Editorial METROLAND:The Alternative Newsweekly of New York's Capital Region First published: Thursday, October 12, 2000

It’s too bad Elda and Mario Abate don’t have the great connections Herb Ellis has in the city of Albany. When Ellis, principal of the financially troubled Steuben Place Partners, needed some cash to renovate the former YMCA building at One Steuben Place in downtown Albany 14 years ago, his friends in the city came through: Albany put up its Community Development Block Grant money (funds earmarked for development in poor neighborhoods) as collateral for his $3.5 million loan from the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, in the name of economic development and historic preservation. And when Steuben Place Partners faced serious financial troubles again two years ago and missed two payments on its loan — $121,000 in February 1998 and $328,000 in August of the same year — the city dutifully forked over the funds to HUD, rather than foreclose on the company’s downtown office building, which housed Ellis’ other business venture, the posh Steuben Athletic Club.

More recently, Ellis has sold the athletic club to a newly formed nonprofit entity (of which he is a member), which is expected to bring in more rent money for Steuben Place Partners; until it does so, the city has quietly agreed to let the company’s loan payments slide.

It stands to reason that the city would want to lend a helping hand to a small business owner who expresses a legitimate interest in preserving one of Albany’s many neglected historic buildings. But we can’t help but think the city’s alleged motives for helping Ellis are disingenuous when we compare officials’ behavior toward Steuben Place Partners to their treatment of the Abates, who have come forward with a proposal to save another of Albany’s important landmarks.

In August, Elda and Mario Abate, owners of Elda’s restaurants in Troy and Albany, announced their intention to rescue the vacant, crumbling St. Joseph’s Church on Ten Broeck triangle, a structural masterpiece designed by renowned architect Patrick Keeley; for $1 the couple purchased St. Joseph’s from the Roman Catholic Diocese of Albany, which was thrilled to have found a buyer dedicated to the building’s preservation. Shortly after the Abates announced their plan to convert the gothic-revival building into a catering hall, they became the recipients not of sweet loan deals or funding assistance or even a word of praise from city officials — but of a slap in the face.

When it was revealed that the couple owed Albany County some $24,000 in overdue taxes on its Lark Street eatery, they became the subject of an attack by Albany Mayor Jerry Jennings, who challenged their fiscal solvency and publicly criticized the diocese as “irresponsible” for turning the building over to the Abates without first checking into their finances.

We’re not making excuses for the Abates — they are bound by the same tax laws as any other business owners in the city — and we are by no means advocating for the city to dish out corporate welfare to any business owner who promises to spruce up an aging façade. Still, we can’t help but point out a glaring double standard on the part of Mayor Jennings, whose administration has kept one connected businessman’s elite athletic club afloat to the tune of more than $400,000 in public largess, while condemning another for coming up short on less than $25,000 in county taxes.

For the record, this would be the second time Elda Abate stepped forward to save an otherwise-unwanted historic building in Albany — her first was the former Lemme’s Market at 207 Lark St., now home to Elda’s restaurant. Mayor Jennings ought to be grateful to the Abates for expressing such a commitment to the city (and he ought to be ashamed at his own administration’s failure to protect historic resources — earlier this month, the city was under fire for failing to prevent Albany County from tearing down all but the façade of a 155-year-old mansion, also in the Ten Broeck area, which was suffering from severe neglect).

But instead of welcoming the potential investment of hundreds of thousands of dollars in a struggling neighborhood, Jennings has essentially told the Abates, the diocese, and any other potential investors not to bother. Unless, that is, you’re on the city corporate gravy train.