confessions of a lottery winner

8/7/2019 Confessions of a Lottery Winner

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Confessions of a Lottery Winner

Bruce DillenbeckDecember 2002

A Sunday morning in late March. A dark and dreary day. The time of year when the oppressiveness ofwinter hangs heavy on your soul. My friend, who also happened to be my landlord, was reading theJamaica Plain Gazette while I was reading the Boston Globe. Even the news was oppressive. The funnieswerent funny. April was nigh, holding forth with the promise of regeneration but then again, April is thecruelest month.

My friend asked me if I had seen the notice in the Jamaica Plain Gazette, advertising a housing lottery foraffordable units in a condominium project that was under construction in Bostons South End. I had not.The use of lotteries is a common practice to allocate units in developments that are built by communitynon-profits or private developers and receiving some form of public subsidies. The property in question,Wilkes Passage, a 155-unit condominium project, was being constructed on land formerly held inownership by the Boston Redevelopment Authority (BRA). Wilkes Passage is located on the lower end

of the Washington Street corridor that leads into Chinatown and the New England Medical Center.

Location of Wilkes Passage, South End Boston

I had not seen the noticein the Gazette but on awhim, completed anapplication not expectinganything to come of it. Ihad nothing to lose. Myfriend was planning on

selling the condo that myroommate and I resided atin a little over a year. Iwas paying a belowmarket rent. I would soonbe faced with the starkreality of looking for anew place in what wasfast becoming the mostexpensive housing marketfor rental properties in thecountry. The Jamaica

Plain I had come to love, and had resided almost continuously since 1988, was experiencing the sameastronomical rise in rents as other Boston neighborhoods and surrounding communities. My fat city wasnearing an end. My benefactor was cashing in his chips and I would have to abandon ship. Barring divineintervention, I had come to the conclusion that I would either look for a place outside the Boston metroregion or move to another part of the country. Maybe Waco, Texas.


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I dropped my application off at the Wilkes Passage sales office. I would have to wait one week before theresults would be reported. Lotteries will typically draw a thousand plus applicants so my expectationswere low. Most lotteries work by a ranking process. Although anyone can submit an application,preference is usually given to those who meet certain criteria. In this instance, preference was given tothose who were: 1) current residents of Boston, 2) artists living in the South End, 3) South End residentspreviously displaced by urban renewal. Half of the units were being allocated to artists. I was told only

400 people had submitted applications. My odds had dramatically improved. What I at first thought was along shot became a real possibility.

As I had some time to kill, I decided to research the history of Bostons South End. At one time,Washington Street was just a slender slice of land connecting the peninsula of Boston to the mainland. Inthe 1840s, after marshes on either side of the isthmus were filled in to become todays South End, theneighborhood experienced a brief but albeit period of prosperity. By the end of the 19th century it beganits long, slow descent into poverty and decrepitude. As its stately row houses were converted into lodginghouses, the neighborhood became home to Bostons burgeoning immigrant population. By the mid-twentieth century, the South End was a former shadow of itself having suffered from neglect, arson andwholesale demolition. By the mid-seventies, one-quarter of the original buildings had been destroyed.

The mid-sixties saw the first signs of renewal as urban homesteaders began to renovate once derelictproperties. In 1973, the South End was listed on the National Register of Historic Places as the largesturban Victorian neighborhood in the country. A decade later, Bostons Landmark Commissiondesignated the neighborhood as a landmark district. This acted to preserve its character and enhance itsvalue. The South End had been discovered just as Columbus had discovered America. The only problemwas that the South End was already occupied.

Washington Street had been a no mans land for quite some time but had lain dormant with promise sincethe old elevated Orange Line T had been torn down in mid-eighties.. Much of the land along theWashington Street corridor was held in city ownership but was not marketable until real estate valuesbegan to recover from the crash of the late eighties, early nineties. The city was looking to jump start

development in what was now valuable land adjacent to one of the hottest housing markets in Boston.

Today, the South End is experiencing a building boom. $2 billion worth of investment in residential,commercial, and institutional projects are planned or underway.. The BRA lists 19 projects as eitherunder review, approved or under construction. Along the Washington Street corridor, the city and state

are complementing this privateinvestment by pouring over $50 millioninto street renovations and infrastructurefor the Silver Line, which began servicethis fall.

