Love's Real Stories

Not For Sale

I caught sight of this kid crawling through the weeds at the back of this property I was listing. Her red hair gave her away, contrasted among the yellow weeds. She disappeared.

“Is that Flora way back there?” I asked Mrs. Hart.

Mrs. Hart pulled on her cigarette. “Oh probably,” she said. “That kid’s in a world of her own. Tell her to come in, will ya?”

I walked toward the back of the one-acre lot through knee-high dry weeds on a narrow path that ended at a scrub of manzanita brush in front of a stand of sycamore trees. The path pointed to an opening in the brush big enough for a small dog or maybe a skinny kid.

I forced my way on hands and knees through the scratchy manzanita into a hidden and lush little oasis walled by the brush and the back fence, and domed by the sycamores. The centerpiece of this secret garden was a rusted hose-bib atop a stand-pipe about three feet tall. Beads of water dripped slowly from the hose-bib into a shallow pool surrounding the base of the stand-pipe. The place was a tiny green paradise surrounded by dry fields.

Flora Hart sat cross-legged beside the pool with her beagle dog, Buddy, lying at her side. She looked sad, and didn’t acknowledge my arrival in her secret world.

I had met nine-year-old Flora the day before. I felt bad when her dad yelled at her for objecting to the sale of their house. Her dad signed the listing agreement. Flora gave us the stink-eye.

This day I smiled at her and said, “Quite a place you have here.”

“Shhh,” she said. I realized we weren’t alone. A train of thumb-sized bright green frogs lined the stand-pipe from the pool to the hose-bib. Yellow-jackets zoomed aggressively about, and drank from the mouth of the dripping hose-bib. A skinny green snake slithered on the ground inches from Flora’s feet.

Flora was apparently unfazed by the threat of yellow-jackets and the snake, and sat calmly like a monk.

Orange and black butterflies were parked around the edge of the pool, sporadically flying about. A pair of quail ran under the back fence; songbirds flitted in the field beyond, occasionally landing on the fence-top.

“Wow. Quite a place,” I said quietly.

Flora, with butterflies in her hair and a frog in the palm of each hand, narrowed her eyes.

“Too bad for you,” she said, “it’s not for sale.”

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September 5, 2014

A Few Words

Mr. Williams, the seller of a country ranchette on the outskirts of town, pounced on my Buyer and me.

“Hey, how ya’ll doin’ come on in and have a look around I was just gettin the rider mower tuned up out there in the shop it’s a beauty the shop I mean but the mower’s a good little number too it runs like there’s no tomorrow and I use it for all kinds of stuff what with this place being so big and all and private too anyway like I was sayin that shop’s a beauty with 220 power and you-name-it because when we built this place it was a no-holds-barred kind of a deal as far as I was concerned you know when the contractor asked if I wanted this or that I said just make it the best and I’m talkin the whole Mary Ann not just the shop I’m talkin the house and everything like this open-beamed ceiling right here those aren’t toothpicks up there those are four-by-twelve laminated beams engineered for span all the way up to that ridge beam which is nineteen-and-a-half feet in the air from the floor we’re standing on so you from around here?”

Later, I asked my buyer, Mr. Lansing, how he liked the property. Mr. Lansing was a man a few words.

“Well, I have a few questions,” he said.

I called the Listing Agent. I was tempted to ask her how in the world she could ever manage to get a word in edgewise with her seller, but instead I told her my buyer had a few questions, and that we had met her seller, Mr. Will-

“Oh that’s wonderful,” she said, “and I’m glad you got to meet Mr. Williams who is just a great guy not to mention a wealth of information about the property which he is so proud of and rightfully so because it was built with such quality and oh my goodness I hope you got to meet Mrs. Williams just a sweetheart of a lady and the both of them are so nice and a pleasure to work with I just feel so fortunate to have them as clients and I know they’ll be conscientious sellers and there won’t be many repairs to negotiate because the place is so well-maintained and Mr. Williams is always willing to do whatever it takes to make things right like he’s already done all the extras I recommended for preparing for selling so what are your questions?”

Mr. Lansing bought that property without having too say much at all.

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August 22, 2014

The Right Stuff

Realtors come from all walks of life. Interestingly, the most successful realtors are former teachers, according to research. It makes sense that former teachers would do well in Real Estate. After all, a typical real estate contract is the size of a small-town telephone book, and contains strange words and phrases like Liquidated Damages, Mello Roos, and FIRPTA. Realtors who are former teachers say things like, “Please refer to 14.B., Section 2, Subsection (iii) on Page Eight of the Purchase Agreement, and you will find clearly defined the item in question notwithstanding amendments thereto in subsequent documentation.” Their thirst for knowledge and their ability to convey information makes former teachers ideal Realtors, though their clients should be prepared for pop quizzes at any time.

Hold on. Actually, upon further investigation it appears the most successful Realtors are former Contractors. This makes sense because Contractors know foundations, stud walls, headers, joists, and rafters of buildings the way doctors know skeletal, circulatory, and nervous systems of the human body. Realtors who are former Contractors tend to pull out an extension ladder for a quick look into an attic space or onto a roof; or they might whip on a pair of overalls to make the crawl beneath the floors. Contractors can look at a home inspection report with the skill level of a doctor viewing an X-Ray. Their clients may, however, be required to sit for long periods of time in a waiting room at appointment time.

