It took twelve years of marriage, seven years of night classes, and a new job to establish a comfortable lifestyle for myself and my family. However, just one selfish wife, two greedy attorneys, and a stubborn court managed to strip it all away.

After the separation, I rented a one-bedroom apartment in Lindenwold, NJ, but I had no furniture. I wanted to collect some of my belongings from the house, so I notified the police of my plan. They were present at the house when I arrived with a rental truck.

Arlene was not at home, and one of the boys let me in. I took my electronics, dartboard, and a few lithographs, and I was in the midst of taking the guest bedroom furniture when Arlene came home. She locked all the doors and ran to the neighbor's house for help.

The house had deadbolt locks so the police were assisting me in getting a mattress out of a window when I noticed the neighbors unloading my truck and placing my items on their property. The police intervened to stop that situation, but not before the nightstands and lamps had been taken from the truck. At that point, the police advised me to leave with what I had.

I took what was in the truck and resolved that it would take more than a dissatisfied wife to ruin everything I had worked for. I bought a water-damaged mattress at a JCPenney clearance sale to complete the bed and a small dropleaf table with two chairs for the kitchen.

My next stop was K-Mart, where I purchased the most affordable dishes, silverware, pots, pans, and cooking utensils available. I also acquired towels, sheets, an iron, an ironing board, a toaster oven, and a coffee maker.

While looking through the newspaper for some second-hand furniture, an advertisement for a pool table caught my eye. In that moment, I realized that I really didn't need a living room. I spent more hours at work than at home I could watch television in the bedroom, and with the pool table and my dart board, I could have a game room.

I bought the pool table. The seller delivered it, helped with the assembly, and ensured it was properly leveled. I hung my dartboard, created a makeshift bar, and now I had a sports tavern right at home where I could enjoy pool and darts.

To finish off the room, I bought a roll-up shade for the sliding glass doors and decorated the wall with antique car wallpaper. I set up my stereo and turntable, displayed my large New Yorker print, showcased my antique car artwork, and replaced the ceiling light with a globe lamp to adequately illuminate the pool table.

In the meantime, the boys had disappeared with their mother. I later found out that they had moved to Massena, NY, but I had no way of contacting them. It seemed they were not allowed to reach out to me. On one occasion, when they called me at work, Arlene punished them by making them cover the cost of the long-distance call with the little money they earned delivering newspapers in the freezing cold of Massena.

Having lost my family and everything I cherished, I decided it was time to seek out new friends. There was a popular nightclub in Marlton that featured live bands and dancing. When Arlene and I first met, I was a dance champion at Brody's nightclub in Plattsburgh, NY and I longed to dance again.

I chose to give the Mrlton nightclub a try. While sipping a scotch at the bar, I noticed a woman who danced exceptionally well. She was attractive with a Dorothy Hamill hairstyle that bounced with every step she took. I invited her to dance, and we seemed to "click" right away.

Her name was Barbara, and she lived nearby at Bromley Estates. I can’t quite recall when or how it happened, but I asked her for a date. She accepted, and we had a wonderful evening, dancing throughout the night.

Coming home that night, we accidentally woke her daughter, who worked as a school teacher and got up early for work each day. On our second date, I brought two roses; one for Barbara and the other for her daughter. They were delighted and impressed.

Since both Barbara and I both shared a passion for dancing, we went to see Saturday Night Fever. It inspired us to start disco dancing. Barbara Matthews was an exceptional dancer. She could spin, dip, and perform lifts with ease. We developed some fantastic disco moves and before long, we were a popular couple at the night clubs.

Eventually, our relationship grew beyond dancing. Barbara was from Vermont and an avid skier. She took me to Ski Mountain in Pine Hill, where I learned to ski. Once I got the hang of it, we spent a weekend skiing, and for the first time in three years, life felt normal and enjoyable again. That year, we joined the South Jersey Ski Club and skied in Vermont, New Hampshire, New York, and New Jersey.

Although Barbara lived in Pine Hill, she had raised her son and daughter in Marlton and still had friends there. She introduced me to Sherry, who was divorced from Judge Hackermann and whose daughter was Miss New Jersey. I also met Dick and Betty Goodwin, who owned the Marlton Golf and Country Club (Dick's father built Marlton), and Dick and Jennie Shultz, who had been Barbara's neighbors in Marlton for many years.