View of South End (Looking towardPrudential Building)

Wilkes Passage was being developed byEdward A. Fish and Associates, one the


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larger real estate development firms in the Boston metro area, having completed projects in excess of $1billion to date. The BRA sold the land to Fish and Associates significantly below its true market value.It probably didnt hurt that Edward Fish is a generous Menino campaign contributor. In return forbuilding beyond allowable zoning limits, the developer agreed to set aside 19 units as affordable ratehousing - residents who fell above 50% and below 120% of the citys household median income. WilkesPassage was not the only project being developed in a similar manner in proximity to the Washington

Street corridor. Critics accused the mayor of selling the land on the cheap and promoting developmentthat quickened gentrification pressures in the South End. But I digress.

I waited apprehensively. I logged onto to the Wilkes Passage web site as soon as the results were posted.I had been on a losing streak for quite a few years and by nature Im a pessimist. To my disbelief I drew alow number. After ranking by preference, I was number 19. As I dont believe in divine intervention, Iconsidered myself plain lucky for once. But as I was to learn, I had surmounted only the first of manyobstacles to come.

Just because I drew a low number, did not automatically mean I was in. Given my profile (incomeranking and non-artist) there were only two units priced from which I could pick from. Condos wereavailable at different prices depending upon which income group you fell into to. There were three tiers:1) applicants whose household median income fell between 50-80 percent of the Boston median, 2) 80-100 percent of median income, and 3) 100-120% percent of median income. As I fell into the bottom tier,I had to choose a unit priced within my income tier. I could potentially be competing with others for thesame two units. Theoretically it was possible that others with a similar profile might pick those two units.A meeting of the top lottery winners was to be held in one week. There we would choose off and fight.

The meeting was scheduled for 5:30 p.m. I was late getting out of work. I walked at a brisk pace from mydowntown office to the sales office. By the time I got there, I was drenched in sweat. The crowd waslarger than I anticipated. The room was filled to capacity and the tension was palpable. Everyone was apotential competitor. As I write this six months later, it is not entirely clear to me how names were beingcalled that night, but my name was called early on. The person ahead of me had picked one of the two

units for which I was eligible. My decision had was made for me. After completing some additionalpaperwork and leaving a $1,000 deposit, I walked out into the evenings twilight. Everything felt surrealto me. I was potentially purchasing a one-bedroom, 800 sq. ft. condominium in a luxury loft-styledbuilding in Bostons South End for $115,000. To put this into perspective, market rate units started at$377,000. The luxury penthouse was selling for $1.3 million. I was living the Cinderfella story.

The following is a description of the building as written by Peabody Properties, the marketing agents forWilkes Passage.

This new, seven-story contemporary building will offer one hundred and fifty five loft-style condominium

homes. Complemented by two levels of underground parking, owning a Wilkes Passage Loft Parking

Space will make the search for a prime city spot a thing of the past...Many homes feature decks that offer

stunning cityscape and Back Back views. Some homes have outdoor patios - perfect for that end of theday relaxing retreat. We invite you to be part of the exciting Washington Street rebirth. As a Wilkes

Passage Loft homeowner, you will truly...celebrate life, celebrate living, celebrate your new lifestyle.

What more could I ask for? Not only would I have the peace of mind that comes with homeownership, aplace of my own after years of living with roommates but I would no longer be held hostage to a volatile


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Boston housing market. And my life, no, my lifestyle would be transformed. Homeownership wouldrestore my self pride, improve my sex life, and give me a favorable tax deduction to boot.Homeownership is the birthright of every true blooded American and I would no longer be an outcast, amisfit in a world that measures ones self worth by their take home income and investment portfolio. Butlike everything else in life, appearances are not always what they seem.

Architects Sketch

One irony in this tale I tell, is that I work for anagency that administers a first time homebuyersprogram, but could not afford to purchase a homeon my own. I had put home ownership out of mymind as an impossible dream - at least not intodays Boston housing market. I would beperfectly happy living my life as a renter if themarket provided affordable, well-built housing in a

safe, stable neighborhood, something that mostEuropean countries provide as a matter of course.In America this appears to be beyond the ability ofour so called democratic institutions to deliver, inthe same manner that national health insurance andincome security for workers is considered abirthright of European citizens. On the other hand,our elected leaders are falling all over one another

to hand out generous tax deductions for the wealthy.

