I am pleased and honored to announce creation of a new award to complement my prestigious Sleazy.
As regulars to this space know, the Sleazy is awarded to candidates for public office who exhibit special distinction in their political campaigns.
However, by focusing on the actions of public officials, I felt I was neglecting the private sector. Today, I fill that lacuna by presenting... drum roll, please: the Sammy.
It is so named to honor Sam Rappaport, the, um, legendary Center City landlord known for his willingness to thumb his nose at the city's various codes: zoning, plumbing, heating, electrical, building, construction, etc.
Sam had brashness, brass, cheek, gall, nerve... in a word, chutzpah.
Remember that definition of chutzpah - about the son who kills his parents, then pleads for mercy from the court because he's an orphan?
Sam had his own variation. If he owned a historic property, he would let it deteriorate - ignoring all city demands to maintain it. Then he would ask for a permit to demolish it, arguing that it was now a public nuisance. Now that's chutzpah.
Luckily for us, Sam died in 1994. His properties are now run by his far more responsible son.
There will never be another da Vinci, another Chaplin, another Sinatra, another Sam. He was one of a kind. The Sammy honors his spirit.
How brassy
I've got the art department working on a design for a statuette. I gave them two ideas: something like an Oscar, only with Sam's head; or maybe a raging bull that is (as they say in the doll world) anatomically correct. Either way, it will be done in brass.
If you have any nominees, this desk is open to suggestions. In the meantime, allow me to offer my first Sammy to... tah-dah... Myron Berman.
Berman is a New York-based owner of Philadelphia properties. I've written about him before.
He's a partner in Callowhill Center Associates, owner of a large commercial building at the corner of Seventh and Callowhill Streets, just north of the Vine Street Expressway.
That's the building with the giant wall wrap that has advertised various products over the last five years.
The wrap was put up in 1999 - illegally and without a city permit - and was subject to extended litigation. I do mean extended; the case went up to the U.S. Supreme Court.
Community groups argued the 65-by-100-foot wrap was illegal because it violated about a half-dozen city codes. The courts have consistently agreed.
Still the wrap stayed, even after Berman exhausted appeals. Finally, Common Pleas Judge Alan K. Silberstein got tired of waiting for the wrap to come down. Last year, he declared it a "public nuisance," gave Berman 30 days to remove it, and fined his company $66,000 for failing to follow earlier court orders.
It's a bargain
Why keep it up in the face of the court rulings? Here's my guess: Advertisers have been known to pay $50,000-plus a month to rent wall space for these wraps - far in excess of the legal fees you'd pay to keep the courts and city regulators at bay.
Berman finally did remove the advertising, though he kept the wrap itself up - decorated with a American flag and a sign that said "This space available for rent."
That's where it stayed until last week, when crews (working over the weekend) put up a huge wrap for Makers Mark bourbon in the same spot. When I saw it, my jaw dropped.
How could Berman so flagrantly violate the law, the judge and the city? You got me. He did not return my phone calls. I did ask his attorney, Marianne E. Brown, who replied: "I have no comment. Bye, bye." (Click.)
To its credit, the city - which usually plays Caspar Milquetoast in these situations - immediately went to Silberstein for a preliminary injunction. He ordered the wrap taken down forthwith and scheduled a hearing on a permanent injunction for Thursday.
What could Berman say to the judge about ignoring his order? I can think of three possible defenses:
1. "Geez, I forgot about that order."
2. "Can't you take a joke?"
3. "Wall wrap? What wall wrap?"
Or, he could just smile and hold up his Sammy. That should explain it all.