Love's Real Stories

I got to know Steve Williams, local real estate icon, at his funeral. Oh, I had been acquainted with him. I made a point of meeting him, twenty-odd years ago, in hopes of learning anything I could. I was a real estate rookie; he was the pro. I heard people say things like “How can one guy sell a hundred houses a year in a tiny town like Paradise?” Or “I wish I knew half as much as Steve Williams does about selling.”

Steve agreed to meet me at a down-home Paradise coffee shop. I had to wait to ask my question (“How do you do it, Steve?”) because he knew everyone in the place, and everyone had a greeting for him. He for them too; the personal kind, like, how are the kids, good game last week, did you get the boat fixed. His mere presence energized the place.

Steve answered my question. He said his success had to do with discipline, organization, and goal-setting. His days began at four or five in the morning. First thing, he programmed his schedule for the coming hours. “That makes it easy, Bud,” he said, “then I’m just following orders the rest of the day.” He shared private stuff most sales people guard as secrets: his unique presentation materials; his prospecting techniques; his negotiating strategies.

I learned a lot about real estate from Steve. The other day at the Celebration of Life, I learned a lot about Steve. I hadn’t known he was a Marine who served two tours in Viet Nam. Or that he had four kids he poured his heart and soul into. Or that as he got to know you, you might earn the privilege of being referred to as (Expletive)—head, or Dufus. That’s language I can relate to.

I learned Steve liked to load his Suburban with his kids and their friends to go get burgers. He would drive down the hill to Chico with his left foot hanging out the window, flip-flop flapping. That’s a guy I can relate to.

Steve’s older brother told a story of when they were kids, entrusted with the family motorboat for the first time. Steve convinced his brother to pull off-river onto a beach to visit a concession stand. Steve jumped out; his brother safeguarded the boat. Steve returned with an adult couple in tow, strangers, to whom he had promised a tour of the river. Though the river was unfamiliar to him, Steve delivered a tour-guide monologue worthy of the event. Steve later shared with his brother the two dollars he had arranged as payment; a salesman from the start. That’s a kid I can relate to.

Steve was a Bay Area sports fan. That’s a man after my own heart.

By all accounts, a great man, a fun and generous man, is gone. Steve Williams will be missed by multitudes. I’m sorry I didn’t get to know him better when I had the chance. We might have partnered in beers and burgers at a ball game. I might have earned myself a colorful new knick-name.