I know what you are thinking. What kind of sour grapes is this for a guy who just hit the mother lode ofall jackpots. Dont get me wrong. Im not stupid. I know a good deal when I see one but its not about tocloud my critical faculties. But I digress. I had not yet crossed the finish line. I still had a number ofhurdles to surmount to reached the promised land.

In one week I had to sign a purchase and sale agreement. In the interim, I had to get pre-qualified by alender and hire a lawyer. Being in the business, so to speak, I had a leg up on any competition and waspositioned to navigate the labyrinth one confronts in the homebuying process. Many lottery winners fallout of the running because they dont have the necessary down payment or cant surmount all the hurdlesthey confront along the way. I met with a loan officer the following day and secured a letter of pre-qualification (i.e. - a letter stating that I had the financial ability to purchase the unit in question).

In order to secure a loan however, I would most likely have to sell my beloved Toyota Celica, which I

had purchased six months earlier. It was adding to my overall debt burden along with my student loan,which I have been paying back for most of my adult life. I would have to sacrifice my Toyota for thegreater good and in the language of the banking industry lower my back end ratio. It was a difficultdecision. A condo in the South End or my beloved Toyota Celica.


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My baby

To most people it would seem like a no brainer. My Celica wasthe first car I owned in my life that wasnt a junk mobile on

wheels. I had hungered after that Celica for years and giving it upwas like giving up your favorite mistress. On the other hand,parking in the South End is a horror story and I couldnt affordthe $50,000 price tag to purchase a parking space at WilkesPassage. I can almost hear the collective sigh of disbelief of thoseof you who are reading this. That must be a typo, you are

thinking to yourself. Or, perhaps, you are thinking you need corrective lenses. Although I am known formy vivid imagination, even I couldnt create a fiction as outlandish as the current asking price for aparking space in Wilkes Passage.

In the South End, resident stickered cars outnumber available parking spaces by a ratio of three to one. Itdoesnt take a degree in calculus to grasp the reality of what that means. $50,000 is the going rate for the

condominiumization of car spaces in todays South End. Wilkes Passage had built additional parkingspaces that were set aside for South End residents. They were sold almost immediately. If youreinterested. Too bad. There is already a long waiting list. There are new developments being built up anddown along the new South End and they to are selling parking spaces. Some spaces are being purchasedas speculative investments and leased to others.

Today we face not only a widening inequality of income but a growing inequality of access to parkingspaces. It is a Hobbesian war against all for the holy grail of a parking space. The problem is a surge incar ownership. During the last decade, according to the 2000 census, the citys population increased bythree percent while the number of cars increased by 36 percent. What we need is some form of birthcontrol for automobiles. Perhaps Boston should follow Chinas one baby policy, that is, it shouldmandate that each family be limited to one car. If this is politically unfeasible than I suggest a morepalatable solution. A certain percentage of private parking spaces should be made affordable andallocated by lottery.

Three days before I am ready to sign my P&S, I learn that I have to come up with the required 3% deposit- or another $2,500. No one had bothered to mention this small detail to me. It didnt occur to me that Idhave to come up with the down payment prior to closing. I had the money but it was not immediatelyaccessible. I was planning on drawing down funds from my retirement account. I contact a representativefrom my retirement account but he tells me it will take at least five days for the check to reach me. I tointo panic mode. My second crisis.

Depending upon ones personality, people react to stress in one of the following three ways. The first

group calmly assesses the situation and divines a solution. The second group panics and exhibitsymptoms that include, but are not limited to: 1) babbling incoherently, 2) questioning the existence ofGod, and 3) constipation. Yet, in the end they manage a solution. The third group are like deer who standfrozen in the headlights of a fast approaching car, unable to act, passively waiting for what some mightcall the big sleep. They are unable to navigate lifes shoals and are swept into oblivion. When shithappens, some call it fate, some call it the will of God. I call it by its name - shit. Luckily, I fall into thesecond of the afore mentioned three groups.


