Cleveland Heights, Ohio — MY family's platform for the Republican National Convention is "whatever the market will bear." My wife, Alice, is renting out our guest room on Airbnb, and my older son, a lawyer, moonlights as an Uber driver. Our Airbnb guest, Omri Nahmias, is a reporter for Walla News in Israel. My son is driving delegates, reporters and off-duty cops from out of state, some of whom want to see the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
I don't like strangers in my house, but Alice does. She likes telling our guests about the area's hidden gems. She should get a commission from Phoenix Coffee and On the Rise bakery. She started doing Airbnb a year ago. Last summer a guest complained that our sateen sheets were nubby, but other than that, it has been fairly smooth.
Usually Alice charges $40. She raised it to $95 for the convention. There are 50,000 guests in Northeast Ohio today. The California delegation settled for rooms 57 miles away, at a resort/indoor water park in Sandusky, Ohio. And Alice went only double on her rates? "It is less than La Quinta or Motel 6," Omri said. "I expected it would be twice the price at least."
After the convention, we're back to flyover status — hosting Airbnb guests visiting sick relatives at the Cleveland Clinic.
"We the People Welcome You to Cleveland." That's what the banners on the downtown street poles say. Christopher Schmitz, a waiter in the trendy downtown Warehouse District, told me: "The convention is a marker that Cleveland's had a bit of renaissance. That we've been noticed. Also, the candidate that wins Ohio tends to win the whole enchilada."
In 2012 I got phone calls from Bill Clinton, Barack Obama, Ari Fleischer and Condoleezza Rice. (Granted, robocalls.) I'm a registered Democrat in Ohio who frequently votes Republican. In 2012 I liked Mitt Romney on Israel and President Obama on jazz. (Mr. Obama honored Sonny Rollins at the Kennedy Center. I play tenor sax.)
In college, for a summer job, I mowed grass by the Interstate highway — a gig my brother-in-law Jeff Rich got me. Jeff worked for the Democratic governor and wound up being a delegate to the 1976 Democratic National Convention for Jimmy Carter. A few years later, Jeff switched to the Republican Party when Ronald Reagan declared, "The nine most terrifying words in the English language are: I'm from the government and I'm here to help." Jeff, who is a lawyer in Columbus, is for Donald Trump.
Jeff said: "Here's the most perfect statement I've heard during the whole campaign. It sums it up." Bobby Knight, the former Ohio State Buckeye basketball player and legendary leader of the Indiana University basketball team, when he introduced Donald Trump at a rally in Indiana in April, declared, "I don't give a damn about the Republican Party, and then on the other hand I don't give a damn about the Democrats either." But Mr. Trump, he said, is "the best man we have available."
Ron Bellomy, a jack-of-all-trades who works with me (I own and manage apartment buildings in Lakewood, an inner-ring suburb of Cleveland), wears a Vietnam vets cap and often camo pants. Yes, he's for Mr. Trump. Steve Stetz, another Vietnam vet (no cap) and an on-site buildi ng manager, said, "I'm too sane to vote for Trump."
I'm for Hillary Clinton, reluctantly. To quote the Cleveland restaurateur and television chef Michael Symon, Mr. Trump "creeps me out."
And what about Mr. Trump's convention?
It's good for the city — assuming nothing horrible happens. The downtown hasn't looked this clean since Bob Hope, a local, used to shoot pool on East 105th Street. Irwin Weinberger, a singer in my klezmer band, asked:, "Who swept Public Square? They must have pressure-washed the whole square."
I wish my band had a gig downtown this week, but so far no luck. My sole appearance was Sund ay at the Montefiore nursing home in suburban Beachwood. Irwin and I played "Hello, Dolly" (which Carol Channing popularized as "Hello, Lyndon" at the 1964 Democratic National Convention. I took a poll after the song. Mrs. Clinton doesn't have to worry about the elderly Jewish vote.
After the convention, I expect I'll get phone calls from campaign workers looking to rent commercial space for the presidential campaign. In 2012, a young Democrat asked if I would rent out a vacant space for a "staging area" at a discount.
"How many people will be in the store?" I asked.
"Twenty to 30. They'll go out during the day. Teams are sent out."
Twenty to 30 people, that's a lot of foot traffic and leftover pizza boxes. I told him no discount.
Here's what I have available now: a 900-square-foot store for $675 a month. You couldn't even rent a closet in Chicago for $675! So I'll be picky. I was once burned by a judicial candidate who rented for a few months and trashed the place. Most recently, the vacant store was an Asian food market, but it went under. I'm hoping a smoothie shop moves in. I'd rather not face Mr. Trum p's people in a real estate deal.
Continue reading the main storySource: How Much Money Can I Make Off Trump's Convention?
No comments:
Post a Comment