Love's Real Stories

August 22, 2013

A Good Life

Readers and Realtors have been asking for a tribute to the great Ken DuVall, Realtor extraordinaire. Ken passed away on July 22nd one year ago, after a 50- year career in real estate, and a life lived like no one else can live a life. Everyone who knew Ken knows he was a one-of-a-kind kind of a guy.

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.

“Open your books to page eight,” he said, “place your forehead directly on the page and fall asleep. If you’re really good at absorbing boring material, you’ll receive a certificate when you wake up.” He took that boring material and mixed it in with jokes and stories, and served it to the class fast and fun, so falling asleep was not possible.

Instructor Duvall was part stand-up comedian.

“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 to everything I say. That way you’ll know exactly what not to do for success in real estate.”

Besides instructor and comedian, 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 from the 1930’s, and lived the Hollywood life. He raced motorcycles on paved competition tracks, and on dirt and sand in the desert. 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.

Besides actor, stuntman and motorcycle racer, Ken was a salesman. From the time he was a teenager, he sold everything from aluminum siding to coffee makers, to T.V. antennas.

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

Ken became a Realtor in the 60’s. After moving to Chico in the ‘70’s he owned and managed real estate companies; he was President of the Chico Association of Realtors, served on the Board of Directors, and was Realtor of the Year.

Besides salesman and Realtor, Ken was a gadget-man. Ken’s desk was a changing display of gizmos that lit up, honked, flashed, and bellowed. I leaned over to get a closer look at a tiny hundred-dollar bill in a glass case. It knocked me backwards with a screeching siren while it vibrated, flashed lights, and screamed in an electronic voice: “Security! Security! Thief! Thief!”

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

Ken loved his dogs. The last note I received from Ken 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.”

Thanks Ken.

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August 22, 2013

Dressing Up

I received a phone message from a frustrated homebuyer, who was calling about the article I wrote about a frustrated homebuyer.

“The only point you made,” he said, “is that buyers with all cash are beating out us buyers with loans. Duh. We know that. Why don’t you give some constructive advice to help us out instead of just rubbing our faces in it?”

I considered his constructive advice and went on to the next message, this from a formerly frustrated homebuyer who succeeded in buying a house.

“We were so frustrated,” she said. “We made offers on six houses, and lost every one. Then we learned the secret to success. The secret is all about dressing up. Our Realtor dressed us up. There were three other offers on the house we bought. Two were all cash.”

I located that Realtor and asked her what gives with all this dressing up. She looked furtively about and quickly ushered me into her office. In a hushed voice she said she would tell me the secret if I promised not to tell anyone, which I haven’t.

She described the typical situation: A house comes on the market. The house is shown intensively because housing inventory is low and buyer demand is high. The seller receives five offers right off the bat. The seller and their Realtor review the five offers. One is all cash and close enough to asking price, so it’s the winner. The offers with loans are the losers.

Then, she revealed her secret: “I insisted I be given the opportunity to present my buyers’ offer to the seller. In person. Buyers’ agents have that right, but it’s rarely exercised these days. I was persistent and the listing agent made arrangements with the seller. Then the dressing up began.”

The dressing up consisted of: 1) a glowing letter from the buyers’ lender proclaiming the buyers’ qualifications, with assurances the loan would close quickly; 2) a letter from the buyers themselves containing a mini-biography, complete with photos; 3) kneeling before the seller and begging them to take her buyers’ offer.

“Actually,” said the Realtor, “no kneeling; I simply described my buyers in a very personal way to the seller, and expressed their true desire to own that home. The seller reacted favorably, and chose my buyers’ offer over cash.”

I’m calling this information constructive advice. But remember, it’s a secret, so keep it under your hat.

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August 22, 2013

Dog Days

In honor of my family dog Samson, a great friend we lost last week, a real estate dog-incident seems appropriate:

“They’re gonna off the dog, bro!” said my old mentor KDV.

We were in his car, speeding toward a country property he had sold.

“I heard from the listing agent that the seller plans to rub out this dog, man. Wait till you see him. He’s like a lion. And the thing is, their kid loves this dog, babe. This will not stand!”

The car sped up; KDV’s breathing was hard. My own breathing sped up a bit as he cut the curves and shot the straight-aways on the winding road into the foothills.

“My old lady aced my Terrier, Buddy, when I was a kid, man. I loved him like a brother.” KDV faced me. “And there’s no love like a dog’s love, am I right?”

I nodded and pointed toward an oncoming big-rig.

We bumped down a dirt driveway. Ahead, a man lowered the tailgate of a pickup and motioned a dog the size of a small pony to hop in. A boy, about ten, with a tear-streaked face, stood to the side.

“Good morning Steve, my man,” said KDV. “I was telling my compadre here about your fine dog, King. I hear you aren’t taking him with you.”