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I walk up and down the corridors at work flailing my arms about and cursing the hand of fate that hadonce again rained down on me like the plague dogs of hell. My co-worker, noticing my agitation,assesses my situation and suggests that I ask for a temporary loan from our employer. As the mission ofthe agency I work for is ostensibly to promote home ownership, they generously agree. Several dayslater I sign my P&S. I think I am home free. Not by a long shot.

My next obstacle is obtaining loan approval. My loan officer suggests that I utilize a first timehomebuyers program that had been developed by a nation wide community organization that shall remainunnamed. They offered a special mortgage product that was structured to lower a borrowers monthlymortgage payment. The bank I am working with participates in their program in order to meet themandate of the Community Reinvestment Act (CRA) - more about that in a moment. I waste the nexttwo months working with the community organization that shall remain unnamed, responding to oneinformation request after another, finally giving up in frustration after realizing they would not approvemy loan application.

The organization in question had done admirable work over time to make lenders responsive to the creditneeds of low income and minority city residents who had historically been denied access through a

practice known as redlining. When the Community Reinvestment Act was passed by Congress in the lateseventies, community organizations had a tool to hold banks accountable. At first, most banks huffed andpuffed and complained they were not in the business of social work. Others claimed CRA was statesocialism. After years of community activists prodding and pushing, they eventually got on the bandwagon. Today, many major banks are working in partnership with government and communitydevelopment corporations in inner city neighborhoods across the U.S. to make home ownership apossibility for those of modest means. Lenders found religion when they discovered profits can bederived even in the poorest of American communities. Some now claim they embraced CRA right fromthe start. But I digress.

While the community organization that remains unnamed has done yeomans work in the area ofadvocacy, their performance in the area of program administration is less than to be desired. I foundmyself two months down the road, nearing the deadline to have a loan commitment in hand, and theprogram administrator was dithering around with my loan application. My third crisis.

By this time I am suffering from nervous exhaustion and sleep deprivation brought on by insomnia. I findmyself walking the corridors of work babbling to myself like the Mad Hatter. I am constantly harassingmy loan officer for news and bemoaning the fact that I had ever been born. Even after the intercession ofa friendly loan underwriter working for the bank, I am left in limbo. After two months of frustration, myloan officer suggests that I utilize his banks first time homebuyers program. While the interest rate isntas favorable, the banks program has similar cost saving incentives as the community organization thatshall remain unnamed.

In the interim, I have a chance to inspect my unit along with other lottery winners while the building isstill under construction. It is difficult to imagine that the shell of a building I am looking at will be readyfor occupancy at the end of Summer. A dozen of us walk through lofts of different sizes andconfigurations. The appeal of lofts is that they allow one to design their living space. Except for thebedrooms and bathrooms there are no dividing walls. The bedroom, which is slightly elevated from thefloor, has an eight-foot wide opening rather than a door. Its inner walls do not meet the ceiling. Becauseof the U-shaped configuration of the building the majority of units have only one exposure to the outside.Oversize windows are constructed to increase the available sunlight available too interior of loft.


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The first thing that strikes me, as I enter my unit, is the concrete pillar that is almost dead smack in themiddle of my living room / kitchen. I dont know what to make of it. My inbred paranoia tells me that thearchitects were instructed to strategically locate the affordable units in those places where the buildingssupporting beams cut through more of the affordable than market rate condos. As I dont know which ofthe buildings units are designated as affordable this remains an untested thesis. I invite any enterprising

architectural students out there to test my hypothesis.

Front View of Wilkes Passage (Washington

Street)

When I first went to the Wilkes Passage website and read about the amenities that camewith each loft I was stunned. Here are a fewof the highlights. In the residence: hardwoodflooring in platform bedroom, central heating

and air conditioning, pre-wired telephone,cable television and high speed internet. Inthe bathrooms: marble tile floors andbaseboard, maple finished vanity with granitecountertop, whirlpool bathtub with marbletile tub/shower. In the kitchen: maple finish

flat cabinetry with frosted glass panel upper cabinetry, granite chefs island, convection oven,dishwasher, refrigerator, microwave and many other amenities I havent mentioned.

