Realtors | Love's Real Stories

Reverse 2020

“I’m tired,” said my old friend Carlene. “I just want to stay in this house and die here.”

Carlene and I had been driving around town checking out apartments for her to rent. She couldn’t afford the loan payment on her house anymore and she had decided to sell to acquire funds to live on.

“Let’s have a drink,” she said, as she collapsed into her easy chair and fired up a cigarette. It had been a rough afternoon. Carlene was arthritic and weak.

“I’d rather be back on the ranch digging ditches and skinning rabbits than dragging my old carcass around town with the likes of you,” she said.

“Thanks a lot,” I said.

“Ha! I’m just gettin’ your goat, kid,” she said. She cackled and blew smoke.

“And don’t worry, I am gonna list my house with you. You don’t have to kill me first.”

She hurled a folded-up newspaper at me. “What do you think about this?”

An advertisement was circled: “Reverse Mortgage. Over 62 years old? Let your home’s equity pay you income! Stay in your home with no payments! Free consultation!”

This was back in the early 1990’s, and I had never heard of a Reverse Mortgage.

“Sounds fishy,” I said.

“I called the 800 number,” she said, “and some loan guy is coming here tomorrow. You want to be here?” In other words, she expected me to be there.

The loan guy drove 90 miles to meet Carlene. He laid out the Reverse Mortgage plan, and it seemed too good to be true, so I called a local loan person I knew.

“It’s a new product,” she said. “We don’t have it here yet, but my understanding is that it’s a Government-backed loan, and perfect for older people who want to stay in their home. It’s a cash flow tool, drawn from the equity in their home.”

Carlene signed up for that Reverse Mortgage and it fit her situation like a glove. About a month later, no more house payments for Carlene. In fact, she now received a check every month.

“Pour us a drink and let’s celebrate,” said Carlene. She fired up a cigarette. “Well sir, I know you’re sad you have to wait till I die to list my house now.”

“What? No….!”

“Ha! Got your goat again, kid!”

Fast forward to 2020, and we now find the Reverse Mortgage has evolved into the Home Equity Conversion Mortgage, or HECM, pronounced in the slang version as “Heccum.”

People over 62 can now use the HECM loan for buying a home, not just staying in their home, like Carlene did.

I stopped by the office of my Loan Officer friend, the one I call Big Jim, and asked him, “Do you have a good example of a recent beneficiary of the Heccum loan?”

“Many,” said Big Jim. “But my client, and now friend, Kay, calls me regularly saying she still can’t believe she was able to buy a bigger home than she could have with a conventional loan, and she has no house payments!”

“No payments,” I said. “It seems too good to be true.”

“Exactly,” said Jim, “it’s one thing the Government got right.”

I have a great brochure on the HECM, thanks to Big Jim. If you would like me to send it to you, just call text or email me, with the question, “What the heck is a HECM?”

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May 7, 2020

Corona Conflict

I have a conflict with my music-playing buddy, Brino, a band-member. It’s a conflict caused by the Coronavirus.

Brino is a long-time Contractor and a hard-working son-of-a-gun. He’s a front-line hero in a crisis, and he’s always been there to help people in their time of need. You should have seen him after the Camp Fire jump into construction mode and provide housing for family and friends. For free.

But, see, Brino is situated in his life where he can shelter in place, as required, and survive on his own dime, as a result of a lifetime of hard work.

So, lately he emails me videos and he texts me suggestions for movies to watch. He sent me a link to a website full of old classic Humphrey Bogart movies and lots of foreign films with subtitles.

“Oh, man,” he says, “those old foreign films are great. Check ‘em out, man, I think you’d really like ‘em. I turn those movies on, and I sit and play my mandolin. I don’t need to listen much, because it’s mostly subtitles, or classics I know anyway.”

Therein lies the conflict. My life right now is not sheltering in place, watching movies of my choice, keeping up my musical chops. I wish.

My life? I’m crazy busy with Real Estate, despite the Coronavirus shut down. I’ve been at work every day throughout this pandemic event, figuring out how we’re supposed to operate with Buyers and Sellers in a world of social-distancing and constant sanitizing.

To give Brino some consideration here, I also told him I’m mostly by myself all day in a two-story darkened office building with only a handful of people around. So, I can understand how he might think, “Hey, if you’re in a darkened building all day, and no one is around, how in the world could you be busy at all, much less crazy busy?”

If he would put down the mandolin long enough to listen, and pull his eyes away from his home movie screen long enough to focus, I would show him the picture of the Real Estate business and tell him about my job.

“Hey, Brino,” I would say, “we’ve been declared an Essential Business under the Governor’s Stay-at-Home Order, so we are working hard, even though we are staying apart. We’ve built new rules on how we’re supposed to do this job of Real Estate, like:

One) We wrote up a 30-page Best Practices Guidelines for Real Estate which calls for working electronically only, if possible, showing a property to a Buyer by video through Zoom or Facetime. But if a Seller agrees to allow a Buyer to come to their house for a real-life showing, the Best Practices advise the use of protective gear, allow no more than three people in a house at the same time, specify the six-feet rule of social distancing, and require Buyers to view the property online first and sign forms declaring they are not sick, have no fever, and have not associated with sick people within 14 days.

Two) We made contract forms that Sellers and Buyers sign before a Buyer enters a home. Sellers are to sanitize the property after the Buyer goes through. No joke, and we take it seriously. Listing Agents provide a welcome basket in the home for Buyers, with face masks, rubber gloves, hand sanitizer, antiseptic wipes, and plastic booties.

