When the notice of the upcoming real estate sales came in the mail, I looked for houses that were selling contents. Seeing none, I tossed the notice on my desk and ignored it.
It had come from one of my favorite auction houses, which seemed to have established a pretty good side business of selling real estate from bankruptcies, estates and government-seizures. Later on, I picked up the notice again and this time the last item struck me:
The Residences at The Rittenhouse Hotel, West Rittenhouse Square.
The boxy U-shaped area of Rittenhouse Square is one of the premier addresses in the city of Philadelphia. The square was one of the original parks created by William Penn in the 17th century, and was the home of the city’s elite and their mansions. Today, you’ll find condos, apartments and luxury hotels.
The condo up for auction was attached to the Rittenhouse Hotel, where Bill Clinton, Oprah Winfrey, Denzel Washington and Bruce Willis have stayed when they were in the city.
Now, this auction house was selling someone’s condo in the building. Out of pure curiosity – and knowing that I’d never get another chance to see a condo in this building – I knew I was going. I had been at the Rittenhouse once before, for a fabulous Sunday brunch at the Lacroix restaurant.
The condo was on the 14th floor and I just knew the view would be fabulous, unlike the ones I had previewed earlier this year at another auction not far away. Most of the views were horrible; one $400,000 condo looked out onto the back of an office building.
At the Rittenhouse, though, I definitely was anticipating better. I figured this would be a million-dollar condo, and I wanted to see what one at that price would look like. The auction house had described it as 1,037 square feet, one-bedroom, 1.5 baths, modernistic interior design. The real estate taxes were $5,103 and the condo fee was $998 a month.
It had belonged to Faiga Rubinstein, according to the notice. So I Googled to see what I could find out about her.
Rubinstein died in January 2009 at age 79, according to an obituary on the Jewish Exponent website. She was born in Warsaw, Poland, and at the age of 8, she and her mother were aboard one of three ships fleeing the Nazis in 1939. They were headed to Havana, Cuba, where anti-semitism was on the rise. All of the ships were turned away, according to an historical account on the U.S. Holocaust Museum website. Their ship Le Flandre returned to France; the British vessel Orduna dropped its passengers off in the Panama Canal Zone, and the St. Louis headed to the United States.
Settling in the waters outside Miami, the St. Louis was not allowed to discharge its nearly 900 passengers. The government’s reasons, according to the museum website: Admitting the refugees would put them ahead of other Europeans Jews on the immigration waiting list, American citizens were not keen on immigration, American workers were afraid of competition for the few Depression-era jobs.
The ship, which was the subject of the 1976 movie “Voyage of the Damned,” returned to Europe, where its passengers subsequently disembarked in the Netherlands, Great Britain, Belgium and France. A total of 254 of them died in the Holocaust, including 86 who had been in France.
After a year in France, Rubinstein and her mother reunited with her father in Havana, where she later met her husband when both attended medical school, according to her obituary. In 1961, they fled the communist takeover of the country, and settled in Jamaica before migrating to the United States.
Her Rittenhouse condo had been on the market before – in March 2009 for $619,000. With the market in shambles, I can only assume that it was a hard sell.
On the day of the auction, I arrived early with a friend. We were buzzed from the hotel reception area into a small space with a bank of elevators to the condos. Stationed outside was the owner of the auction house, who took a handful of us to the 14th floor.
I didn’t bother to sign in – I wasn’t buying, just looking. I headed for the windows and looked out: The view was panoramic (from the living room, dining room and bedroom) and captured the northwest part of the city. It was also lousy – all rooftops and skyscrapers and sky. The best views were apparently on the front, overlooking Rittenhouse Square and the downtown area.
“It has a less desirable view,” I heard one person say to another.
The design was modernistic: The wall paper was a textured beige; the living room paper gave the illusion of rippling water. The carpet was beige and remarkably clean, and the furniture (which did not come with the condo) was a 1970s modern. The bedroom was large, the kitchen looked to have been updated, and there was a walk-in closet. The eat-in kitchen was a tight space.
In the walk-in closet were some of her party clothes; in the coat closet were some of her awards, and in one bathroom, oversized bottles of perfume.
As I stood looking at a Stephen White painting called “Three Dancers” in the alcove, I overheard a man on his cell phone in the hallway. “I think I’m wasting my time,” he said. “I think they’re asking too much for it.”
By the time the auction started, there were about 15 people in the room, including a stylishly dressed older woman in a black mink coat. She was overheard telling someone that she was a relative by marriage of Rubinstein’s. The auctioneer noticed her, too, and introduced himself.
The auction house’s real estate expert laid out the details of the sale: 10 percent premium. Title free and clear. Price subject to approval by the estate. The auctioneer listed the amenities: Access to all the services of the hotel. Someone to walk and feed your dog, for a fee. A Town Car to take you anywhere you want, for free.
To start the bidding, the auctioneer asked for anyone to yell out a number, any number. Nothing. This was not a good sign.
Then someone finally shouted, “$100,000.” And we were off and at it, I thought. The auctioneer then threw out $300,000 but no takers. He finally dropped it to $250,000 and then to $225,000, and there was a nibble. It finally got back up to $300,000, when the bidding became tedious for the next 30 minutes.
A man sitting on the sofa insisted on $1,000 increments, intent on getting this property at the cheapest wear-them-down price he could.
The bid crept up to $310,000 and lingered. “This is an unbelievable bargain,” the auctioneer said. “You can’t touch anything in this neighborhood for this kind of money.”
At $317,000, the real estate expert told the man on the sofa: “It can be your getaway. Nobody would know about it.” To the other bidder, apparently one of their regulars, he got up close and personal.
Then the bid pedaled up to $380,000, and the real estate expert gave a familiar refrain: “In my professional opinion, they won’t accept it.” (Or they will. It’s unlikely the estate wanted to continue paying taxes and condo fees on a property that no one was living in.)
Then it was at $381,000, where it stopped. By then, one bidder had dropped out and another had dropped in. The man on the sofa bought the condo.
“It wasn’t a great price but …,” a woman who apparently lived in the building said in congratulating him. The woman in the black mink shook the auctioneer’s hand, apparently pleased with the outcome.
I was surprised and a little disappointed. I had come to see a million-dollar condo and sale to match. It didn’t have the thrill I had expected, felt too much like those $5 auctions I go to every other week.