I always tell my friends, when it looks too good to be true it usually isnt. As I later learned, lotterywinners would find themselves in a stripped down version of the real thing. Many features in theresidence are similar but the kitchen and bathroom are dramatically different. I call it affordableminimalism. The kitchen and bathroom cabinetry are of the lowest possible grade as are the sink andtoilet. The kitchen appliances are perfectly suitable but I didnt appreciate what unfinished flooringmeant until I later moved in. It means an extra expenditure of anywhere from two to eight thousanddollars if I want to put down flooring. Pre-wired telephone. Not really. Verizon hit me for a $90 fee forunfinished wiring. High speed internet. It hasnt arrived in this neck of the woods yet. I accepted all ofthe above with good grace and blessed my fortunes, but I really thought the developers were truly beingcheap when they didnt install a bathroom cabinet, towel or toilet rack. Each of these items are additionalexpenses for those who can least afford it. I mention all of this not to begrudge my good fortune but forreaders to understand what affordable units in a luxury housing complex means - a two-tiered class ofamenities between market-rate and below market rate units. And did I mention that each affordablehousing unit carries deed restrictions?

Deed restrictions are an important concept in the world of affordable housing and common to manydevelopments financed with government subsidies. One of the most important restrictions proscribes apropertys maximum resale price. The resale price is usually based on a formula that defines the annualpercentage of appreciation. In BRA financed properties, the resale value is restricted to five percent ofthe purchase price for each year the property is held in ownership. When the unit is sold, it is sold tosomeone within the same income bracket as yourself at the time of purchase. This is a trade off oneaccepts for the opportunity to purchase a property priced below it true market value.


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Architectural sketch of my unit

Philosophically I am in agreement withthis resale restriction as it emphasizes an

important component of housing.Housing as a utility (i.e. - shelter) ratherthan as an investment. Americans havehistorically viewed housing through thisdouble lens and this has tremendousimplications for social policy. If societyviews housing as a utility, as a basichuman right, than the development andfinancing of housing would follow aradically different path. If society viewshousing primarily as an investment, asjust another commodity, than social

policy will follow another path.

When housing is viewed as a commodity,it will experience all the vagaries of themarket. Not only will you find wildfluctuations in the cost and availability ofhousing but you will produce a class ofhaves and have nots in the form of rentersand owners. Even with the rate of homeownership at record levels, it has donelittle to change the basic inequality ofwealth in America. In addition,neighborhoods and cities will experiencelong term instability as public and private

investment fluctuates over time. Micro and regional housing markets will continue to swing back andforth between cycles of growth, decline, rebirth and gentrification.

As I traveled through Europe as a college student, I kept wondering where each city hid its slums. Withthe exception of Great Britain, slums by and large do not exist in western Europe. During the last twodecades, the federal government has largely abandoned its role as a producer of housing and abdicatedthat responsibility to the private sector. Until this social policy changes, there will continue to be an acutehousing shortage in many areas of the country. But I digress.

My last hurdle is to get my loan application approved by the deadline written into my P&S. The bankcontinues asking me for additional documentation. I will need to get special approval as my personalfinances had been somewhat shaky years earlier, and because the debt from my student and auto loansare inflating my total debt-to-income ratio. Over the last several months, I have been attempting to sellmy beloved Celica but without luck. Although I keep slashing the price steadily downward until it ispriced below its blue book value, I still cant find a willing buyer. I am panicking as I expect my loanapplication will get deep-sixed because I cant unload my car.

Fortunately my lawyer is able to get an extension on my loan approval. July is rapidly approaching and


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we are about to experience one of the hottest summers in recent memory. As my emotional temperaturecontinues to rise, so does the temperature in my apartment. My apartment is on the fourth floor of a tripledecker and formerly an attic that had been converted to an accessory apartment. I do not have airconditioning. As Boston suffers through periodic bouts of heat waves, the temperature within myapartment reaches the temperature outside. I continue experiencing reoccurring bouts of insomnia. The

lack of sleep, stress at work, and uncertainty regarding my loan approval, ware me down. I begin havingfantasies of escape.

