July 8 , 2007  >>  return to MAI in the news

No Life? Prescription: The East Village
By Joyce Cohen

Robert Burstein
Licensed Real Estate Agent
(917) 502-5450
Rburstein@manhattanapts.com

AS glad as he was to do his medical internship in the Bronx, Jason Ough, M.D., couldn’t wait to move downtown. After college and medical school at the University of Wisconsin, Dr. Ough spent a year at Montefiore Medical Center, living in hospital housing across the street. For the last 12 months, he paid less than $600 a month for a large studio

On his one day off a week, he often went out with college friends to the East Village. When they parted, "all of a sudden it’s me and an hourlong train ride, and then I wouldn’t get home until 4 a.m.," said Dr. Ough, 27, a native of Beloit, Wis. Sometimes, it was easier just to stay home. He felt: "I have no life. All I do is go back and forth to the hospital."

He had to vacate his Montefiore housing by June 30. “In medicine, you tend to be very neurotic,” Dr. Ough said, so he began his apartment hunt with two months to spare.

Through friends, he found an agent, who he figured would save him time and provide more options. He aimed to spend $1,500 to $1,800 a month for an East Village one-bedroom, though a studio would do.

"I heard it was a cutthroat market and I would probably have to compromise somewhere," he said.

Or maybe not. The very first apartment he saw, on East 14th Street, was ideal. The one-bedroom, which had French doors, was only $1,550 a month. “It was explained to me several times that this was a total fluke — an apartment of this caliber in this location at this price,” he said. He applied right away.

"I was so excited," Dr. Ough said. "I met a friend for lunch, and gushed and gushed and showed him pictures. And then Monday I was at work and didn’t hear from the broker." When he did hear, the news was bad — someone else had been offered the apartment. "It totally ruined my day at work," he said. "That was one in a million. I wish I was the lucky guy who got it."

He saw a few more possibilities, each smaller than the last, "and then the broker kind of ran out of stuff to show me," he said.

Left to right:

A one-bedroom on East 11th Street was nice, but someone else got there first;

at a studio, also on East 11th, the street-front window seemed like a problem;

on Avenue C, a two-minute showing of a "one-bedroom" with 250 square feet;

Dr. Jason Ough has found that his new neighborhood is everything he wanted.

Worried, he applied for N.Y.U. housing, but there were too many requests and he was not chosen.

"I started to repanic," he said. For a few days, he sent e-mail messages to every listing on Craigslist that seemed remotely desirable, but received not a single reply. So he hit the telephone. His first call led him to Robert Burstein of Manhattan Apartments Inc.

"Jason was living in the Bronx," Mr. Burstein said, "and described it as the Laundromat capital of the world," with more than its share of discount stores and fast-food places.

It was late in the afternoon, and there was just enough time to view one promising apartment on East 11th Street. This one, for $1,750, was nearly as big as the first one he had seen, but not as nice. Dr. Ough would gladly have taken it but, again, it went to someone else.

The day was eventful. In a rush to see the apartment, Mr. Burstein realized his Treo had vanished in a cab. It was retrieved by an Australian tourist, who answered when it rang.

"By the end of the day, everything was back to normal," Dr. Ough said. "He had his phone, and I didn’t have an apartment."

Mr. Burstein suggested the Upper East Side, where there were more options. Dr. Ough let himself be talked into it. His friends talked him out of it.

"I could compromise and maybe get a nicer apartment in a neighborhood I am not too keen on, but that’s what I’ve been doing for the last year," Dr. Ough said. "I decided that if I am going to compromise on anything I am going to compromise on the apartment itself, and structure my life around the neighborhood."

He saw more small places, including a ground-floor studio for $1,800, also on East 11th Street, where he was thoroughly put off by the street-front window. "I don’t want my window cracked open and someone smoking a cigarette," Dr. Ough said. "I knew I would hate it."

Soon, Mr. Burstein sent a text message about an open house on Avenue C. Dr. Ough rushed downtown to find a crowd outside — his competition.

Nobody answered the buzzer. One by one, the others departed. Mr. Burstein began ringing every buzzer. It turned out the listing had the wrong apartment number.

The departing tenant, a young man with a large record collection, showed them in. The apartment was a serviceable 250 square feet. "It is a one-bedroom, which means it is a small studio with a wall arbitrarily put up," Dr. Ough said. "There was literally the two-minute showing. Yup, there is a bedroom; yup, a bathroom; yup, a fridge. It looks like a human being has lived here successfully."

The tenant said only one other person had seen the apartment, and liked it.

"At this point, I can’t be picky anymore,” Dr. Ough said. “To lose out on a place ate up an entire day. There goes eight hours. I might as well have been sleeping."

Dr. Ough signed a one-year lease for $1,725 a month, paid a broker’s fee of around $3,100, and moved in on his first free day in early June. The place was a mess of bedding and boxes. "I was ordering takeout and eating it standing up," he said.

Ah, regret. "The first thing going through my head was why did you pick a place so far from the train," he said. "I was kicking myself. The place is so small and I have to throw away stuff. I am thinking, I almost had an apartment that is twice as big and $200 less in a better location."

His misery was short-lived.

After unpacking, he began to appreciate his new home. He bought big bookshelves and a small couch. "I am sort of into the challenge of trying to fit all my stuff in comfortably, and getting rid of the stuff I don’t need or want or use," he said.

Having discovered the local buses, including the M21, which goes up First Avenue to the hospital, he now finds the neighborhood is everything he wanted. "I’m so excited having things half a block away," he said. After dinner with friends, "I had to walk only 25 feet and I was home, and it was the first time my friends had a longer commute home than I did."