Love's Real Stories

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Category: KDV

December 26, 2019

More Christmas Blues

As I was saying in the last column, this Christmas season has been particularly sentimental and emotional. Partially, as I said, because I miss KDV, my old Real Estate mentor.

KDV was Mr. Christmas. He was the guy who tied the wreath to the front of his car and drove around wearing a Santa hat, shouting “Ho, ho, ho!”  through a speaker mounted to the car roof. He was also the guy who rolled his own smokes and flicked the ashes out the sunroof as he cruised through town, giving the impression that he was possibly a Bad Santa. But he always came through with generosity and smiles, delivering presents to friends, especially kids of friends, and even kids he didn’t know but met along the way. KDV was eccentric, unpredictable, and irreverent, but he was a Good Santa.

“Listen, babe,” said KDV back in the day, “This is the time of year when we are on a mission to forget our troubles and help others forget theirs.”

As I was also saying in my last column, I inherited KDV’s place at the podium telling Christmas stories to the hundred or so Realtors at the final meeting of the year of our Realtors weekly Multiple Listings meeting. I inherited the position six years go when KDV passed away.

This year’s final meeting of the year was yesterday. In addition to missing old KDV, I also had that sentimental and emotional feeling because of Paradise lost in the Camp Fire last year; the people we know who suffered then, the people we know suffering now, the ongoing PTSD and anxiety throughout our community. Yes, we are excited and determined to rebuild Paradise and we are involved in the effort, but the one-year anniversary made the disaster fresh.

So, my Christmas story this year at the Multiple Listings meeting was once again about KDV and his holiday antics throughout the years; but also about KDV’s wife and widow, dear Alla, who passed away two weeks ago. Alla was 95 years old. The conclusion of a good life and a great run, for sure. A cause for celebration, even. But just days before she slipped away, Alla was still her smiling and laughing self, so you can’t help pondering the fragility of life.

At the conclusion of my story-telling, the curtain on the stage behind me rolled back, and there stood our Band, the Richard Moore Memorial Chico Association of Realtors Holiday Band. There stood six members of the Band in their Santa hats, with guitars, horns, keyboards and drums. I jumped up on stage, making it a seven-member band, and we kicked it off with Blue Christmas, which was KDV and Alla’s favorite Christmas song. We played five Christmas songs, finishing with Feliz Navidad, and Santa jumping into the room from behind the curtain at stage right, handing out sombreros and maracas and throwing candy canes and chocolates. Santa led a Conga line around the room and the place was aglow in Christmas spirit.

Underlying the festive mood for me was the knowledge that during this very merry moment, my sister was visiting with her oncologist to get the results of the previous day’s scan. It’s been three years of scans and surgeries as she battles her cancer. The doctors warned her to keep her expectations down, because of the nature of her particular cancer, and the knowledge that tumors in her lungs were still present and likely growing after her last surgery.

We broke down the equipment, stuffed it in the truck, said our goodbyes, and I checked my phone. There was the text from my sister: “NO GROWTH & ONE DISAPPEARED!!!! Next scan in 6 months!” Replies followed on the 8-person family text line: “Christmas miracle!” “Tears of Joy!!” “Thanking God!!”

Mission accomplished. Troubles forgotten. Happy Holidays!

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December 25, 2019

Christmas Blues

I have a case of the Christmas blues. One reason is because I miss my brilliant old friend and Real Estate mentor, KDV, sometimes known as Ken DuVall. KDV’s favorite time of year was Christmas, so his memory looms large this time of year. Like me, he loved Christmas songs. And like me, KDV’s two favorite Christmas songs were “Blue Christmas” by Elvis Presley and “Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire” by Nat King Cole. 

Hence, KDV’s two favorite Christmas jokes:
1. “Who is Santa’s favorite singer? Elf-is Presley.”
2.“What did the naughty Jazz singer get for Christmas? A lump of coal. Nat King Coal.”

KDV always said, “I made up that second one myself! Not bad, huh, bro?”

Every December, at the final Realtors’ Multiple Listings meeting of the year, KDV would start the meeting with a Christmas story, usually sentimental, sometimes funny, and often both sentimental and funny. KDV did that for most of the forty years he was a Realtor. Every year, he had that roomful of Realtors, a hundred or so people, enthralled with his deep voice. 

There were more Christmas jokes, of course. KDV was a walking encyclopedia of jokes. Like: “Hey, I told my neighbor I bought my wife a beautiful diamond ring for Christmas. My neighbor said, ‘I thought she wanted a new car.’ I said, ‘She did, but where would I find a fake Cadillac?’”

