South Philly Review

Andrew Jevremovic and his wife, River Algiers Trappler, paid roughly $20,000 and got a home, a warehouse for their business and 3,000 pounds of pigeon poop.

Three years ago, the couple bought a 100-year-old abandoned biscuit bakery on the 2200 block of Alter Street that had been a haven for short dumpers, drug dealers, dogfights and hundreds of birds for 15 years.

The first time Jevremovic visited the building, the little street was so jammed with trash, he had to drive on the sidewalk. The property's bay doors were riddled with bullet holes, he recalled.

Dozens of Dumpsters later, the building is adorned with a steel sign displaying the name of the couple's business, Octo Studios; it has a third-floor apartment where they live, and artist studios occupied by renters.

The couple's business is importing Chinese furniture and artifacts and selling them wholesale to dealers. Jevremovic, 41, started the business seven years ago and travels to China at least once a year to make purchases. He also is a sculptor and makes his own furniture for sale.

Octo Studios had been located in Manayunk until the business outgrew the space. The couple spent two years searching for a showroom to display their merchandise -- reluctantly checking out spots outside the city in Conshohocken and Norristown -- before their landlord directed them to a real-estate ad for the biscuit bakery, a 15,000-square-foot building with a three-story brick oven that remained largely intact.

The property had been empty since 1985, when a plumbing supplier occupied it. The city condemned it shortly thereafter, and sold it at sheriff's sale to a speculator in New York, who was asking $60,000.

Jevremovic and Trappler haggled the price down to less than $20,000 and cut a deal on the back property taxes and overdue water bills owed to the city.

"After a few weeks, you start saying, 'What the hell did I get into here?'" Jevremovic recalled. Early on, he spent most of his time hauling away junk and the rest chasing away short dumpers. Then one would sneak past him and unload a dump truck with 10 old refrigerators or a couple hundred tires on his street.

"This became a full-time job," said the soft-spoken Jevremovic. "The business was closed down. Our customers, we were calling them five days after they left a message, saying please bear with us."

In the meantime, they survived on the income from Trappler's job as a graphic designer and maxed out their credit cards.

The business is progressing now, although like other companies, Jevremovic said it continues to drag in the post-9-11 economy. The only similarity between the block now and three years ago is the street sign.

The entrance to the building has been fitted with a wooden-and-steel door fit for a castle. The inside features the original maple hardwood floors, stylish exposed brick walls and 12-by-12-inch original wooden support beams.

Jevremovic and Trappler have made an apartment on the third floor, but intend to move to a larger space on the building's fourth floor, where there is a view of the Center City skyline. And Trappler, who is pregnant with the couple's first child, is working mainly from home.

There are occasional reminders of the building's past. Like on Monday, when the couple stepped out of their front door to a man who had just finished urinating in one of the empty lots and a suspicious red Buick with someone in the driver's seat rolling a joint.

But if 3,000 pounds of bird fertilizer couldn't scare them away, Jevremovic and Trappler aren't giving up now.

The warehouse has way more room than Jevremovic and Trappler will ever need for living space or for their business. They have divided the extra space into smaller studios, rented out for $350-$450 a month. Three are occupied, and Jevremovic is planning to renovate at least five more for artists waiting for them.

"There's a really good market for artist studios," said Trappler, 35. "In this city, there are not enough spaces, not enough nice spaces."