Most alarming of all, was the destruction caused by some tenants and other neighborhood residents. Between 1966 and 1973 there were four fires in the building. Two were set by residents who were being evicted, one a chronically drunk janitor who was fired. A third was set by intruders who broke into an empty apartment on a weekend and had a drinking party.

Any number of tenants stayed for four months, defaulted and left. The $200 security deposit was usually not enough to cover the damage done to the unit nor the cost of vacancy until the apartment could be rented again.

The Federal Office of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) took over for FHA and continued to frustrate my parents' efforts to make the project successful. HUD restrictions and unreponsiveness caused many units to remain unoccupied for lengthy periods of time. With units unoccupied, vandalism was rampant. Lights were broken, fixtures pulled from their mounts, windows busted, walls covered with graffiti, and toilet bowls cracked. Maintenance costs soared.

Upon investigating sounds in a vacant apartment above his office, one day, my father had a door, which had been taken off its hinges, tossed down a stairwell at him. His quick feet narrowly saved him from serious injury or worse. The culprits were three neighborhood kids— nine, 12, and 15 years old.

The management company that was supposed to ease my parents' frustrations, only served to aggravate them. By the summer of 1969, my father had to hire an attorney to compel them to submit itemized monthly statements, which they had agreed to provide, in order to accurately track expenses. By fall 1969, they were three months late.

That was the least of my father's worries, however.

Minnie was dying.