King David
How did an ex-deli owner with an air-conditioning fetish become the most powerful force in shaping Philadelphia? A rye tale about politics, deals and hot pastrami
IT’S VALENTINE’S DAY AFTERNOON, but there’s not much love to go around here in the soul-sucking, drab meeting room where the Zoning Board of Adjustments handles its business — which, all hyperbole aside, is nothing less than the very business of shaping the city in ways both epic and mundane, sculpting it block by block, variance by variance. The zoning board is responsible for everything from approving some schlub’s roof deck in Manayunk to green-lighting a 268-foot condo tower smack in the heart of Old City, much to the disgust of nearly everyone who lives there. And the man who leads it, who defines its tenor and the surprisingly broad wingspan of its authority, is its chairman, David Auspitz, who spent roughly 80 hours a week for 35 years working … in a deli. A great one, an epic one, even — Famous 4th Street Deli in Queen Village — but a deli. He also makes awesome cookies. And some pretty damn important decisions that can change Philadelphia forever.
To appreciate Auspitz beyond the magic of his double chocolate chips, you really must see him in action at the ZBA. From behind his place at the center of the board’s pulpit, the 61-year-old leans back in his chair so only his craggy face, topped with a sweep of gray hair, peeks out. Eighteen floors above Arch Street, Auspitz looks down from his dais upon the rest of the room, and the city itself. Before him today, the owner of a two-car garage near the Italian Market pleads to convert the space above it into apartments. Auspitz asks if the apartments will have air-conditioning and a garbage disposal — two of his favorite questions — then turns to a nervous neighbor who fears the garage’s rodent problem will only get worse if people live above it.
“It’s my understanding that a variance is for hardships,” the woman says timidly into the microphone across from Auspitz. It’s a statement, by the way, that’s basically true.
“Don’t go there,” Auspitz says, lest she actually try to understand a zoning term at a zoning hearing. “You’ve been given some bad information. Just stick to rats.”
Auspitz listens to both parties, then postpones the vote until the owner and the neighbor can talk this over directly. Neither side objects, and from where Auspitz sits, he’s done his job, a role that’s one part Supreme Court justice and a whole lot of Judge Wapner.
A little later, the owner of a condo complex in Northern Liberties wants to convert some units into three doctor’s offices. He assures the board that the community will benefit from it. His attorney, as the smart ones do, addresses Auspitz by his title.
“You always make me feel like Ted Kennedy,” chuckles Auspitz. “Say it again — ‘Mr. Chairman.’ ‘Mr. Chairman.’”
“It’s safe to say we’re not going to bring in a methadone clinic,” the lawyer says.
The chairman lets out a laugh that echoes through the room. “I can guarantee that, brother.”
“I guess we can rule out an acupuncturist?” the lawyer continues, hoping for a chuckle that never comes. “That was an attempt at humor.”
“That was humor?” Auspitz peers down at him. “I work alone, buddy.”
The truth is, though he is just one of the zoning board’s six seats, Auspitz really is a one-man show. He sets the tone and does the most talking, and while his dictatorship is a benevolent one (mostly), he wields more authority than any one non-elected official probably should. Thanks to a 600-page zoning code that’s 60 years old — the most ancient of any major city’s — along with a planning commission that’s been virtually nonexistent for the past 16 years, Auspitz has, by default, become Philadelphia’s top jack of all trades: part city planner, part chief architect, even part mayor. He isn’t leaving a few fingerprints on the city — he is defining it, in every way imaginable.
If it sounds absurd that the lord of the macadamia chip and king of the knish has so much influence, well, it is. And Auspitz runs the zoning board the way you imagine a deli owner would — he’s testy at times, but usually good for a laugh and eager to give everyone at least some of what they want. “We’re pro responsible development,” says board member Eleanor Dezzi. “We’re also pro community development.” Translated, that means Auspitz serves not so much zoning law, but what he calls the “fabric of Philadelphia.”
