A reader e-mailed me to ask about the newspaper’s “obsession” with Lancaster landlord Bill McMichael.
I can’t speak for “the paper” but I can say that while I’m not particularly obsessed with him, I do find him a unique and somewhat enigmatic figure.
There is a disconnect there that I just don’t get.
Personally, he is one of the most congenial individuals I’ve ever met. Even though our stories do not always portray him in the best of light (to say the least), he is always pleasant and respectful in interviews. Even downright chatty at times.
One day I went to a breakfast meeting of landlords who were contemplating taking action against some of the city’s planned revisions to housing and rental codes. McMichael invited me in, saying he thought it would be good if people heard the “other side of the story.” But some landlords objected to my presence, saying it was not a public meeting, that I hadn’t been invited, and that a media interloper might inhibit open discussion.
McMichael asked me to wait outside the room and closed the door so the group could debate whether or not they wanted me there. A few minutes later he came out and said, “I have some bad news.” They had decided I should leave.
He was apologetic, and I found myself trying to reassure him that I wasn’t upset. After all, it was a private meeting in a private room of a privately-owned restaurant and if they believed they couldn’t discuss things openly and honestly with each other while I was there, fine.
A month ago we talked on the phone and he asked me how I was coping with the heat. It was an honest question; he seemed truly concerned. He then told me he was working on the roof of one of his properties one afternoon the week before, felt lightheaded, and decided he better stop.
He is also genuinely convinced the city is out to “get him,” (“they want me out” he said recently) and he may not be entirely wrong in that assumption. But that man is not the Bill McMichael they are out to “get.”
They’re out to get the landlord who maintains some downright squalid properties. I’m not going to go into the details here, but I’ve been in a few of the places and the conditions were appalling. The stories we’ve published pretty much tell the tale.
They’re out to get the landlord who ignores violation notices and engages in delay tactics that cost the city both time and money.
They’re out to get the same guy Lebanon was out to get. And did. He spent some time in jail and eventually sold all of his properties there.
That’s what’s so disconcerting. You’d think a guy like that would be rude, arrogant and insincere - at the very least.
But he’s not.
Even city officials who deal with him regularly will tell you that while he’s a pain in the neck professionally, in person he’s a nice guy. One told me he once asked him, “Bill, why do you do this to yourself? It can’t be worth the hassle.”
Even his net worth is up to debate. Some say he’s rich. Some say he lives pretty much hand-to-mouth. I’ve had a number of people tell me they see him at the free breakfasts and Thanksgiving dinners local churches and shelters prepare for the homeless and indigent. Whether that’s by choice or necessity, only he knows.
But city officials also say the money is irrelevant. They believe he loves “the hunt.” That he enjoys the mental and verbal sparring that takes place in meetings and courtrooms, and gets a particular kick when his knowledge of the law and of city codes enables him to keep officials at bay. Or that he thrives on the attention he gets – from inspectors, from police, from the court system. Not to mention the media.
A while ago after a city council meeting, a woman approached me and asked me if I was Gil Smart. (This mistaken identity is not a compliment to Gil, by the way.) I said no and told her my name.
She gave me the proverbial sideways look.
“Oh,” she said. “You’re the guy who’s writing those stories about Billy. He’s really a nice man.”
I said, “I’m sure he is, but have you seen some of the places he keeps for his tenants?”
She told me no, but then explained, “You know, he grew up in Sunnyside and didn’t live in a much better place there. Maybe he thinks that’s how people live.”
“But he drives around and sees other places,” I said. “He has to know that’s not the case.”
She thought for a moment and said, “Well, that’s true, I suppose. Then maybe he just needs some help.”
I have no idea what he needs. And after almost a year of meeting and talking with Bill, I still have no idea what makes him tick.
