'' Mr. Cabbad said. ''The truck got a flat tire. I just talked to the driver.''
Mr. Cabbad is able to keep his phantom store open, even as wine bars and precious cafes spring up on all sides of him, because he and his family had the foresight to buy the building, as well as the two next door and several more across the street, many years ago. All the buildings are painted a bright light blue. It stands for good luck. Mr. Cabbad is sure that he is blessed.
''I am like the chicken,'' he said. ''The chicken drink water and look to heaven. Drink water and look up, drink water and look up. I am like the chicken. I always look up and thank the Lord for good blessing.''
A man in a white linen suit came in for a $5 Mega Millions ticket.
''Lucky Mega I sell you here,'' Mr. Cabbad said. ''I give you all my blessings and all my support.''
The Mega buyer looked around at the empty bins and the pegboard with nothing hanging from it. ''Closing your shop?''
''No, I be here for a while,'' Mr. Cabbad said.
A man came in with an affidavit stating that his grandchildren lived with him and were therefore entitled to attend the local public school. Mr. Cabbad notarized it and collected $2.
''I still have two things valid,'' Mr. Cabbad said. ''My notary and my gun license.'' His rheumy owl eyes widened. ''You know, after Sept. 11, I had the C.I.A. and the F.B.I. in here. Know what I told them? 'Even if I am not born in America, I am 100 years old, I still carry a gun to defend America.' How do you like that, Harry?'''
His accountant, Henry Frankenberg, who was silently doing the books at a folding card table set up in the middle of the store, did not look up from his work. ''Excellent, Albert,'' Mr. Frankenberg said.
Mr. Cabbad plans to close his shop at the end of the year and hand the space over to one son, a doctor, who wants to build a retail, medical and condo complex on the site.
Until then, he will continue to do a brisk business in nothing. After the man with the affidavit left, a well-dressed young woman came in and asked if she could put a poster in the window, advertising a children's program at the Mark Morris Dance Center.
''Of course,'' Mr. Cabbad said.
The woman taped up the poster, partly obscuring the display in the window: several mismatched layers of contact paper, fading in the sun.

Actually I have not yet had a bad experience with Mr. C.
Yes, the apartment needed lots of work when I first moved in (I did it myself, thinking that the rent would increase significantly had he done it)
but overall he was very nice to me so far.
I had a bed bugs problem in July - he sent me an exterminator at his cost, and the bathroom ceiling collapsed in the same week because of a leak upstairs, again he took care of that straight away.

Was just wondering... what else I'm not aware of...

No I get my mail in my own personal mailbox. IF I get it (see different posting!).
My ceiling in the bathroom collapsed in July but he got it fixed, no problem. The apartment as such needed tons of work though when I moved in.