After KDV passed away six years ago, I inherited that role he held at the December Multiple Listings meetings. So, now it’s up to me to come up with a Christmas story every year. It’s been easy for me, though, because every year all I need to do is resurrect a Christmas story or two about KDV. Like the Christmas season when he brought a car full of goodies and gifts to the decrepit little group of shacks occupied by migrant workers which he called Shanty Town. KDV threw open the doors of his car and blared ‘Blue Christmas’ by Elvis till all the people came out and celebrated with us. Shanty Town was on E. 8th street and has long been demolished. Then there was the time he convinced me to go on a mission with him to each of our favorite restaurants and bars in town, have a drink, and decide which establishment most evoked the spirit of Christmas. The Hatch Cover won, with decorations and music and a friendly rosy glow. The owners received a plaque presented by KDV. The Hatch Cover, iconic restaurant and bar that it was, is long gone, too.

KDV loved life. But more than life, KDV loved his wife. His dear Alla. KDV had one wish, the same wish, every time we broke a wishbone, which we did as a tradition on our respective birthdays.

“My wish, babe,” said KDV, “is that I die before Alla. My world is over without her.” 

KDV got his wish in 2012. Alla has remained a great friend. She tells me stories from the Hollywood days as a hat-check girl in nightclubs, a dental hygienist, and meeting her crazy neighbor, KDV, who raced motorcycles and worked as a Hollywood stuntman. He became the love of her life.

Here’s the other reason I have the Christmas Blues. Dear Alla DuVall passed away two weeks ago. I was lucky enough to see her the day before she died. We sang her favorite Christmas song, Blue Christmas. Alla was 95 years old. Her granddaughter, Maura, who took care of her until the end, texted me with the news: 

“I’m so honored I was able to help her and watch over her last act,” she said. “I made sure it was good. I played her ‘Blue Christmas’ and ‘Chestnuts Roasting’ as she passed. I placed my hand on her heart and told her I loved her as she breathed her last. I told her Ken was here to get her and it’s time to go. Goodbye Sweetheart.”

Merry Christmas, Ken and Alla DuVall.

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August 14, 2015

All Kinds

“It takes two to tango, babe,” said my old mentor KDV, “and it takes all kinds to make the world go ‘round.” KDV was referring to the diversity of people we encounter in the Real Estate job. Soon after, I found an example.

“So you work for The Man, huh?” said my new client Robbie Burns, as we drove toward a property he wanted to see.

“The Man?” I said.

“Yeah, The Man. You know, the Fat-Cats who run the corporations like your Real Estate outfit who are funding the Industrial-Military complex, destroying our natural resources and selling it off for billions in profit, all blessed by our conservative capitalist Government. The system is designed to keep us all distracted. Instead of worrying about our freedoms being taken away, The Man wants us to be happy tuning into a ball-game and eating fast food!”

I reflexively glanced at my car radio dial tuned to 680 AM, the station for Sports-talk radio and the San Francisco Giants. I had been listening to that day’s baseball game on my way to meet Robbie. I eyeballed the floor behind the passenger seat and spied a Taco Bell wrapper peeking out from underneath.

“Have you always been a corporate guy?” asked Robbie.

“Well, I’m originally from Berkeley,” I said.

Robbie looked surprised.

“Telegraph Avenue,” I said, “the riots, People’s Park, the whole bit.”

“Wow,” said Robbie, “and here you are workin’ for The Man!”

I wrote an offer for Robbie on a house on the South end of town, and I visited the Listing Agent’s office to present it to the seller, Mr. Bailey.

“Good riddance to the place,” said Mr. Bailey. “I’m selling off that rental and moving away. No more paying taxes to our liberal corrupt Government for me, you know what I mean? My tenant has more rights to the place than I do.”

I presented Robbie’s offer.

“FHA loan, huh?” said Mr. Bailey. “Another socialist program, if you ask me.” Mr. Bailey went on about our government subsidizing communism. “They’re taking our freedoms away!” he said.

“It all started with those commie-loving hippies with their so-called folk music,” he said. “Even country music has been infiltrated by hippies, like that bearded pot-smoker, Willie Nelson.”

In my mind I shuffled through the cassette tapes in the shoe-box under the front seat of my car, and noted Bob Dylan’s “The Times They Are a-Changin’.” Also there was “The Red-Headed Stranger” by Willie Nelson.

I visualized Robbie Burns with his beard and tie-dyed t-shirt, without a doubt a commie-loving hippie in the eyes of Mr. Bailey.

