Unveiling Deceit: The Story Behind Jon-David & Goliath – Part 1

I do like a good fight.

Maybe “fight” isn’t even the right word. I don’t particularly enjoy fighting with people. What I seem to have is an inability to sit quietly when I believe someone is being screwed.

There’s a difference.

And Jon-David & Goliath, my podcast about my battle with The Boca Raton resort, certainly wasn’t the first time.

Long before I became a whistleblower in my own employment dispute, I learned what can happen when ordinary people stand up to people with more money, more power and more lawyers.

Before The Boca Raton, There Was 33 West Delaware

Years before my battle with The Boca Raton, I lived in a Chicago high-rise at 33 West Delaware.

It was one of my favorite apartments I’d ever lived in—a one-bedroom I had decorated from scratch, with a balcony and a great view. The building was roughly 70 percent owner-occupied and 30 percent rentals. I lived there for eight years, until my landlord eventually decided to sell.

During those years, a new on-site property management company took over the building.

And eventually I became convinced that something was very wrong with both the management company and the condo board.

How I became involved in a fight over condo board governance, property management and the treatment of the building’s union employees began one day when a maintenance worker and a doorperson stopped me before I entered the elevator.

“You’re a writer, Jon-David. Correct?”

I said yes.

At the time, I was writing for an online magazine called The Local Tourist, in addition to working as a hairdresser in the neighborhood. My book, Mafia Hairdresser, had been self-published, and I had developed a pretty strong online presence.

The staff in the building were always interested in what I did. And because we had known each other for years, I knew quite a bit about them, too.

They were professional. They were friendly. And I enjoyed getting to know them as fellow human beings who, like me, worked in the service industry.

Besides, I’m always flattered when someone recognizes me as a writer.

Then they told me why they’d stopped me.

The Employees Asked Me for Help

The workers told me they believed the condo board and property management company were trying to get rid of them.

They were union employees.

Of course I was interested.

I had already developed something of a habit of writing about scandals, and apparently they knew exactly whom they were talking to.

I invited them to my apartment for a private meeting. As I remember it, employees weren’t supposed to socialize with residents that way, so we met quietly.

And they began talking.

They described what they believed was a deliberate campaign to push longtime workers out: scheduling problems, pressure to give up days off and personal time, interrupted lunch periods and write-ups they considered bogus.

Their suspicion was that the pressure was intended to make experienced union employees quit so they could eventually be replaced with lower-paid workers.

That was a serious allegation.

So I started investigating.

Then I Started Following the Money

The employees also told me that companies that had historically handled sewer cleaning, plant replacement and watering, additional cleaning, maintenance and other building services had been dismissed.

New vendors had taken their place.

The workers were suspicious of those companies and told me they suspected some kind of financial relationship or kickback arrangement involving people connected with the board.

A suspicion isn’t evidence.

So I did what writers do.

I started checking.

I researched the replacement companies and found lawsuits and reported complaints or infractions associated with some of them. I started looking into the management company. I started examining what had been done to the building.

And I kept finding more questions.

I also learned that the condo board president, a lawyer, had expanded the outdoor living area connected to his penthouse, including work involving the rooftop. Based on the information I gathered at the time, I believed the project conflicted with building rules or bylaws and that building assessment money had been used for work that benefited his unit.

Again:

Follow the money.

I followed the money…

I also had serious questions about the board treasurer and whether the building’s finances were being properly disclosed to the other owners.

I had personally witnessed behavior by the treasurer in one of the building’s communal spaces that had already made me question his judgment. Combined with what employees were telling me about the president, the management company, vendors and assessment money, I became increasingly convinced that the condo owners needed to know what was happening.

I also found out that the management company, that replaced the old one, had inserted a woman building manager who happened to be a person of interest. She was present when the Walgreen heir, a son, died of a drug overdose. She had skipped town, until her employment at 33 W. Delaware, and never had made a statement to the police.

Did I have enough information to start contacting lawyers and authorities?

I believed I did.

But that would take time.

And I was worried that by the time anybody acted, the money—and perhaps the employees who had come to me for help—would be gone.

So I chose a somewhat more Jon-David solution.

A Hairdresser, a Printer and Eight Pages

I compiled what I had uncovered into an eight-page document.

Then I put it under every door in the building, with explicit instructions that renters pass it along to their unit owners.

Today we’d call that going viral.

Back then, apparently, I was the algorithm.

My landlord was furious.

She came down on me hard over the phone.

Then I was summoned to the management office.

The board president—the formidable trial lawyer I had just written about—told me he was going to sue me. I was told I could be evicted. I was told the condo board would file a lawsuit against me.

There I was:

A hairdresser.

A renter.

Sitting across from lawyers and management.

And I told them:

“Call the police. Do it now.”

I wanted my day in court.

If they believed what I had written was false, let’s put everybody under oath and find out. I’m sure the police would have wanted to know why the building manager was present when the Walgreen’s heir died of an overdose and then skipped town. Until now.

I even told them that if they sued me, I’d countersue. It’s cheaper countersue than sue, I said.

Then I left.

Quietly.

Shaken.

But not stirred.

And Then…Nothing

For approximately two weeks, everything went quiet.

Very quiet.

And then something remarkable happened.

The building’s board was replaced.

The board president eventually left the building and sold his unit. I never saw or heard from him again.

The treasurer remained.

I particularly enjoyed the occasions when I’d pass him in the building and say hello.

He’d look down.

I’d keep walking.

Why This Story Matters to Jon-David & Goliath

Up until the day I moved away from Chicago in 2021, whenever I walked past 33 West Delaware and one of the longtime staff members saw me, they’d sometimes come outside to chat.

That still warms my heart.

Because whatever else happened in that battle, I know why I got involved.

People I knew believed their livelihoods were being threatened. They thought people with more power than they had were taking advantage of them. And they asked a writer they trusted to listen.

Most tenants probably would have said:

“Not my problem.”

I am apparently not most tenants.

I stood up for people when I believed people with more power were taking advantage of them.

And perhaps that’s the real beginning of Jon-David & Goliath.

Years later, I would move from Chicago to Florida for what I believed would be an extraordinary career opportunity at one of America’s great luxury resorts: The Boca Raton.

Once again, I would start hearing things that didn’t make sense.

Once again, employees would tell me what was happening behind the scenes.

Once again, I would start asking questions.

Except this time the building would be much bigger.

The ownership would be much richer.

And the consequences for me would be enormous.

I was still a hairdresser with a printer.

But this time, I also had a microphone.

Read Part 2: Welcome to Jon-David & Goliath

Continue with Part 2 of the story and discover how a dream job at The Boca Raton became an employment dispute—and ultimately the Jon-David & Goliath podcast, part of The Mafia Hairdresser Chronicles.