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"  &amp;quot;Yeah, we talk,&amp;quot; says the superintendent of one of the more notable apartment buildings facing Central Park in Manhattan. He manages a staff of 10 in a building that has more than 30 residences in a neighborhood where apartments average $1.41 million per sale. He has been the building&amp;#039;s live-in super for six years. His father is in his third decade as a super in another high-end Manhattan building; his grandfather was also a super. He&amp;#039;s part of what might be called the super mafia of New York: a tight-knit group of the trusted, trusty managers of Gotham&amp;#039;s most coveted addresses. Unbeknownst to wealthy would-be buyers, who believe a healthy portfolio and the slightest sense of decorum are enough to get them past most co-op boards, the supers of New York&amp;#039;s top buildings talk to one another, and sometimes even to their buildings&amp;#039; board members, going as far as to quietly warn co-op boards away from applicants they&amp;#039;re familiar with \u2014 and dislike \u2014 from other buildings. These warnings are often first sounded at superintendent clubs, which meet monthly in restaurants throughout the city. &amp;quot;They&amp;#039;ve been around forever,&amp;quot; says our Central Park super, who describes the typical meeting as part buffet dinner and part networking event. Prospective hires, like doormen and contractors, are a regular topic of conversation. Residents are not invited \u2014 but they are discussed. New York&amp;#039;s supers are more powerful today than ever before. Once mere handymen, they&amp;#039;ve evolved into professional building managers who are employed by managing agents, who are often tied to some of the city&amp;#039;s most august real estate brokerages. Residents merely play an advisory role, with the managing agents presenting job candidates to co-op and condo boards. Most of those candidates come from the super mafia \u2014 they often find themselves in a game of musical chairs, much like the CEOs they serve. Complaints from residents can doom a super, but that happens only rarely. Tenures are measured in years, even decades. It&amp;#039;s the residents who have to get used to the supers, not the other way around. &amp;quot;I am extremely nice to and quiet around the building staff \u2014 quiet being the key word here,&amp;quot; says one denizen of a fancy Manhattan building. She knows of at least one deal in her building affected by a super&amp;#039;s opinion. Other purchases turned sour by a super&amp;#039;s objection are whispered about, particularly on the Upper East Side. The dinged buyers are always tagged as one of two things: stingy (or downright withholding) come tip season or generally rude and condescending. Unlike, say, the opinions of doormen, who are more transient and less likely to live in the buildings they serve, the words of supers can travel far, fast, and with a great deal of influence. Such words never seem to stick to the supers themselves \u2014 they are delivered quietly and privately. The appearance of discretion is key to a super&amp;#039;s career longevity. The only hope for buyers who feel they&amp;#039;ve been wronged by the super mafia is to get evidence that a super has snitched. If you&amp;#039;re caught dishing about residents, says Paul Herman, head of the residential management division at Brown Harris Stevens, &amp;quot;You&amp;#039;re never going to get another job.&amp;quot; But supers seasoned enough to work at the top buildings are not known for their carelessness. Better to bank on a strategy of smiles and tips. "^^<http://www.w3.org/2001/XMLSchema#string>
<http://www.townandcountrymag.com/leisure/arts-and-culture/reviews/a1158/new-york-super-community/>