“It always seemed to be quite incredible that one minute they’re hearing a variance for a 50-story high-rise, the next it’s a roof deck, the next it’s whether a store can sell 40s,” says Inquirer architecture columnist Inga Saffron, one of the “10 percenters,” as Auspitz calls his critics, who’ve described him as “self-important,” a “tyrant,” a “bully,” and “playing loose” with the rules.
Continues Saffron, “Sometimes he’s Mussolini; sometimes he’s very flattering. And sometimes he’s doing shtick, like Jackie Mason.”
To appreciate Auspitz beyond the magic of his double chocolate chips, you really must see him in action at the ZBA. From behind his place at the center of the board’s pulpit, the 61-year-old leans back in his chair so only his craggy face, topped with a sweep of gray hair, peeks out. Eighteen floors above Arch Street, Auspitz looks down from his dais upon the rest of the room, and the city itself. Before him today, the owner of a two-car garage near the Italian Market pleads to convert the space above it into apartments. Auspitz asks if the apartments will have air-conditioning and a garbage disposal — two of his favorite questions — then turns to a nervous neighbor who fears the garage’s rodent problem will only get worse if people live above it.
“It’s my understanding that a variance is for hardships,” the woman says timidly into the microphone across from Auspitz. It’s a statement, by the way, that’s basically true.
“Don’t go there,” Auspitz says, lest she actually try to understand a zoning term at a zoning hearing. “You’ve been given some bad information. Just stick to rats.”
Auspitz listens to both parties, then postpones the vote until the owner and the neighbor can talk this over directly. Neither side objects, and from where Auspitz sits, he’s done his job, a role that’s one part Supreme Court justice and a whole lot of Judge Wapner.
A little later, the owner of a condo complex in Northern Liberties wants to convert some units into three doctor’s offices. He assures the board that the community will benefit from it. His attorney, as the smart ones do, addresses Auspitz by his title.
“You always make me feel like Ted Kennedy,” chuckles Auspitz. “Say it again — ‘Mr. Chairman.’ ‘Mr. Chairman.’”
“It’s safe to say we’re not going to bring in a methadone clinic,” the lawyer says.
The chairman lets out a laugh that echoes through the room. “I can guarantee that, brother.”
“I guess we can rule out an acupuncturist?” the lawyer continues, hoping for a chuckle that never comes. “That was an attempt at humor.”
“That was humor?” Auspitz peers down at him. “I work alone, buddy.”
The truth is, though he is just one of the zoning board’s six seats, Auspitz really is a one-man show. He sets the tone and does the most talking, and while his dictatorship is a benevolent one (mostly), he wields more authority than any one non-elected official probably should. Thanks to a 600-page zoning code that’s 60 years old — the most ancient of any major city’s — along with a planning commission that’s been virtually nonexistent for the past 16 years, Auspitz has, by default, become Philadelphia’s top jack of all trades: part city planner, part chief architect, even part mayor. He isn’t leaving a few fingerprints on the city — he is defining it, in every way imaginable.
If it sounds absurd that the lord of the macadamia chip and king of the knish has so much influence, well, it is. And Auspitz runs the zoning board the way you imagine a deli owner would — he’s testy at times, but usually good for a laugh and eager to give everyone at least some of what they want. “We’re pro responsible development,” says board member Eleanor Dezzi. “We’re also pro community development.” Translated, that means Auspitz serves not so much zoning law, but what he calls the “fabric of Philadelphia.”
“It always seemed to be quite incredible that one minute they’re hearing a variance for a 50-story high-rise, the next it’s a roof deck, the next it’s whether a store can sell 40s,” says Inquirer architecture columnist Inga Saffron, one of the “10 percenters,” as Auspitz calls his critics, who’ve described him as “self-important,” a “tyrant,” a “bully,” and “playing loose” with the rules.
Continues Saffron, “Sometimes he’s Mussolini; sometimes he’s very flattering. And sometimes he’s doing shtick, like Jackie Mason.”
