Together, landlords can make this city better, block by block

“Tell your tenant to move her car!” These were the first words I heard when I answered my phone 18 months ago.

Because I have a “For Rent” sign with my contact information in the yard of the duplex I own not far from my own house, I get more than my share of irate calls from neighbors, complaining about some real or imagined infraction. This time, the woman on the other end was fuming mad because she thought my tenant’s car was blocking the common driveway — again. I was annoyed, but felt vindicated when I confirmed that it wasn’t my tenant’s car. Still, I sent out a reminder to keep the driveway clear.

Recently, I rang that same neighbor’s doorbell. She invited me in and we stood together in her living room, preparing to hang “No Parking” signs for our upcoming block party. That irate phone call from a year and a half ago felt distant.

She offered me water, we talked about how much fun everyone was going to have, and she showed me a picture of her son, who passed away a few years ago. She was no longer a faceless angry homeowner and I was no longer an anonymous landlord; we were neighbors, excited for our block party.

Since 2017, I’ve bought several rental properties in Philadelphia, and in that time I’ve learned that being a landlord is not just a way to make money — it’s a way to build community and improve the city, block by block.

Many Philadelphia residents are skeptical about landlords, as real estate investors are often seen as unwelcome outsiders, and I understand.

As a young girl growing up in Mount Airy, I watched a battalion of construction workers and their pickup trucks lay siege to my block as they turned the old horse stables down the street into a dozen new rowhouses.

Then they tore down the large single family house across the street, replacing it with six more rowhouses. It changed the landscape of my childhood dramatically, and made me feel unsettled.

My rehab projects aren’t changing an entire street. I also look like the people who live next to my properties, which helps put neighbors at ease. But I’m still aware of the sense of uncertainty that my presence can bring. So, at the start of my projects, I try to show that I come in peace.

I try to set a positive tone by doing what I can to improve and secure my property, while also enhancing the block. Street sweeping is my favorite way to start because it can be free — just me, my broom, and a contractor bag — and gives instant results that residents can see, even if the outcome is just temporarily less trash.

I installed flood lights in a dark alley beside one property; it won’t totally deter drug use and other illegal activity, but it hopefully makes people feel a little safer. I’ve also installed security cameras, which don’t stop people from illegally dumping or breaking into the nearby cars or apartments, but residents have told me they appreciate knowing they can use the footage when they file a complaint with the police.

These small decisions benefit my property and my best interests, but they also help each block as a whole. With every sweep and security camera, I’m slowly building trust and establishing a good working relationship with the community.

If every landlord does a little bit beyond the front doors of our buildings, we could help transform the city. Not just how it looks, but also how it feels.

Over the course of my renovation projects, my professional relationship with the neighbors on the block slowly evolves into a more personal one. I observe people in the most unfiltered moments of their lives — relaxing, arguing, loving, and simply existing. And they watch parts of my journey unfold, too, in the sweat, setbacks, and slow progress of repairs. Occasionally, small talk turns into longer, more meaningful conversations. These moments of connection are magical.

This summer, I tried to make more of these moments by organizing block parties on a couple of streets where I own properties. I asked my angry neighbor to help, and the planning process gave us a reason to communicate without shouting.

I learned she had lived on the block for 50 years, but she kept saying “the neighborhood isn’t like it used to be.” There was more crime and trash, and most of the older folks who made the street feel like a family were long gone. Like me, she mourned the loss of the place she knew — but, in her case, she was also grieving the tragic loss of her child.

In the couple of months spent planning the block party, I learned more about her than I had in the couple of years I’d owned the duplex on her street. I no longer saw her simply as angry; she was hurt. And in understanding each other more, we’ve built a friendship. When she needed referrals for work on her house, I sent her my best recommendations. When I needed a home base for the block party, she made it clear that me and my guests were welcome to anything she had.

On the day of the block parties, residents and I cleaned up together and shared food and funny stories. We walked up and down the streets, putting faces to the front doors and watched kids play carefree. I felt the optimism that comes from working together, and the vulnerability that comes from hoping together. The people on the block became people I have an obligation to and a responsibility for. They became neighbors.

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There are roughly 50,000 landlords in Philadelphia, and around three-quarters are like me, owning a handful of properties. If every one of us does a little bit beyond the front doors of our buildings, we could help transform the city. Not just how it looks, but also how it feels. Whether it’s planning a block party, referring reliable contractors to residents, or introducing yourself to all of the residents, we have the opportunity to impact every block where we own property by not only being an investor, but by being a neighbor.

Because neighbors are not just the people who live next to us, but the people we choose to see and connect with. And while our individual efforts might feel insignificant, if we gather enough small contributions and meaningful moments of connection, eventually we’ll find that we’ve discovered something precious — community.

Jasmine Schley is a proud Philadelphian.