Sherry was Barbara's closest friend and began to join us when we went dancing. She was charming, sophisticated, and flirtatious, often moving from one boyfriend to another. Lenora, another friend of Barbara's from Bromley, also started to accompany us on our dance outings. There were always admirers pursuing Sherry and Lenora, but my trio of ladies affectionately earned the nickname Charlie's Angels.

The Goodwins and Schultzs were part of Barbara's Bridge Club. Eventually, I began to participate as a substitute but soon became a regular player. I was skilled at Pinochle, which made learning bridge easy, and her friends were patient and supportive. When it was my turn to host bridge, it took place at Barbara's house. When the Goodwins hosted, it was sometimes at the Marlton Country Club.

During the week, Barbara prepared dinner. We would set up her card table in the living room and watch the Eagles, the Phillies, the Flyers, or play Backgammon. We always started dinner with a gin martini and enjoyed experimenting with various garnishes, from pickled tomatoes to squid. After dinner, I began staying overnight with Barbara and driving back to Lindenwold in the morning to get ready for work.

On Friday nights, we would go to happy hour at Cenneli's. Cenneli's was a lovely nightclub and gourmet Italian restaurant featuring a large bar, spacious dance floor, and a seven-piece band. However, our preferred Italian restaurant was Momma Ventura's. Momma's dance floor was smaller and more intimate, and at Momma's, Barbara and I became well-known among the regulars as Fred and Ginger.

Even though Barbara was 13 years older than me, her petite build and youthful appearance concealed her age. She was actually "carded" twice during our time together; once when entering a nightclub where we were unknown and again on a ski trip with the ski club going into the bar at a ski lodge.

One winter, the ski club planned a trip to ski Whiteface Mountain at Lake Placid, NY. Since Massena was not far from Lake Placid, I reached out to the boys to see if they wanted to join me for a weekend of skiing. They seemed thrilled and agreed to the trip.

Because the ski club would arrive late on Friday night, I arranged for the boys to stay at a family-run hotel. The owners assured me that my 15 and 16-year-old sons would be accommodated and safe. Arlene was furious that they had to miss school on Friday while traveling to Lake Placid and be alone until I arrived Friday night.

She insisted that Bob and Joe bring ALL of their belongings with them, making it clear that they must return with me. The ski club's bus was full, so I had to ensure the boys could safely return to Massena. She attempted to turn what was a wonderful weekend of skiing, dining, and spending quality time with my two great sons into a disaster.

Arlene was nasty, not only to me but also to her sons and her brother. One evening, while I was working late at my office, I received a phone call from a woman who introduced herself as "Bob's parole officer!" I was taken aback with her story.

She explained that Bob returned home late after delivering newspapers one nght and argued with his mother. He left the house. She callled the police saying he had run away. When she discovered that Bob was at her brother's place, she claimed her brother had "kidnapped" Bob and requested his arrest.

Her explanation was unclear regarding the reason for Bob's parole, so I decided to drive to Massena to find out what was happening. Barbara accompanied me for support, although I didn't inform anyone that she would be with me.

Arlene insisted that I meet the boys in town. It was the middle of winter, so our meeting was brief. The boys appeared to be fine but were reluctant to discuss home life. My very casual mention of the police incident didn't get any response so I dropped it.

I also arranged to meet with Keith while I was in Messena. His account was that Bob had argued with his mother, had been with him, and that Arlene had attempted to have him arrested. I asked if he knew anything about the eight rooms of furniture that disappeared from the house. He claimed he was told I had taken all the furnishings.

Bob recently shared that the entire parole officer story was fabricated. He recalled that Arlene wanted Keith arrested after he slammed a beer bottle down on the server during an argument, leaving an imprint of the bottle in the soft pine top. That sounded like Arlene.

He recalled that the incident had sparked significant trouble between Arlene and her brother, leading us to believe that Keith's wife may have originated the call trying to involve me in the turmoil Arlene was causing in Massena. With Bob's story, though, I realized Keith had purposely misled me about the furniture from the house.

Although it shouldn't have caught me off guard, shortly after the divorce papers were finalized, Bob called me one morning from the Massena Greyhound bus station to let me know that he and Joe were departing Massena for New York City and then going to New Jersey to stay with me.

Their grandfather had provided them with some money, but it wasn't sufficient for food, and they lacked direction on how to get to New Jersey. I suggested they take the commuter bus from New York City to Mt. Laurel, New Jersey, where I would meet them at the bus terminal.