Later, I told KDV of my diverse experience that day.

“That’s Real Estate, babe,” said KDV. “Where else can you simultaneously be hangin’ with the hippies and workin’ for the man?”

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August 6, 2015

One of a Kind

“It’s so hot, trees are whistling for dogs. It’s so hot, chickens are laying hard-boiled eggs. It’s so hot, asphalt has achieved a liquid state. It’s so hot, ice cubes spontaneously combust.”

My buddy Bill and I fired off that string of “It’s too hot” jokes, evoking the spirit of our old friend and mentor, Ken DuVall, the jokemeister of all time.

“I sure miss old KDV; how long has he been gone?” said Bill.

It was three years ago this week, and we miss him. KDV had such an impact on all who knew him and worked with him that his name comes up every day in a story, a quote, a joke, or a Real Estate dilemma.

The first time I saw Ken in action, he stood at the front of a classroom of eighteen students in a real estate license prep course. He was the instructor. He took boring material and served it up mixed with jokes and stories.

“If you’re anything like me you won’t let your schooling interfere with your education.”

“You wanna be rich? Easy. Get up early, work hard, and strike oil.”

And: “Just watch me closely and listen precisely. That way you’ll know exactly what not to do for success in real estate.”

Ken was a sincere mentor.

“If you work really hard you can make a great living in real estate,” he said, “but no joke, it’s all about the people. Do the job well for the people, and then you’ll get paid. If you’re just going for the bread, babe, you’re dead.”

And: “We make a living by what we get; we make a life by what we give.”

Ken was born and raised in Hollywood. He raced motorcycles in competitions on tracks, dirt, and desert sand. He was a stunt man in the movies — he crashed cars, flipped motorcycles, and jumped off buildings. Check out “Hot Rod Girl” and “Jail House Rock” from the ‘50’s.

Through it all, Ken was a salesman. From the time he was a teenager, he sold everything from aluminum siding to coffee makers to T.V. antennas. Then fifty years of Real Estate.

“The secret to selling, babe,” he said, “is trust and honesty. If you can fake that, you’ve got it made. Just kidding!”

Ken loved his wife and kids. “In all things, my friend,” he said, “love is the answer. Now, if I can just remember the question…”

Ken loved his dogs. The last note he sent me was “Things We Can Learn from a Dog: 1) Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joy ride. 2) Be loyal. 3) When someone is having a bad day, be silent and sit close by. 4) When you’re happy, dance around and wag your entire body.”

RIP, KDV, one-of-a-kind.

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March 19, 2015

The Shaft

“It’s grandfathered in,” said the Listing Agent.

I had called the agent on behalf of my clients, Jenny and Brad, who were writing an offer on her Listing.

“Is there a building permit for the Family Room addition built on to the back of the house?” I asked.

“My sellers say it’s been there forever.”

I passed the news on to Jenny and Brad that the Family Room addition had been “grandfathered in” and we left it at that.

Six months after we closed escrow on the house, Jenny and Brad filed for a building permit to add a bathroom to a section of the Family Room.

Brad called me. “We have a little problem with the house,” he said anxiously. “The Building Inspector who came to the house told us the Family Room is not “grandfathered in”.

The Building Inspector condemned the Family Room and served Jenny and Brad with a notice of Code violation.

When I related the situation to my mentor, KDV, he said, “Looks like you sold your people the gold mine, babe, but they got the shaft.”

I went to the Building Department and talked to the Chief Building Official.

The Chief frowned over the inspection notes and said, “The Inspector says here that the Family Room windows, light fixtures, and construction framing can’t possibly be over forty years old, which is the age it needs to be to qualify as ‘grandfathered in’; in other words, it wasn’t constructed before building permits were required, so it is illegal.”

The Chief told me that Jenny and Brad were required to submit a set of architectural plans and pay the fees to process the permit, but because Jenny and Brad didn’t cause the violation in the first place, the fees were less than they would be if the Family Room were being constructed new.

I hired an architect, we submitted the plans to the Building Department, and the Inspector came back for a one-time “Special Inspection”.

As it turned out, the Family Room was well-constructed and in compliance with Building Code, except for one thing: the walls were placed on the old original patio concrete slab with no perimeter foundation footings. The only solution was to dig trenches under the walls and pour a new concrete foundation two feet deep and one foot wide.

KDV stopped by the house and found me on my knees, shovel in hand, digging trenches.

“So you did sell your people a gold mine, babe,” he said “but you get to dig the shaft.”

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