The Man Who Held Our Building Together for 32 Years

Last night, our building lobby filled up in a way it rarely does.

Not for a package delivery. Not to check the mail. But to say goodbye to Richie, our superintendent for the past 32 years – and to thank him for something that’s genuinely hard to put into words.

There were speeches. And they weren’t the kind you forget.

People talked about waking up to freshly shoveled sidewalks before the sun came up. About burst pipes fixed at 3 am, so no one’s morning was ruined. About feeling safe because Richie was there. About knowing that someone was watching over their home – not as a job, but as a calling.

And then Richie stood up.

He got emotional. He said he loved taking care of our home. That he would miss it.

I got a little teary.

Richie lived in this building with his wife, Teresa. He wasn’t punching a clock. He was all in, the same way the rest of us were all in on calling this place home.

Next year, our building turns 100 years old.

One hundred years of New Yorkers coming and going. Of lives intersecting in narrow hallways and tight elevators. Of neighbors who give each other space in tight spaces – because that’s the New York way – but who show up when it matters.

We have our annual Christmas party in that lobby. We gathered there last night for Richie. We are, in the truest sense, a community. 

I moved into this building 14 years ago. I didn’t have much of a community here yet. I was starting over.

Richie was the first person I met.

He got my apartment ready. He painted it. He helped me hang fixtures. He was the person I could call if something went wrong. And because of that, I felt safe. I felt like I was home.

That’s not something you can put in a listing description. But it’s everything.

I’ve sold every type of property in this city. Condos, co-ops, new developments, townhouses. And I’ll tell you something, I believe with my whole heart:

The right home isn’t just about the square footage or the views or the finishes.

 It’s about the foundation. The invisible infrastructure of people and community that makes four walls feel like somewhere you actually belong.

 Not every building has a Richie. But the best ones do.

 When I walk through a property or help someone find their next home – I’m thinking about all of it. The building. The block. The feeling you get when you walk through the door after a long day and exhale.

 That’s what home really is.

Richie – thank you for 32 years of showing up for all of us. For waking up in the middle of the night. For shoveling the snow before we got our boots on. For making our building feel like it was in good hands.

It was. Because of you.

Enjoy every single moment of your retirement. You’ve more than earned it.