Three) Every property showing and sale is approached with extreme caution. We micro-manage every step of every client, inspector, appraiser, repair person, until close.

The result is, we are still doing business- very carefully- and we can’t miss a detail. We must keep everyone healthy and safe. This is serious stuff.

So, I’m working. Every day. All day. But really, no conflict with Brino. He is the greatest guy. I love him. Besides being the best Contractor you could call, he builds musical instruments and plays them like a pro. Any conflict between us is more like a difference in the Coronavirus lifestyle. He gets to hang out more than I do. A lot more. I should hate him. Do I sound jealous?

Don’t get me wrong. I love my work, no matter how crazy busy. And I’m not exactly a first-responder, healthcare worker, or grocery store worker, the true heroes of this pandemic. I’m lucky to be working at all through this shut-down.

But one of these days, when things settle down, I’ll take my turn. I’ll click on that movie website link Brino sent me. I’ll watch Treasure of the Sierra Madre while playing Deep River Blues on my guitar. Sitting on my couch.

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.

March 6, 2015

Career Crazy

I was working on a construction site when I told my co-workers I was thinking of getting my Real Estate license and jumping into the business. A big hulking older sheet-rocker guy I didn’t know, other than his name was Earl, stopped hammering and looked at me long and steady. He narrowed his eyes, and said, “We’ll talk later.”

After work that afternoon at the local pub Earl pulled me aside. “Let’s get away from this loud music,” he said. The Irish band was in good form, a group of eight or ten sitting in a circle, playing button accordion, guitars, fiddles, Irish frame drum, flutes and pipes. You couldn’t find a happier scene: step dancers expertly footing in unison across the hardwood floor; people smiling and laughing and buying each other drinks. But Earl loomed over me morosely as he guided me to a corner table. “Listen,” he said, “As one who has gone before you through the field of Real Estate, I must warn you of the dangers awaiting you.” He sat quietly, staring me down.

“Deals will blow up in your face!” He described the immense work he put into finding the right homes for his buyers only to have inspections, low appraisals, title issues, and disclosures cause them to cancel the sale.

“You don’t get a regular paycheck in Real Estate. You only get paid when an escrow closes, if by some miracle it actually closes, and that’s after a month or two of work.”

He drank a long pull from a tall glass of amber fluid.

He suddenly thumped our table with his ham-sized fist. “When you make a mistake, and you will, you will be guilty of costing people money and time. Unforgiveable!” Earl downed the rest of his drink. The band played Whiskey in the Jar.

“So, my friend,” said Earl, “if you insist on getting into Real Estate, you’re crazy!”

I asked Earl how long he had been out of the Real Estate business.

“I’m still in the business,” he said. “Twenty five years.” He saw my confusion, and said, “I love construction work and I’m on vacation, helping my buddy sheet rock his house.”

“So your motive is what, Earl,” I said somewhat confrontationally, “scaring me out of Real Estate to eliminate me as competition?”

He leaned back and laughed out loud. “No, no!” he said. “I welcome you into the business, and Real Estate is a great career.”

He got up and slapped me on the back. “I was just testing you to see if you are the right kind of crazy!”

It turns out I was.

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February 21, 2015

Ron Kelly

We got to know Ron Kelly a little better at his Celebration of Life last week when we had to say good bye to him, our good friend and colleague in the world of Real Estate. It was news to me that Ron loved to hop in his boat and cruise around on Lake Almanor, not to fish or water ski, but to just cruise, the faster the better. I didn’t know the animal lover he was, the horseback-rider; or that his Labrador Gizmo with the stinky skin condition was his very best pal.

When I first met Ron, he said he intended to make a serious run at a career in Real Estate. I questioned his plan, warning him about the time commitment and the unpredictability of the business. He had just retired from a 37-year career in management with J.C. Penney.

Ron smiled softly, reached his hand across the desk and gently laid it on my arm. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it will all work out fine. You’ll see.”

He was right. Ron took to Real Estate like a Labrador to water. His calm demeanor, his patience, and his gift for problem-solving served him perfectly. Ron offered the reassuring, steady hand.

Ron was a local Chico boy, but born in San Francisco, because the weather in April 1948 was hot, and Ron’s mom headed to the Bay for relief when she was coming due.

Ron went to Notre Dame School and was an altar boy in the choir. He went to Chico High and lettered in basketball in 1966. He stayed local after high school and went to Chico State and graduated with a degree in Business.

Because Ron was such a standout as manager for the J.C. Penney’s store in Chico, he was transferred out of town a few times to work his magic in other stores that weren’t working so well.

Ron knew how to manage when it came to romance, too. We know this because in 1984, when he fell in love with his employee Susan, he fired her so he could date her. They’ve been married since 1985.

At the Celebration of Life, I was regretting not getting know Ron better. Maybe other people were, too. But the Officiant who ran the Celebration, the Reverend Eileen Brownell, M.S., read a poem that eased our minds. It was if Ron reached across and put his hand on our arms.

The poem is called “We Said Goodbye a Thousand Times” and read, in part: “Don’t be sad about my parting/ Don’t feel like you never said goodbye/ For you and I both know in our hearts/ That we said goodbye a thousand times/ And shared so much love and joy every day.”

Thanks for everything, Ron.

Love's Real Stories

Category: Realtors

October 1, 2020