By Bert Stratton | Wall Street Journal
I went to my first eviction hearing in two years last week. I hadn’t evicted anybody, or lost any rents, during Covid. The neighborhood social-services agency had given out rent vouchers to six delinquent tenants of mine.
The tenant in apartment 403—a one-bedroom—was an exception. I had told him about the free rent money at the agency, but he never moved on it. His living room consisted of a sleeping bag, dozens of cigarette butts and a bong. Every Monday I knocked on his door to see if he was still there. He owed three months’ rent. On his application he had written “house painter.” But he was always home.
When my leasing agent rented to him seven months ago, the painter had been accompanied by his mother—always a good sign. He was 27. In hindsight we should have had mom cosign.