I have a growing ambivalence regarding whether or not I want to continue living in Boston. After livingin Boston for twelve years, the city has lost many of its charms that first drew me to it from New YorkCity. Years of underemployment, escalating housing prices, lack of romantic success, a bad back, insanedrivers, the weather, and a losing baseball team have taken their toll. If my loan application fallsthrough, I am ready to pack up and move. I now have a substantial sum of money as I have been savingfor my down payment over the last several months. All I need is the will.

I am someone who has an obsession with numbers. I spend dozens of hours pouring through my PlaceRated Almanac attempting to quantify the perfect city I should move to. Since I can not sleep at night, I

have plenty of time to consider the alternatives. I record all the data in an Excel spreadsheet. I undertakea comparative analysis of 12 cities that stand out above the rest by measuring such variables as cost ofliving, unemployment rates, climate, cultural opportunities, crime, transportation and the number ofsunny days in a year - Seattle very bad, Santa Fe good. If you dont believe me, email me and I willforward you my spreadsheet. At the end of the day I know I want to move to New Orleans, not because itranks at the top of my list but because it is the antithesis of Boston. I have traveled to New Orleans onmultiple occasions. I love its music, its food, its multi-cultural influences, and most importantly you canfind a decent, one-bedroom apartment in a safe neighborhood for $500 a month. I am not making this up.We have become jaded living in a city where the median price for a two-bedroom unit now goes for$1,700 a month.

Where I want to be

I am also ambivalent about becoming a homeowner. Home ownership means, among otherthings, that I have to assume adult responsibilitiesand I have been trying my very best to avoid thatoutcome for years. I am afraid I will metamorphoseinto a Republican. I have seen it happen to mypeers. It is like watchingInvasion of the BodySnatchers. I believe that once I become a man ofwealth and position, I will side with the capitalists

against the workers, homeowners against renters,and find myself taking out coffee from Starbucksrather than Dunkin Donuts. I admire Henry

Thoreaus philosophy of simple living although I dont necessarily want to give up indoor plumbing.Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose sang Kris Kristoffersons inMe and BobbyMcGee. I fear that I will be owned by what I own. When you fear losing what you have, it changes yourpersonality. It makes you risk averse. When I express my doubts to family and friends, they think I amhopelessly naive. Only my psychiatrist thinks I am sane.


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The days pass from one to another and still no word. Because I am in the business, so to speak, I knowwho to call and how to push things along. I make friends with the underwriter who is handling my loanapplication, and keep hounding her from one day to the next. Phone calls, emails, psychic transmissionsthrough the air. She calls me. Shes telling me its a close call. Its those damn ratios again. My unsoldCelica is threatening to nix the whole deal. She needs to verify my income with my employer. I am on

the razors edge. My current income allowed me to choose from the lowest priced tier of affordable units.If my income was just a thousand dollars higher, I would have been bumped into the next income bracketand would have been required to choose from a higher priced unit. And there is no way the lender wouldhave qualified me at a higher price.

I am weeks away from receiving my annual pay raise and bonus, which would push me into the nextincome bracket. I fear that if my loan approval drags on indefinitely the BRAs hounds will ferret me outand that will be the end of it. I finally hear back from her. Why didnt you tell me about your bonusfrom last year? Oh. Right. My bonus from last year on top of my base pay puts me over the top. By midJuly, with closings just a month away, I finally get the green light. I have a commitment letter in hand.And I dont even have to sell my Celica as a condition of loan approval. I am too exhausted to feeleuphoric. Like the long distance runner, I believe I have crossed the finished line. I can start planning my

move and prepare for my life. Then comes crisis number four.

My closing is scheduled for mid August. I hire a moving company. I send my change-of-address to thepost office, contact utility companies, and advertise a yard sale. The week before my closing, my lawyercontacts me. She tells me that all closings are indefinitely postponed. The delay has something to do withan argument between one government bureaucracy and another. After speaking to a number of parties, Iget the real story. Apparently the Federal National Mortgage Association (FNMA) is bickering with theBRA over provisions contained within the BRAs deed rider.

