“You can have my empty buildings when I’m dead” and other stubborn property owners

At a recent conference, a community leader approached me with a familiar frustration. His town has four downtown buildings with active businesses. “Only four,” he said with disappointment.

“At least you have four,” I said. That’s actually something to build on.

He went on, “We have four other buildings downtown sitting empty. The owners won’t even discuss renting them.”

One person who is 88 years old owns two of the vacant buildings. When our community person tried to talk to him about renting them out, the response was blunt: “You can get them when I die.”

We’re going to get into those buildings

Before we write this owner off as impossible, let’s think about why people hold onto empty buildings.

If there’s physical stuff in the building, there’s often also emotional baggage. Would you want to deal with going through an entire building full of family stuff, sorting through the accumulated items, handling all the memories?

Then there’s the hassle of actually selling or renting the building: dealing with the title, inspections or conditions, whether the buyer or renter would follow through, and any financial implications. It’s a mountain of work and emotion, so you can see why someone would put it off, maybe even leave it for their heirs to deal with.

We’ll need to find something easy to do that the owner could care about right now, something that they have a connection with.

In this case, the building owner was a retired lawyer. That gave us our opening.

Start with kids’ art

Every year in May, local and state bar associations celebrate Law Day. Kids in school write essays about the importance of the law. Younger kids draw pictures.

Picture going to that 88-year-old and saying, “Look at this terrific art the kids did for Law Day. Could we put it on the outside of the windows on your building? The kids would be so happy to see it displayed.”

Now, it’s one thing to tell someone “you can get it when I die.” It’s a different thing to say no to kids.

If he did say no, we can try again later with a different approach, a different cause we know they participated in or cared about.

The progression

But if our retired lawyer does say yes, here’s what happens next:

We go down to the building and wash the windows from the outside. We sweep all around it, sweep down all the cobwebs, sweep off the sidewalk, and make it look good. Then we hang the kids’ art.

Then we invite all the kids to come down and pose for photos with their art, bring their parents, and we have a little ceremony in front of the empty building. The old lawyer is the star now because his building is behind all those photos.

The next year we go back and say, “It’s Law Day again, we’d love to use your windows, but it rained last year and some of the art was damaged. Could we just move it to the inside of the glass?”

If he said yes before, he’s more likely to say yes again. Psychologically, he’s changed his identity. He sees himself a little differently now.

If he says yes to letting us hang art on the inside of the glass, we’ve gotten into the building. We can clean up on the inside. We can hang a little drape to hide anything still in the building, and we can put up the kids’ art with a nice background.

If he says yes to that, next year we’re back: “The kids would like to do a mock court demonstration right inside your building. We can put up the drape we used last year, and we’ll help you clean up and be ready. It’s just the first ten feet.”

You slowly work your way into the building, developing cooperation as you go. And if or when he ultimately passes away, then his heirs will know you’ve been helping with the building for years.

Making the building useful now

Instead of just letting empty buildings be big, hulking presences downtown, you can use them right away. Hang posters for events. Put art on the windows. Put art inside the windows. Use it for pop-up businesses if you can have the first 10 feet.

What empty building in your town needs this approach? Don’t wait until they turn 88! What do they care about today? How could you start so small they can’t say no?