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Page 69






lthough his blessings outweighed his burdens, my father experienced some major disappointments in the early-to-mid '70's.

Because he was lonely, he was too quick in entering into a third marriage in 1971 that failed as readily as had his first one with Chubby. And he continued to be plagued by the problems with One Dixwell Plaza.

A proposed sale of the property to the city housing authority was scuttled when the city changed its mind. It did, however, agree to lease the units from him. This latter arrangement would have saved the taxpayers whatever money would be lost in principal, if the property was sold at a foreclosure sale. And, eventually my father would have been able to recoup his investment.

HUD, however, was unwilling to agree to the arrangement. They insisted that the entire deficit be repaid over a relatively short period of time. The rents that would have had to have been charged, in order to repay the debt in the short time frame that HUD insisted upon, exceeded their guidelines.

Despite all of my father's efforts, in February 1974, HUD foreclosed on One Dixwell Plaza. The entire $35,000 he invested eight years earlier was lost. He never turned a profit, and, in fact, spent a great deal of money from his medical income, trying to fix the never-ending problems.

He had worked voluntarily as a housing commissioner since 1956 to 1967, trying to get affordable housing into the black community. For many, if not most community residents, he represented the spirit of Freddy Fixer, of taking pride in community by maintaining and restoring it. He had gambled his whole life's savings to provide low- and middle-income members of the community with attractive housing units and to lead the way for others to do the same. His dream of providing housing, that tenants and the community could be proud of and help maintain, had been burned, vandalized and exploited.



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