And who is FNMA youre asking? FNMA is a private corporation chartered by the federal government toestablish a national secondary mortgage market. In a nutshell, FNMA sells notes to privates investors andutilizes the proceeds from those funds to purchases mortgages made by banks and savings and loans.This is done in order to free up capital so that lenders can make more loans. If you have a mortgage, it islikely that it was sold to FNMA or its brother Freddie Mac. Its all in the family. One way to visualizethis process is to think of a mortgage as a pig. FNMA is a butcher. It purchases all the pigs from thefarmers, grinds them up into sausages and sells the sausages on the wholesale market. Got all that? Therewill be a pop quiz at the end of this article.

And what does all this have to do with the condo I was about to purchase? FNMA will only purchasepigs, I mean mortgages, that adhere to their own underwriting standards. An underwriting standard meansthe pig is kosher. If you want to know what kosher means youll have to consult a real estate text book.The same thing is true for the BRA. The BRAs deed restrictions have to be acceptable to FNMA.FNMA holds all the power. If a bank knows they cant sell their mortgage to FNMA they might walk

away and spoil the party for everyone. FNMA had for years agreed to the deed restrictions as written bythe BRA but someone at FNMA wanted to renegotiate the rules of the game while in play.

Regardless of who is right and who is wrong, these nameless government bureaucrats are playing Godwith other peoples lives. There are a number of lottery winners who have given notice to their landlordsanticipating that they would be moving by the first of the month. Because of this delay, many are about tofind themselves out on the street and homeless. All hell breaks loose.


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My situation is not as dire. I am renting from my friend and my situation is fluid. However, I have toquickly backtrack and cancel all my plans that I had put into motion. My world is once again thrown intochaos. I do not know when I will be moving. Another lottery winner with whom I became friends has toput her possessions into temporary storage while crashing on the couches of her friends.

Several of us, including my friend and our respective lawyers, begin to raise bloody hell. We startmaking phone calls to the BRA and the Mayors office in an attempt to apply political pressure on thefeuding parties. I dont pretend to know what transpired behind the scenes but my impression is that theMayors office, fearing a public relations disaster, swiftly intervened to resolve the situation. The delaylasts two weeks. If the situation had not resolved itself, I was prepared to make a few discrete phone callsto the local press. I know the story I could peddle would make good copy and that none of the partieswanted to be portrayed in an unflattering light.

It is the beginning of September. I can see light at the end of the tunnel. My dream is within reach. I havemade it to the promised land. My cliches have run aground. I contact my lawyer to reschedule myclosing. She tells me to contact the banks lawyer who tells me to contact Peabodys (propertymanagement company) lawyer who tells me I should close within the week. A week comes and goes. No

word. My friend closes on her condo. Others close. I contact my lawyer again. When will I close? Shetells me to contact the banks lawyer who tells me to contact Peabodys lawyer who tells me I shouldclose within the week. It is mid September and I am still waiting. I am told the banks underwriter has notforwarded my papers to the banks attorney. Something to do with blah, blah, blah...... I am clueless as towhy my closing is on hold when everyone else is closing. I am weighted down with uncertainty. My lifeis on hold again.

One day after work, I walk from my downtown office to Wilkes Passage and stand outside looking in.There is a chill in the air. Fall is approaching. I can tell from the lighted interiors there are a fare numberof units occupied. I am so close yet so far from my final destination. Although I have for all intents andpurposes crossed the finish line, I feel like the condemned prisoner waiting for that phone call from theGovernor. Life or death. My life as melodrama. The phone call comes. How would September 13th workfor you? Fine, I say. Any day, any time, anywhere. I check my calendar. I am closing on Friday the13th. I am moving into a building whose address is 1313. I am not superstitious, as my friends andcolleagues will attest. But I cant help thinking this is an omen.

View from my new home

I contact the movers. I contact the utilitycompanies. I send my change-of-addressto the post office. My closing isscheduled for noon. I take the afternoonoff. The closing is to be held at Peabody

Managements office in Quincy.Although I work in the housing field,ironically I have never been to a closing. Ispend the next hour signing onedocument after another. I have no ideawhat I am signing even though my lawyerdutifully explains each document. And

this is the document whereby will we collect your first born child in the event you fail to make paymenton your mortgage. OK. Sounds good to me. It is one big blur. I emerge into the light of day. It feels


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anti-climatic.Six months after submitting an application for the lottery, I am ready to move into my new home. I knowmost of you are thinking, end of story. Fairy tales come true, they can happen to you. Or, as Tom Pettyonce wrote, Even those losers, get lucky some time. Forget it. My sunny disposition doesnt allow forsuch glib thoughts to enter my head and there is still a coda to this story.

