$100 Million Grandmama Rules Greenwich Village Empire

While William Gottlieb, the well-known Greenwich Village and meatpacking district landlord, was driving around the neighborhood in his old, battered station wagon and conducting his tough negotiating sessions in local diners, his older sister was in the office making sure the bills were paid on time.

Mollie Bender, 77, had been her brother's constant office companion for most of 20 years, helping her brother collect rent checks and attend to the details of his 100-building empire.

With Gottlieb's death on Oct. 5, that entire empire and its related holdings–estimated at anywhere from $100 to $300 million–is about to pass to his older sister. After a brief but bitter first-round probate battle involving another Gottlieb sibling and the sudden emergence of a will, Surrogate Renee R. Roth of County Surrogate's Court in Manhattan signed an order on Nov. 18 designating Mrs. Bender administrator of the estate. The will, still to be probated, names her sole heir.

That makes Mrs. Bender, a petite, soft-spoken grandmother of three, responsible for William Gottlieb Real Estate, one of the largest real estate empires in Manhattan, bigger in acreage than the holdings of Samuel Lefrak or Donald Trump, according to Andrew Gerringer, a broker for Douglas Elliman.

Two months after Gottlieb's funeral at Mount Hebron Cemetery in Queens and shiva, the mourning period, Mrs. Bender is still sick with grief. "I keep thinking he's coming back," she whispered, choking back tears. Court papers filed in the aftermath of Mr. Gottlieb's death are filled with Mrs. Bender's laments about the younger brother with whom she worked for decades.

Businessmen and other tenants of Gottlieb's said they will miss him as well–partly because Gottlieb, all eccentricity and toughness, was one of those unique New York characters who is hard to forget. But also because the occupants of Gottlieb's buildings are not sure what's going to happen next.

"We're afraid that big real estate companies are going to try to force their way into his properties," said Sam Martinez, who owns two restaurants, Habana and Rialto, in buildings owned by Gottlieb.

With Gottlieb gone, cheesy high-rises and carports could replace historic brownstones and cobbled stone streets. The historic buildings that he preserved out of sheer neglect might be transformed into ritzy monstrosities, more Upper East Side than Lower West Side.

That would be a sorry legacy for Gottlieb, who was a fixture on those downtown streets, surveying the many brownstones and warehouses he owned from an old station wagon with busted windows and doors held on with ropes. In his standard T-shirt and crumpled khakis, Gottlieb toted his important papers around in worn plastic shopping bags and conducted his business meetings with contractors, potential tenants and lawyers in neighborhood diners.

His headquarters was a two-room walk-up on Hudson Street. That's where tenants and potential tenants would find him and Mrs. Bender amid creaky metal desks buried beneath mountains of papers, frayed rugs and an old-fangled punch time clock.

The sister and brother spent nearly every day together. The two lived in the same Greenwich Village neighborhood for years, worked side by side and often ate together in one of Gottlieb's three Caribbean restaurants, managed by his girlfriend of 21 years, Bernadine Weekes. Gottlieb and Ms. Weekes never married or had children.

By all accounts, Gottlieb was a one-man show. He had an aversion to bureaucracy and left no road map for the clean transfer of his holdings. When he died, no one knew where or if he might have stashed a will.

Four days after his death, as Mrs. Bender was sorting through his papers, she found a conformed copy of an old will that left his entire estate to their mother Anna–since deceased–and to her. He had named Mrs. Bender as the executor of his estate. But, according to court papers, she was advised by her lawyers that the old photocopy wouldn't hold up in court.

Meanwhile, Gottlieb's empire was in limbo. He was the sole owner of his properties and bank accounts; upon his death, everything was frozen. No one could sign contracts, renew leases or deposit rent checks.

Plans to develop a cinema revival house with Keith McNally, who just opened his newest French restaurant, Pastis, in one of Gottlieb's buildings on Little West 12th Street, were put on hold indefinitely. Gray Kunz, the master chef behind Lespinasse, could not finish lease negotiations for his new restaurant at 52 Gansevoort Street.

Mrs. Bender, on her own for the first time, dug into her own pockets to pay Gottlieb's 90 employees, cover the monthly Con Edison bill of $150,000 and fork over some $45,000 in income taxes. But she couldn't keep that up for long.

So on Oct. 14, upon the advice of her lawyer, according to an affidavit filed by Mrs. Bender in Surrogate's Court, she asked the court to name her co-administrator of her brother's estate, along with her only other surviving sibling, a brother, Arnold Gottlieb.