Barbara and I found then at the bus station and treated them to dinner. Their destination now was my small one-bedroom apartment with a pool tabel in the living room. It may not have been the ideal option, but the only option was for me to stay at Barbara's while they occupied my bedroom.

I may never find out if Bob and Joe understood that, in order to ruin me, she took everything we possessed. She took our riches, our savings, our house, and our prospects. She sacrificed their youth, locked thm up them in Messena, New York, and then released them without guidance and without a future.

My life over those three years had transformed from one of prosperity to one of survival and back to prosperity. I fought to rebuild, and I was determined that no one would take my comfort away again.

  Barbara was employed as a Real Estate agent and held the position of sales manager at Bromley Estates in Pine Hill, NJ, her place of residence. She knew of a two-bedroom condominium for rent that would be perfect for me and my two sons.

Following a few months in my tiny apartment in Lindenwold, we moved to this beautiful house in Bromley Estates. The condo had an eat-in kitchen, which allowed me to set up the pool table in the dining area. I bought twin beds for the boys who shared one of the bedrooms.

Bromley was a great place for the boys. It had an Olympic-sized swimming pool and two tennis courts. They made girlfriends and formed many friendships with other residents at Bromley. Although I wasn't thrilled about Bob's late-night Dungeons and Dragons sessions, the pool table was very popular, and many of their friends spent considerable time at our home.

Pine Hill primarily consists of small houses that, in the past, served as summer retreats for affluent Philadelphians seeking a cooler escape from the city during the summer months. Nowadays, Pine Hill is renowned for its prestigious Pine Valley Golf Club. Pine Valley frequently ranks as the top course in Golf Magazine's 100 Top Courses in the U.S. and the World. It operates as a private club, and non-members can only play if accompanied by a member. The wait for membership can feel interminable.

Pine Hill was previously recognized for Ski Mountain, where I learned to ski. Although Ski Mountain was more of a "hill" than an actual mountain, it was an excellent spot for learning or practicing. Currently, Ski Mountain has transformed into the Trump National Golf Course of Philadelphia. Pine Hill is adjacent to Clemonton, NJ, which was once home to Clementon Lake Amusement Park, where the boys and their friends enjoyed many summer days. Today, Clemonton Lake has turned into a splash park.

For me, Pine Hill turned into a different narrative. Barbara enjoyed preparing dinner for the four of us, but the boys were not supportive of our relationship and resisted it. Bob liked to cook as well and would occasionally prepare meals. Then, just prior to Thanksgiving in 1982, JCPenney informed me that they would no longer be selling major appliances, televisions, and gas engine products, and that they would be closing all product service centers and automotive service centers on April 1, 1983.

I was tasked with announcing the closures to my 60 employees in January and assisting them in writing resumes and securing new jobs. GE would take over appliance repairs, RCA would handle home electronic repairs, and independent contractors would provide service for tractors and lawnmowers. I would be responsible for liquidating all the assets of the Camden product service center, and then I would be out of a job.

Christmas passed, and the announcement in January was devastating. By April, however, my technical supervisors had secured jobs with RCA and GE. My technicians and staff found positions with GE and American Appliances. I received an offer for a service management role from Montgomery Ward in South Carolina. However, Bob was a senior in high school and wanted to graduate alongside his friends. I assured him that we would not relocate.

Nonetheless, my transition from boss to employee was challenging and unsuccessful. I applied for a service manager position at a major fuel oil company, but the owner believed I needed to know how to repair boilers to manage his service business. I applied for the service manager role at a large office machine retailer, but the owner deemed me over-qualified. I also applied for a manager position at an ITT Technical Institute but came in second because my background did not include any formal classroom teaching.

After several setbacks in "sales," I finally heeded my friends' advice and enrolled in Real Estate school. I completed my training at Fox & Lazo school and was offered a position as an agent at Fox & Lazo Realty in Haddonfield, NJ. I soon realized that, despite having many friends in Real Estate, I lacked a "center of influence" and earned only $8,000 in my first year.

Since the boys were living with me, I stopped paying child support. However, that’s not how court orders function, and I legally became classified as "a deadbeat dad." I discovered that I needed to have the order "reversed" before I could cease the payments. Therefore, I went to court. I didn’t hire a lawyer because I thought Judge Ferrelli would be familiar with the case, and since the boys were residing with me, I believed the child support should end. However, that’s not how our legal system operates either.

