ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½

The construction activity is a mark of progress as the stadium for the city’s new Major League Soccer team, ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ City SC, takes shape. Amid the shutdowns and slowdowns of the coronavirus pandemic, the stadium footprint offers economic hope for an area of downtown that needs some good news.

Those same cranes, however, were the reason that Rahimi’s American dream almost collapsed. I wrote of his plight about a year ago. Rahimi is a native of Afghanistan, who immigrated to the U.S. with his family after working professionally as a dentist in Azerbaijan. He learned English, became a U.S. citizen, and opened a bodega in Downtown West that until late 2019 had been a neighborhood staple for a decade.

Rahimi’s former store was in a building that’s been razed for the stadium. He found a new landlord just a couple of blocks away, at Olive and 23rd streets, in a building that had been mostly vacant. But the city didn’t transfer Rahimi’s liquor license, and instead made him apply for a new one. His required neighborhood petition fell one signature short, and his license was denied, effectively killing his business that he practically had to rebuild from scratch.

“I can’t pay my bills. I can’t pay my rent. I can’t pay anything,â€� he told me last April. After I wrote about Rahimi’s plight, the generosity of ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ turned this story of bureaucratic bungling into something else.

“Hope came to my heart,â€� Rahimi told me this week. I stopped by his store last week to check on his progress. He’s doing well. He’s paying his bills, though he is still behind. He can’t wait to go watch ÃÛÑ¿´«Ã½ City SC play the game he grew up with, kicking plastic balls in the streets of Afghanistan. He can’t wait for fans of the new team to walk by his store before and after the games.

Shortly after my column about Rahimi ran last year, he started hearing from readers. Some said they would lobby Mayor Lyda Krewson to make sure he got his liquor license. Others offered financial support — he now owed back taxes that would have to be paid even if he could obtain a liquor license. He heard from the city’s excise commissioner, Myles McDonnell, who told him his liquor license had been approved, at least for six months. He’s since obtained another six-month renewal, and the required state license. He even got a call from the lone building owner whose signature he couldn’t obtain for his liquor license approval. The man signed.

Rahimi’s American dream was intact once again. He is grateful to the city, to his landlord, to McDonnell, to all who helped him.

A customer walked in while we talked. He put five tall Busch beers on the counter and bought some smokes. For any small market in any city in America, this is the bread and butter. The people who live around Rahimi’s store, most of them at least, don’t have a lot of money. They don’t buy six-packs and 12-packs, but tall beers, and small bottles of whiskey to go with their cigarettes and other food items.

The irony is that such purchases almost made it more difficult for Rahimi to open. Among the challenges he learned he had after his liquor license was initially declined was that the wanted him to sign an agreement that he wouldn’t sell single beers. Rahimi didn’t want to do it; after 10 years in business at his previous location he thought it was unnecessary. But considering his difficulties, he signed anyway. Now there’s a sign in his store that says the minimum beer purchase of singles is three.

“Slowly, the customers are coming back,� Rahimi says. He looks to the east of his store, where the girders rise above the construction fences and the new soccer stadium takes shape. “Back in the day, soccer was my passion,� Rahimi says. He mimics juggling a ball and talks about playing in college. “If they let me stay here, it’s going to be really good for business.