“Gotta put him down,” said Steve. “It’s not fair to move a country dog like King to the city. We’re headed to the Vet right now.” King sat regally in the truck bed. He looked Lab with maybe some Great Dane.

“Hold on, Steve,” said KDV. “My compadre here lives on acreage and he’s looking for a dog just like King.” He winked at me. “Right, babe?”

“Huh?” I said. I was about to say “No way,” but the boy looked up at me hopefully, wiping his eyes.

King filled the back seat of the car as we drove back down the hill. He had a natural smile with strong white teeth, and a long red tongue; kind brown eyes and a wet black nose.

“Good work, bro,” said KDV. “That boy back there really brightened up.” He looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, I know you can’t take him. I’ll find a family for King to love.

“And there’s no love like a dog’s love. Right, babe?”

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June 12, 2013

Pork

California politicians agreed to pass a bill, which created a new law. The law took sellers of short-sales off the hook for taxes on the debt forgiven by their bank. The law was easy to pass, because sellers of short-sales are already selling their home for less than their loan amount, and they make no money on the sale, so there is nothing to tax, except “forgiven debt.”

Before the new law passed, sellers of short-sales were taxed for such “forgiven debt.”

That was a couple of years ago. Now it’s time to pass a bill to extend that law because it’s expiring. The bill is a piece of cake to pass, because the politicians can swallow its ingredients easily. But one of the politicians threw some pork into the mix at the last minute, and the other politicians gagged.

“Pork” in the language of politics refers to a politician stuffing a bill to get tax money for a pet project. In this case, the project is the California Homes and Jobs Act, which has nothing to do with short-sales, but was nevertheless stuffed into the short-sale bill.

The California Homes and Jobs Act would be funded by a new $75.00 tax for recording real estate documents not related to sales, but all others, like trusts, quitclaims, and refinancing documents.

The politicians swallowed hard, and passed the bill to extend the short-sale law, including the pork.

The California Association of Realtors (C.A.R.) is snorting-mad the politicians swallowed the pork. C.A.R. supports the short-sale tax-forgiveness bill, but not the new tax.

“C.A.R. is an aggressive advocate for affordable housing,” said a spokesperson,” but believes it is bad policy to fund affordable housing at the expense of home/property owners who need to record real estate documents. The amendment (the pork) attempts to extort support for the California Homes and Jobs Act.”

The California Homes and Jobs Act supporters say this: “More than 130,000 people are homeless on any given night in California. Every day, families, veterans, people with disabilities and seniors struggle to maintain a roof over their heads. California desperately needs a permanent, ongoing source of funding dedicated to affordable housing development!”

Apparently, the question as to whether the politicians swallowed good pork or bad pork is a matter of taste.

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June 6, 2013

To Tell or Not to Tell

Realtor Brady Seacrest was asked by his seller-client Deena Sandini, “How is everything going?”

Seacrest had to think fast. He was on the horns of a dilemma, which is an uncomfortable place to be. Should he tell her the truth; that her sale might be dying? He knew her to be fragile when she wasn’t hot-headed and explosive. He opted for concealment of the truth. Concealment of the truth requires skill.

“Just a second Deena,” he said skillfully. “Hey, Johnny, give your brother back his mitt. Sorry, Deena, I’m coming back from the park with the kids, and yes, everything is going fine here.” That was the truth.

“Well that’s nice, dear. We’re just about all packed up and ready,” said Deena. “We signed the contract with those nice young men from the moving company. So we just want to make sure all systems are go, Captain!”

“Oh, great…. I mean, Ship Ahoy,” he said half-heartedly.

“Are you all right, dear? Is anything wrong?”

“I’m sorry, it’s been a long day,” said Seacrest. That was the truth. “Have a great weekend and I’ll check in with you on Monday.”

The truth Seacrest concealed from Deena was the bad news he heard this morning from the buyer’s lender. The lender had conducted a last-minute “Field Review” of the appraisal on Deena’s property; in other words a second opinion. The Field Review came in $15,000 low.

It was a deal-killer. Low appraisal equals no loan equals no sale.

Seacrest spent that Friday afternoon begging the lender for another Field Review- a third opinion. He spent a gut-wrenching weekend, swallowing Tums, having nightmares of Deena Sandini weeping when she wasn’t raging, in her living room amid stacked boxes and scattered furniture, her sale dead, her dreams of moving to her new home crushed.

Seacrest spent Monday morning uncomfortably riding the horns of his dilemma, avoiding direct conversation with Deena. Monday at noon he received a miracle: A new Field Review agreed with the original appraisal. The deal was back on track.

“Hello Deena,” Seacrest said whole-heartedly, “this is your Captain speaking. All hands are on deck for smooth sailing into port. All systems are a definite go.”

“Well, of course they are,” said Deena, “I knew there could be no trouble with you at the helm, dear.”

Seacrest popped a few more Tums and pondered the merits of concealment of the truth.

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