I expected to see Judge Ferrelli on the bench, but he was on vacation in Italy, and Judge Gaddos took over the case. I explained that my sons now lived with me and that I wanted the child support order reversed. He banged his gavel and spoke about the responsibilities of bringing "babies into this world." Once again, I attempted to clarify that my sons were in high school, not babies, and that they lived with me. He refused to listen and held me in contempt of court!

A friend of mine mentioned that he played golf with Judge Gaddos. He and his lawyer golfed with Gaddos every weekend, so he suggested I hire his lawyer. I did hire the lawyer and paid his $500 ($1,595 today) retainer. We appeared before Judge Gaddos on the scheduled court date, and Gaddos and my "lawyer" proceeded to put on an award-winning performance of lawyer versus judge.

Judge Gaddos decided that I must continue to pay child support because "I looked prosperous." I asked my lawyer what I got for my $500. He said the child support would go into an escrow account and "You're leaving the courthouse with me instead of the sheriff!". To this day, I have no idea what happened to all of that "escrow money" I paid, but I hope it went to Joe for his community college tuition.

With real estate barely covering my expenses, I transitioned to selling mortgages. I thought I could convince all my real estate friends to use Crestmont Federal Savings & Loan for their clients' mortgages. However, Crestmont was not well-liked among them, and I quickly learned that Crestmont turned down too many of the agents' clients for me to succeed.

Meanwhile, my former employees urged me to become the service manager at American Appliances. I had previously avoided this opportunity due to American Appliances' poor customer service reputation. However, the need for a stable income ultimately swayed my decision. I took the job with American Appliances and, when Bob graduated high school, I offered him a job transporting merchandise between their stores and product service.

My divorce was finally resolved. The house sold at auction for $92,000. I received $1,700 and gave it to the boys. Bob purchased a vintage car, and Joe bought a red motorcycle. The remainder went towards their auto insurance. Joe graduated the following year after Bob, and after two years of neglecting the boys, their mother appeared at Joe's graduation as if nothing had happened. Bob moved in with his girlfriend and her parents, while Joe returned to live with his mother to benefit from community college tuition assistance.

  My successful days in management unexpectedly came to a close, and at the age of 42, I found myself starting anew. With limited prospects of returning to management, I obtained a Real Estate license and secured a position at the Haddonfield office of Fox & Lazo Realty on Tanner St in downtown Haddonfield.

In January 1984, while on floor duty at Fox & Lazo, a woman entered seeking to purchase a home in Haddonfield. Joyce Grey, recently divorced, had grown up in Haddonfield along with her ex-husband, and their parents still resided in the area. She wished to live in Haddonfield so her parents could help care for her daughters, aged 8 and 10, while she worked.

Haddonfield is an expensive place, and we spent a couple of weeks exploring properties in and around the town, but nothing fit her budget. However, I did find a charming two-bedroom apartment for rent above a local restaurant, conveniently located on Tanner St and close to her workplace. She adored the apartment and signed the lease.

Once Joyce was settled into her new apartment, she began visiting me at the office, often bringing lunch or baked treats. Being petite and attractive, Joyce drew a lot of attention from my colleagues due to her kindness towards me. To show my appreciation, I started taking her out for lunch. Before long, we began inviting her daughters along when they were not in school.

Eventually, Joyce and I began dating regularly. We enjoyed dining out and dancing together, and her daughters took a liking to me, making us feel like a family when we were together. One evening, Joyce invited me over for dinner, and after the meal, her daughters asked if I could stay the night. I felt a bit shy, but to my surprise and delight, Joyce said it would be nice if I stayed.

That night marked the start of a wonderful and joyful relationship. Joyce started celebrating every Friday the 13th as an "anniversary" because it was the day she found the apartment on Tanner Street, and I had taken her to T.G.I. Friday for happy hour to celebrate, which also happened to be on a Friday the 13th.

Joyce's parents liked me, and we celebrated holidays at their home like a family. After about two years of dating, Joyce and I began discussing marriage, though we didn't make any formal announcements. Then, when a great twin house went on sale on Ellis Street in Haddonfield, we decided to purchase it. This was the first time since my divorce that I had even considered marriage and living with someone.