Mr. Gottlieb, 72, an aeronautical engineer from Florida, had arrived in town right after his brother had suffered the stroke from which he died five days later. Unlike his sister, he had never played a role in his brother's affairs. According to Mrs. Bender's affidavit, "Arnold has never worked for or been involved in the management of the company." Suddenly, he was an equal partner in one of the most impressive real estate businesses in the city.

But Mrs. Bender, going through her brother's personal effects, unearthed an original copy of his 1972 will. After naming his late mother and Mrs. Bender as heirs, it specifically stated: "I have not, at this time, made any provision for my beloved brother, Arnold Gottlieb."

Before Mrs. Bender had a chance to submit the will to the courts, things got ugly. According to an affidavit later filed by Mrs. Bender, Arnold Gottlieb and his lawyer busted into the real estate office on Oct. 23, demanding to see documents. Arnold Gottlieb's lawyer, Stephen Feuerstein, a self-described 5-foot 5-inch tall slender man with "serious cardiac problems," said he accompanied Mr. Gottlieb and his wife, Naomi, to the offices to check on the affairs of the business.

According to Mrs. Bender's affidavit, when their requests for documents were refused, "Feuerstein punched my daughter, Cheryl Dier, knocking her to the floor. He proceeded to kick her as she lay there. Mr. Feuerstein then struck my 78-year-old husband, Irving." Mrs. Bender also mentioned that her brother threatened her son Neil with physical violence if he attempted to prevent him from taking control of the company.

Mr. Feuerstein tells a very different story. After weeks of putting their lives on hold to care for and mourn Gottlieb, Arnold Gottlieb and his wife had to return to Florida to pay bills and get fresh clothing. But, said Mr. Feuerstein, "Arnold felt he couldn't just leave without showing interest" in the family business.

Mr. Feuerstein claims that Mrs. Bender's daughter flew into a rage at the sight of them. The lawyer has said he merely jumped in to block Ms. Dier from attacking her Aunt Naomi, and had his glasses knocked off and his face scratched in the process. "Cheryl kept screaming, 'You have no right to be here!' She seemed emotionally unstable … The police asked me if I wanted to press charges." No charges were pressed.

In the subsequent affidavit requesting that the letters of administration be revoked, Mrs. Bender stated, "If Arnold is not immediately restrained from injecting himself into the company's operations, there is no question in my mind that the company will simply not be able to function and that the assets of the estate will be wasted."

On Nov. 18, the letters of co-administration were suspended and Arnold Gottlieb was officially prohibited from entering any of Gottlieb's properties. Mrs. Bender was appointed preliminary executor, giving her the authority to make decisions and handle transactions for the firm. So far, Mr. Gottlieb hasn't contested the will, although legal observers speculated that a probate battle lies ahead.

Mrs. Bender, however, faces new challenges: If designated sole heir, she owes the Federal Government a 55 percent estate tax. That has Gottlieb tenants quaking in their reasonably priced rentals. And with good reason. It's likely Mrs. Bender will have to sell off a chunk of the precious real estate to pay the government.

Even in its rundown state, the real estate is extremely valuable–and desirable. Since Gottlieb had begun amassing his impressive building collection in the 1950's, he almost never sold, upgraded or renovated any of them. Many of his buildings' original moldings, high ceilings and staircases remain intact, albeit in decay.

At the same time, he never used real estate brokers; the rents he charged were cheap by today's standards. That has benefited entrepreneurs like Mark McDonald, who for five years paid what he described as reasonable rent for his chichi furniture gallery in one of Gottlieb's buildings on Gansevoort Street in the meatpacking district. Most of the prime real estate on the funky block lay depressingly fallow; transsexual hookers hung out on the corner; rib bones littered the streets; and the roof leaked, despite the persistent efforts of Gottlieb's ragtag team of repairmen. But Mr. McDonald was paying a sweet rent and wanted to keep it that way. His lease was up in a few months and he had chatted about a renewal when he bumped into his landlord in late September. Gottlieb told Mr. McDonald not to worry about the lease. They'd work it out.

Now Mr. McDonald is sweating it. "I don't know who is going to renew my lease … or even if the building will be sold," he said.

Other tenants, like Keith McNally, are confused. "I don't even know who to deal with in the office now."

Mrs. Bender refused to be interviewed. But tenants voiced their concerns about how the woman will handle this sudden turn of events. Many point to her loyal staff and the building manager, Michael Wu, as assets. She also can rely on Gottlieb's girlfriend, Ms. Weekes. And, as her brother's assistant all those years, Mrs. Bender knows his Dickensian accounting system of ledgers and is familiar with many of the tenants and vendors.

But most believe the Gottlieb era is over, which will bring big changes to the Lower West Side. Andrew Gerringer, the Douglas Elliman broker, said, "The area could develop faster now that Bill's gone."

With Laura Seigle.