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By Joshua M. Bernstein October 26, 2006 Greasing the wheels Andrew Murstein helps would-be cabbies achieve their American dreams
In this patchwork quilt of yellow traffic, Andrew Murstein sees not congestion but, rather, four-wheeled tickets to New York newcomers' success. "Cab driving is an entry-level job where success depends on how hard you work," says Murstein, wearing a crisp collared shirt as blue as his eyes. Behind him, statues of '50s-era Checker cabs and an ancient fare meter decorate the office. "A guy comes to America, drives a cab and all of a sudden he owns a piece of the American dream." Murstein, 42, a married, upper East Side dad of two, knows this path well. As president of Medallion Financial Corp., he focuses on lending immigrant cab drivers money for purchasing medallions (which are required for all vehicles that pick up passengers in response to street hails) and for borrowing some of the company's 500 medallions. Lending big bucks (a medallion's going rate is $500,000) to immigrants may seem like an odd business plan, but "the cabbies' dreams and ambition are their collateral," says Murstein, brown hair swept across his brow. He sips his Dunkin' Donuts coffee, his gold wedding band glinting, and continues: "Other banks want to see audit statements and credit scores. Immigrants may not even know what an audit statement is. But when I look into their eyes, I see a hunger to do well. Let me show you something." Murstein produces a pile of stapled paperwork and flips to a blue page titled "Medallion Loan Losses." "You know how many loan losses Medallion has had?" He points to the page, which is blank. "Zero." But it's not about money, says Murstein, whose company car is a Checker cab. "It's when I see the look in somebody's face when they find out we're going to fund their loan to help them achieve their dream. I'm helping someone do what my grandfather once did." During the Depression, Murstein's grandfather, Leon Murstein, traded Poland for New York City. The penniless immigrant began driving a cab, and soon corralled enough funds to, in 1937, buy a medallion for the princely sum of $10. One medallion led to another, and Leon bought a Queens garage where Andrew cut his business teeth. "I learned the business from the bottom up," says Murstein, a Tufts graduate with an MBA from NYU. "My father [Medallion CEO Alvin Murstein] never pushed me into the family business. But while other kids my age were goofing at the beach, I was planning my future." As a teenager, he toiled after school in his grandpa's garage, working the afternoon payment-collection shift. Drivers, according to Murstein, always tried to squeeze in an extra fare before the 4 p.m. deadline. Tardiness meant a fine - unless drivers had a swell excuse. A Haitian cabbie named Pierre Pierre ("I'll never forget that name," Murstein says) had a whopper. "It was unbelievable! I delivered a birth in the back of my cab," the driver said, after arriving 30 minutes late. Murstein granted him amnesty. The next day, Pierre Pierre returned late once more. "It happened again!" he said. "I delivered another baby." "Now, I was 15 years old, so I believed him. But on the third day, he came in late again and said, 'I delivered twins this time!' I finally told him enough was enough; I fined him $50, and he never told me another lie." In addition to the value of truth, taxis also taught Murstein the meaning of hard work. "Driving a cab for a month was the hardest job I ever had," Murstein says, shaking his head. "Screaming passengers thinking they knew better directions, endless traffic; if the riding public drove a cab for a day, they'd have a lot of sympathy for drivers." Murstein's dad had no sympathy for his son after he received his MBA. Alvin Murstein reassigned the graduate to his old collections job. Older and wiser ("I wasn't going to fall for another baby story," he says), Murstein slowly gained more responsibilities, eventually granting loans to grateful cabbies like Boris Mezhvinsky of Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. "I needed to buy a medallion to be successful in my business," says Mezhvinsky, 67, calling from his cell phone while taxiing past Battery Park. In 1978, Mezhvinsky immigrated from the Ukraine. He drove for a limo service for several years before realizing his key to happiness was being "my own boss." So like scores before him, "when I needed a loan, I came to Medallion. They helped me and gave me good service because they're good people." Nowadays, Murstein and Medallion are branching out beyond cabs. The company is traded on NASDAQ (symbol TAXI), providing small-business loans to women and minorities, and trying to buy sports franchises, like the Pittsburgh Penguins. This mix of capitalism and do-gooding has attracted luminaries like former New York Gov. Mario Cuomo and baseball's home-run king Hank Aaron to Medallion's board of directors. "They joined because we're helping the little guy succeed," says Murstein, who often rides in taxis to check on the industry's health. These up-close encounters often throw a curve ball at cabbies, one in three of which has borrowed either a medallion or money from Medallion. "Nine times out of 10, it's good when I'm recognized," Murstein says, grinning. "Once, when a cabbie picked me up at Kennedy, he said, 'Thank you, thank you.' Fifteen years ago, it turned out, I loaned him money to buy his medallion. So he gave me the ride for free." Another time, Murstein should've worn a mask. "A cabbie slowed to pick me up one night, and it was a driver who was two months late in payment. He caught sight of me, then sped off." He chuckles about the situation. "Out of more than 3,000 loans, only a handful default every year." And a couple bad Big Apple cabbies aren't enough to dissuade Medallion from continuing the mission Grandpa Leon began nearly 70 years ago. "As long as we're help to help," he says, raising his hands to gesture to his taxi statues and the cabs speeding past below, "people will be able to afford their dreams." 
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