Joyce and her ex-husband had an unusually amicable divorce. They divided everything equally and managed to divorce without incurring significant legal fees. He would come over every other Saturday from his home in Poughkeepsie, NY, to spend the weekend with their daughters. He always brought Joyce a check during his visits, and he and I would have friendly conversations over coffee while Joyce helped the girls prepare for their weekend.

Occasionally, Joyce and I would drive the girls to Poughkeepsie for the weekend instead of him coming to Haddonfield. This allowed her to catch up with old friends and gave us a chance for a getaway weekend. Sometimes, we even went on double dates on Saturday nights with her ex-husband and his girlfriend.

Real Estate wasn't financially fruitful for me, so I transitioned to selling mortgages. I still needed to supplement my modest income by writing PC software. I managed to sell a program to Fox & Lazo Mortgage Company and another to the law firm where Joyce worked. I was actively looking for a job as a programmer, but before I could secure one, tragedy and heartbreak struck.

On the Ides of March 1988, I was watching the girls while Joyce worked overtime. I started noticing that Joyce was working more overtime, and I discovered that the "overtime" was actually due to a wealthy local businessman who was pursuing her. When I learned about her affair, I found out from neighbors that it had become the "talk of the town."

I was devastated and completely blindsided. Joyce noticed my heartbreak and tried to explain that she had to consider her future and that of her daughters. Her new suitor was married, but he owned a bakery/luncheonette in town, one of those grand Victorian houses in Haddonfield, and even had his own airplane. In contrast, I was struggling financially and drove a 1979 Chrysler LeBaron with 143,000 miles on it.

Never before had I felt such despair. I had to move out of the house. Joyce reimbursed me for my half of the house, but I missed her and the girls immensely. Those two girls had become like daughters to me. To cope with my frustration, I began writing a daily journal. The only thing that prevented me from hitting rock bottom was a new job offer as a computer programmer.

  After my separation from Joyce in April 1988, I relocated to a furnished apartment on the second floor in Blackwood, NJ, which was conveniently close to my new job at Business Operating Systems & Software (BOSS).

The apartment was quite pleasant for a two-room efficiency. The bedroom featured tasteful decor with a cherry poster bed and a matching dresser. In the living room, there was a small sofa, an overstuffed chair, end tables, and lamps. I enhanced the space with furnishings I had brought from Haddonfield.

The kitchen and living room formed one large area, with the sink and stove cleverly concealed behind folding doors, which was a nice touch for an efficiency. In the kitchen, a small table was positioned next to a window that overlooked a charming backyard with several large trees. Occasionally, squirrels would perch on the sill outside.

Joyce and I parted ways amicably, and she reimbursed me for all the money I had invested in purchasing the house. I missed her and the children greatly, but my new role as a computer programmer helped alleviate my sadness. I found solace in sharing my experiences with a co-worker, Sandy Marmon. Sandy and I began our employment at BOSS on the same day. She had recently gone through a divorce, with Judge Gaddos presiding over her case, and we were assigned to the same project, which led to a close friendship.

Sandy graduated Cum Laude with a degree in computer science. She eventually left BOSS to work with Cobalt programming at Cigna. Four years later, Sandy and I found ourselves working in downtown Philadelphia, as Cigna transferred her to their Liberty Place offices at 16th and Chestnut Street, while I was at Lightship Corp on Chestnut Street. We often rekindled our friendship by having lunch together over the next 15 years until my retirement.

Although Sandy was 12 years younger than me and never sought a romantic relationship, we enjoyed each other's company. We would go out for dinner, catch movies, or play pool. Sometimes, I would visit her home on Saturdays to help with her two young sons and to mow her large yard. Her daughter also lived at home, but she was older and independent.

In June, I encountered Marcia at a nightclub. Marcia was 13 years my junior, and after dating for a while, we began a romantic relationship. She resided near Marlton in a double-wide mobile home and had two small dogs that were quite elderly. After we had to say goodbye to her little fur babies, she adopted a beautiful greyhound from a rescue center, which was a magnificent dog and the only large dog I would ever consider owning.

Marcia and I were together for four years. She was Jewish, and I experienced my first Passover dinner with her and her family. During the years I dated Marcia, I managed to complete my Christmas shopping before the holiday for the first time in my life. While shopping for Hanukkah gifts, I also purchased my Christmas presents. Shortly after I moved to Jericho Manor on June 29, 1992, she ended our relationship.