This just in: Other research has determined that former grocers, shoe salespeople, and daycare providers are the most successful Realtors, followed by former nurses, counselors, and paralegals.

We called the California Association of Realtors (C.A.R) for clarification.

“The fact is Realtors come from any and all professions you can name,” said a C.A.R representative, “but the available criteria isn’t definitive to the level at which we can determine the most successful Realtors based on former occupations. My personal belief though, is that the edge goes to former teachers.”

“Oh,” we said, “and what was your occupation before joining C.A.R?”

“Well,” he said, “I was a teacher.”

Lesson over.

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August 8, 2014

Tell All

“Buyer Beware” is now “Seller Declare” in the world of Real Estate disclosure. The legal duty for disclosure by sellers has evolved to a point just short of a requirement for taking a lie detector test. Sellers now must provide buyers with a completed stack of disclosure forms that rivals the size of a telephone book.

In the old days, sellers could sit back while their buyers crawled over, under, around, and through a property searching for defects. Sellers had no obligation to offer information about the condition of their property, and they usually didn’t. It wasn’t a matter of dishonesty by sellers; it was simply the rules of the road. For buyers there was no map.

Of course, most people are honest, and many sellers did volunteer well-meaning clues such as, “My wife’s uncle built the family room addition. He knows all the codes and the like”; or “That crack in the foundation hasn’t given us any problems since we shored it up with bricks.”

Unfortunately, there were the more devious sellers. Buried tanks, looney neighbors, property line encroachments, and you-name-it, litter the landscape of the old world of non-disclosure.

The landmark case that opened up the new territory of disclosure was in 1984:

The Eastons sued the Strassburgers after the home they bought in Diablo, Ca. sank into the landfill portion of their property which they were not told about. It turns out the Strassburgers had twice filled a 10 foot deep sinkhole on the property.

The Eastons won, and legislators started drafting up new rules of the road. In 1987, it became California Law for sellers to fill out the Real Estate Transfer Disclosure Statement, answering specific questions about the condition of their properties.

We’ve come a long way since then. Sellers are now on the hot seat for an immense array of disclosure requirements. And it’s not always clear what should or shouldn’t be disclosed. (Just how much of a pain in the neck is that neighbor? Is the water at the side of the house during the rainy season a big deal? )

The usual advice is for sellers to err on the side of over-disclosing. It can be a memory-test, but so far, there is no requirement for a lie detector test.

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July 21, 2014

Something Else

Ken DuVall, local Real Estate icon, loved laughing, and knew more jokes than all of us. He was something else.

Ken was teacher and mentor; guide and guru. He said, “Follow me, and then rise to your own level of incompetence.”

The man loved to have fun, but he was serious about doing a good job. He knew more about Real Estate than all of us.

KDV passed away two years ago July 22. His friends quote him and talk about him a lot, but this time of year, memories of him come around a lot more. Memories like KDV smoking one of his hand-rolled specialty-tobacco cigarettes and blowing the smoke out the skylight of his car; lecturing a roomful of people who are doubled-up laughing as he fires off a string of jokes; waving a Real Estate contract in the air saying, “You gotta love the details and technicalities in this business, babe, but above all, you gotta love people. Every client deserves a fair shake, no matter who they are. No resentment! No bitterness!”

KDV was also known as “Hollywood.” He grew up in the Hollywood Hills and was an actor and stuntman in “the picture business.” He flipped motorcycles, jumped from moving car to moving car, and fell from great heights. He dove 100 feet from the top of the Hollywood Dam for one movie stunt.

“Good thing there was no audio for that role,” he said, “or you would have heard me screaming and swearing all the way down. But the gig paid big,” he said.

He spent time on movie sets. He was a gladiator in “Spartacus,” a bad-boy in “Hot Rod Girl;” a jailbird with Elvis in “Jail House Rock.” He hung out with Robert Blake, Steve McQueen, James Dean, Peter Fonda, James Arness, Dennis Hopper, and Robert Mitchum.

KDV was a weekend motorcycle racer. He rode 100-mile endurance races through the desert and paved-track races on the speedway. He flew over jumps, slid through turns, got stomped and rolled, and found his way to the winner’s circle.

KDV’s day-job was sales, always sales, old-school-door-to-door sales. He sold aluminum siding with his dad when he was fifteen years old. He moved on to steam-presses, coffee-makers, intercom systems, T.V. antennas, and insurance. “I’ve spent more time in other people’s living rooms than my own,” he said.

KDV got his Real Estate license in 1963, and it was love at first sale. He sold desert lots in Lake Havasu City, Arizona; mountain lots in Tahoe-Donner here in Northern California; then foothill lots when he managed the Paradise Pines project and fell in love with the area. “I felt like I moved into a Norman Rockwell painting,” he said.

From 1977 until 2012, KDV sold North Valley Real Estate. He was a friend to Realtors, clients, and people off the street. It was worth stopping by his office and suffering his string of rapid-fire jokes to hear his advice and wisdom.

“Remember,” he said, “youth and skill is always overcome by age and treachery.” And: “Experience is important, but luck is essential.” And: “Everyone is entitled to my opinion.”

He also said, “We’re in this life to live it, not just exist. Live with no regrets. And laugh, my friend, laugh.”

Another memory: KDV hoisting a Big Al’s chili dog aloft and exclaiming to anyone and everyone in the place, “Feast your eyes upon this, my friends! Behold the sweet spoils of victory!”

Hollywood Ken DuVall: Something else.

RIP KDV.

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