I am already feeling nostalgic about Jamaica Plain. Ive spent the better part of my adult life living in J.P.and I am leaving with mixed emotions. This is my first time living in a large building since the mid-eighties, when I was living in Brooklyn, New York. I was living in a rent stabilized apartment and myneighbors were more or less like myself - of modest means. In moving to the South End, I feel like I havemoved to another country. Its not just that the South End has a predominantly urban character - J.P. isalmost bucolic in comparison - but the population is a largely white, professional, and affluent. I liveamongst the rich and the beautiful whose major pastime is eating out at the many chi-chi restaurants thatpopulate the neighborhood. I live in a building with a handsome foyer, courtyard, roof deck,underground parking and concierge services. The concierge services provide a range of services - drycleaning, limo service, catering, and dinner reservations. I cant afford any of these services but its niceto know that they are available. I am stranger in a strange land.

In a perfect world, I would have preferred living in my modest triple decker in Jamaica Plain, orderingout from the J.P. House of Pizza, capping it off with an ice cream cone from J.P. Licks, while taking mydaily constitutionals around the pond. I am at heart a simple man. Ironically, many of the people movingto Jamaica Plain are renters displaced from the high housing costs of the South End. Its a case of the richdisplacing the lesser rich. Those being displaced from J.P. are moving to Roslindale and other nearbycommunities like West Roxbury. Even the poorest communities in Boston like Roxbury and parts ofDorchester are seeing an explosion in housing prices. It has been reported that Bostons poorest aremoving to such outer belt cities like Brockton and Lawrence. Its a game of musical chairs and if you areone of the unlucky ones you may find yourself out on the street. I am unusual in that I am swimmingagainst the tide.

All along Washington Street, a number of major developments have either recently been completed orare nearing completion. In another year, the neighborhood will be completely transformed. Against thistidal surge of gentrification, there have been a few victories. In the mid-sixties, the South End was alargely Hispanic community. When the city utilized its power of eminent domain to acquire three acres orproperty adjacent to what is now Copley Place on Dartmouth Street, it razed existing housing and built aparking lot. Neighborhood residents successfully organized this outrage and in its place was built Tent

City, a mixed income housing development.InquilinosBoricuas en Accion(IBA), a communitydevelopment and social services organization went on to develop Villa Victoria, a community of some900 families living in the development and neighboring apartment houses. Villa Victoria is located in theheart of the South End and is 72 percent Hispanic, 15 percent African American, and 10 percent Asian. Itis one of the few remaining pockets of racial and economic diversity left within the South End.

Luckily, I wont feel completely alone. As I look outside my window, the Archdiocese of Boston isnearing completion of Rollins Square, 183 units of mixed income housing. It is the only project underconstruction within the South End where the majority of units are designated as rentals and condos forlow and moderate income households. It will be good to have some neighbors I can ask out to the localDunkin Donuts.

Boston is a tale of two cities. It is fast becoming a city of the haves and the have nots with a shrinkingmiddle class. If you are not poor enough to qualify for public or subsidized housing, or rent from a


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landlord who still has a sense of social consciousness, the possibility of finding affordable housing is afading dream. With the State in fiscal collapse and the feds fixing for a fight with Saddam Hussein, reliefappears nowhere in sight. Within the last 14 months, the real estate industry has played a hand indefeating two modest initiatives designed to address the present housing crisis in Boston. The first, TheCommunity Preservation Act, a ballot question developed by a coalition of housing advocates, asked

voters to approve a modest increase in property taxes whose proceeds would have been utilized in part toconstruct affordable housing. The second, a Menino-based initiative would have created a special boardto allow renters to appeal rent gouging by landlords. Both went down in flames.

I am one of the lucky ones. My story has a happy ending. Fairy tales came come true...if you win thelottery.

confessions of a lottery winner

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