  My time in Haddonfield now felt like a distant memory. I was working a standard 9 to 5 job as a computer programmer at Business Operating Systems and Software (BOSS) in Blackwood, NJ. Even though it was an entry-level role with corresponding pay, I took pleasure in programming and developing new software.

However, after more than three years at BOSS, I was still receiving entry-level wages. I had created advanced inventory and GL software that became part of BOSS's proprietary products. I had also brought in four new clients and took over two from employees who had left.

When the company denied my request for a raise and then hired a new employee to take on my latest client, I began searching for fairer compensation. I found a new opportunity with Larmon Photo in Abington, PA. At BOSS, I worked with PICK OS, while Larmon Photo operated both PICK and PRIME systems.

Interestingly, the president of Larmon Photo had developed Computyme software, which offered point-of-sale, inventory management, receivables, payroll, and more for the photography industry using PICK. The PRIME system was specifically utilized by the Abington Township Police Department, who relied on Larmon Photo's computers.

Abington, PA was a one-hour commute from Blackwood, NJ. After commuting for 14 months, I decided to move to Pennsylvania. I had spotted an attractive apartment complex of brick buildings situated in a wooded area, almost within walking distance of Larmon Photo. Known as Jericho Manor, the apartments were older yet charming. I rented an apartment and relocated to Jericho on June 29, 1992.

Since my apartment in Blackwood was furnished, I needed to buy new furniture for Jericho. I purchased a new sofa and two chairs for the living room. The bedroom set I chose was cherry wood, similar to what I had in Blackwood. Lacking a closet in the bedroom, I bought an armoire that I assembled, along with a second-hand chest of drawers. I also obtained a used dining room set from a neighbour in Jericho and reupholstered the chairs.

Marcia helped me select Jericho Manor but then became quite obstinate for reasons I couldn’t understand. More than once, when I called to set up a date, she told me that now that I lived in Pennsylvania, I should find someone to date there. I was confused by the change in our relationship. Although marriage had never been a topic of discussion between us, in hindsight, Marcia was independent and not the type to bring it up. Perhaps she had expected some mention of marriage, or a patrtnership, to come from me.

With no one to date, I discovered a friendly little bar in the nearby town of Jenkintown and started going there to play pool. I made many friends, and that Christmas, I celebrated by giving gifts to all the regulars I knew. I had never felt so appreciated.

In the spring, I learned about a nightclub in Blue Bell, PA called the Blue Bell Inn, which hosted "singles night" every Tuesday with music and dancing. I found the Blue Bell Inn, and on my first Tuesday there, I struck up a conversation with a woman sitting next to me at the bar. I asked her to dance, but she declined, saying her friend Betty was a good dancer and introduced me to her.

Betty and I hit it off right away. She was a fantastic dancer, and we soon started dating regularly. Almost every Friday and Saturday night, we would go out for dinner. Everyone at the Blue Bell Inn recognized us because we frequently ended our evenings there dancing after dinner.

Betty had a lovely home in Lafayette Hills and a beautiful cat named Muffy. I was with her when I adopted my cherished cat Brandy. It was in October 1994 when someone discovered a tiny kitten by the side of the road. I took in the cute little kitten and named her Brandy. She loved to sit on my windowsill, observing the birds in the trees.

Betty's daughter, granddaughter, and son-in-law lived just a few minutes away, so we often visited them and celebrated holidays at their place. I started staying over at Betty's on Friday and Saturday nights, often spending Saturdays working in her garden.

However, after seven years of dating, Betty always sent me home on Sunday nights. I wanted more than just a relationship that lasted from Saturday to Sunday. I longed to spend a night together watching TV, going to a movie, or even occasionally visiting the Blue Bell on a Tuesday night, or at least having a phone call. But she would not agree. From Sunday night until the next Friday night, it felt like we were strangers.

Meanwhile, my job was at risk. The photo industry was evolving with the rise of digital technology. I was the lowest-ranking employee, and when I began hearing the term "layoff," I realised I needed to find a more stable job. My opportunity arose with Lightship Corporation in downtown Philadelphia.

Lightship was using PRIME software and focused on purchasing overdue receivables at a fraction of their value and then collecting the full debt. I had a bright office on the 16th floor of an office building on Chestnut Street in downtown Philadelphia. However, I did not find the security I had hoped for. Less than a year later, I began to hear rumours that Lightship might go out of business.

Just in time, an advertisement appeared in the newspaper. The Philadelphia Housing Authority was seeking a PICK programmer. By this point, I had five years of experience in PICK and PRIME and could write software for anything, including payroll, general ledger, inventory, receivables, or payables. I applied to the Housing Authority and got the job.

Working for the city of Philadelphia required me to agree to live in the city. I managed to avoid moving for nearly two years before they mandated that I either relocate or lose my job. I chose to move to Chestnut Hill, which was within the city but held a prestigious reputation.

  In June 1995, I relocated to Chestnut Hill. If you were employed by the city of Philadelphia, residing within the city limits was a requirement. Chestnut Hill is an affluent suburb recognized for its distinctive boutiques, welcoming restaurants, historic residences, and the Woodmere Art Museum.

I discovered a convenient one-bedroom apartment in Chestnut Hill Village, just a short walk from the SEPTA train station. Another station, at the end of the SEPTA line, was approximately five or six city blocks away, yet still within walking distance.

During the six years I spent in Abington and Chestnut Hill, I commuted to work in the city center via the SEPTA train. I enjoyed reading the Philadelphia Inquirer during the 45-minute journey and often jotted down notes about global events or penned the occasional Letter-to-the-Editor, one of which was published.

My new Chestnut Hill apartment was wonderful; it offered much more space than my place in Abington. The living and dining room windows provided a pleasant view of a grassy courtyard, and the living room was spacious enough to accommodate a small, efficient office.

I adorned the dining room with bookcases, artwork, memorabilia, and a pewter chandelier that held real candles. The kitchen featured a tidy "pass-through" to the dining room. There was a sizable walk-in storage closet in the hallway and a small dressing table with a mirror outside the bathroom.

For a time, my son Joe lived with me. He had switched jobs and was employed by the EPA in Philadelphia, which made for a lengthy commute from his home in Brigantine, New Jersey. He moved in with me until he could secure his own place.

These were wonderful times for me. We took the train into Philadelphia together, and having Joe as a roommate was a lot of fun. He particularly enjoyed my coffee, Maxwell House Original, and told his friends it was an old family recipe. Unfortunately for me, Joe soon found a nice apartment and moved out.

Chestnut Hill is adjacent to Wissahicken Valley Park, and if you know the way, you can drive through Wissahicken Park and Fairmount Park into downtown Philadelphia. The landscapes in Wissahicken Park and along Wissahickon Creek are popular among artists and photographers.

Another well-known feature in Wissahicken Park is the historic Valley Green Inn. Constructed in 1850 by Edward Rinker, it was initially named Edward Rinker’s Temperance Tavern. The Valley Green Inn is situated on Valley Green Road, a gravel path that runs alongside the bubbling creek.

The historic inn is the last remaining example of the numerous roadhouses and taverns that catered to the carriage trade along the Wissahickon in the 19th century.

While residing in Chestnut Hill Village, I purchased a new Mitsubishi Gallant, but someone stole all four wheels. Aside from that incident, life was fantastic at CHV. Brandy and I lived there for three years before I decided to buy a house in Philadelphia and moved to Fairmount.

  Now that I had a stable job and a decent income, I aimed to own my own home. A friend recommended that I invest in a triplex located in the sought-after "Art Museum Area" of Philadelphia.

This area is officially called Fairmount, a historic neighbourhood named after the hill where the Art Museum is situated. Most of the residences are row houses constructed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.

In October 1998, I purchased a lovely triplex at the intersection of 27th and Brown Streets in Fairmount. The neighbourhood is renowned for its nearby museums, stylish restaurants, and outdoor cafes. It is adjacent to Fairmount Park, where the Schuylkill River flows past the Art Museum, the Fairmount Waterworks, and Boathouse Row.

Being a corner building, all the apartments were bright and cheerful with windows on three sides. Each apartment featured an eat-in kitchen equipped with dishwashers, garbage disposals, and beautiful glass-front wooden cabinets. The bedrooms and living rooms had ceiling fans, and I installed air conditioning units. The basement contained a washer and dryer, storage closets, and an outside entrance on 27th Street.

I chose the first-floor apartment for myself since it was a one-bedroom unit that required significant renovations. The living room had a 12-foot ceiling that was stained, so I repainted it with popcorn paint. The windows and frames were in poor condition, so I resurfaced the frames and repaired the windows. It was a considerable effort, but I ended up with a lovely living room.

The foyer included a built-in bookcase, and I added a framed mirror that extended from floor to ceiling. The original bathroom was in terrible shape, but my son Robert retiled it, replaced the floor, tub, sink, toilet, and fixtures. The renovated bathroom turned out beautifully.

The bedroom was small, and the only closet was located in the hallway off the foyer. Nevertheless, I managed to fit my bed, dresser, armoire, and chest of drawers into the room. Later, I installed two mirrored closets along the south wall with storage cabinets above them, allowing me to remove the armoire and chest of drawers.

The standout feature of the first-floor apartment was its spacious eat-in kitchen and large, partially covered patio that faced the alley behind the houses with an exit to 27th Street. I hung a stunning leaded glass chandelier, and there was ample space for my dining room table and a small drop-leaf kitchen table.

Later, I painted the kitchen in two shades of green and purchased a glass and wrought iron table set. I placed the drop-leaf table in the basement and set my old coffee-table trunk under the window.

The second-floor apartment had a balcony off the living room. It was a one-bedroom with a den that could serve as a second bedroom.

The third-floor apartment was the most appealing and spacious. The entrance was directly across the hall from the second-floor entrance, with the steps to the apartment located inside. It featured two separate bedrooms, and the living room boasted a fantastic view of the city from a large window at the back of the building.

However, there was a downside to having a corner building: snow shoveling. I had to clear not only the front walk but also the sidewalk that ran the length of the building along 27th Street. I had the best tenants imaginable. During the 17 years I owned the building, only two tenants occupied the third floor, three tenants lived in the second floor, and one tenant moved into the first-floor unit when I vacated.

In January 2002, I purchased my second triplex on Brown Street. It was conveniently located just one door down, making it an ideal spot. The price was reasonable, but the property required a new roof, chimney repairs, and new windows in every room.

All the middle rowhouses feature a narrow alley between them that isn't visible from the street, allowing for windows in each room. The apartments in this building were more spacious, but the kitchen stoves were sized for apartments, and there were no dishwashers.

This building also had hot water oil heating, so the tenants' rent included heat, while they were responsible for gas and electric. However, the basements in the middle buildings were not very useful; with only two small windows at the front, they were dark and often damp. I permitted the tenants in this building to use the laundry facilities in my other building, which they accessed through the outside entrance on 27th Street.

The first-floor apartment had one bedroom but featured a layout quite different from mine. The living room was at the front, with the bedroom in the middle. The kitchen was located behind the bedroom, and the bathroom was situated behind the kitchen, accessible through a small hallway that led outside to a brick patio in the backyard.

The second and third-floor apartments were both two-bedroom units with lovely hardwood floors. The second floor had a spacious eat-in kitchen at the back, complete with a full-size refrigerator. However, the stairway to the third floor was narrow, allowing only an apartment-sized refrigerator to fit up the stairs. Nonetheless, the third floor boasted two large bedrooms—one at the back and one at the front—making it perfect for roommates.

Wheen I moved to Philadelphia, I owned a 1998 Mitsubishi Diamante. After it was damaged in an accident, I bought a 2001 model, an identical twin of the 1998. During that time I saw many changes in the city. None for the better.

Philadelphia was "my city." I loved, lived, and worked there. The house located between my two properties remained a single-family home and the value of my buildings reached well over $1.75 milliion.

In January 2000, the city saw a shift in leadership. Democrat John Street was elected as Mayor, and in his acceptance speech, he began with "The brothers are finally running the city." Over the next few years, the administration led the city into decline. Property taxes doubled.

Looking forward to my retirement, I purchased a lovely home in Mesa, Arizona, with every intention of retiring there. Then in 2007, the housing market collapsed. I lost 45% of the value of my Philadelphia properties. I was renting the Mesa property and it lost so much value, it was "underwater," a term in real estate that I was previously heard.

President George W. Bush took the blame for the housing market crash but he was just a few sprinkles on top of a disaster mixed, baked, and frosted by Bill Clinton.

I sold 2642 Brown St. in 2009 and by the time I sold the corner property in 2015, the city had declined so much it was barely recognizeable. Many of the famous and outstanding restaurants of the city had closed. The city's once beautiful parks were littered and over-run by homeless people.