The Honeybee

COVID-19 is the name of the nemesis. A virus has become the archenemy of the human race. This must be how bugs feel when a pest controller sprays their nests. I don’t know how many times I have sprinkled granules of some kind of poison on an anthill. Don’t you know that as that poison begins to do the trick, there must be panic within the mound? I don’t think ants are as savvy as humans, but I am sure each generation is getting a little closer to catching on to the warning signs of an angry homeowner. Typically, we have to change the method of control once the pests “learn” how to get around our poisons.

We’ve been fighting viruses for centuries. We have probably done our part by chasing them with all kinds of solutions, vaccines, antibiotics and other remedies. If you were a virus, wouldn’t you try to find the right kind of DNA to give your offspring in order for them to survive the stuff humans try to use for control? It’s a match that someone has to eventually lose.

Of course it is very premature to talk about what may come after COVID-19, but if we manage to find some sort of immunity with this virus, the next one may give us more trouble. Of course it could be decades away.

The reality we have yet to accept is that, as humans, we may not always be able to think our way out of something. This is the case with hurricanes and earthquakes. When we heed all of the warnings, we tend to survive many of these enemies, but when a human is blindsided by a storm, it may not be decided by who has the bigger brain.

During this uniquely stressful pandemic, I’ve watched the reactions of all kinds of people and most of our best guesses are not really winning the fight as quickly as we’d like. One with lots of money is accustomed to treating things with money and money does not really seem to solve the underlying concerns if you ask me. Someone with mechanical skills will often begin talking about machines that may help people breathe if they find their own ability to get enough oxygen is just not enough. Someone who cooks will talk about ways to keep people fed. Someone who sells toilet paper seems to fare pretty well for some reason. Scientists are looking for ways to accelerate tests that will get some kind of potential treatment out to humans sooner rather than later. And the tests are happening at an alarming rate, all over the world. Governments are trying to find ways to “flatten the curve”, which is another way of saying, “We may have just as many cases, but over a longer period of time so the hospitals can treat everyone instead of the just the most critical ones.”

Preachers are preaching as usual. Huge companies are laying off employees as a way to mitigate the effect of the virus on the bottom line. Doctors and nurses are doing everything they can do to keep people alive and safe. Teachers are having classes online. Some essential workers are literally risking their lives to keep food production going and shipping. Nursing homes are taking emergency measures to the extreme and people are not being allowed to visit loved ones for now.

We are all doing things differently in order to slow or stop this virus. The thing about COVID-19 is, it really did not seem to come prepared to kill all of its potential hosts. As with most bugs, this virus seems to want to live concurrently with humans. To coronaviruses, a perfect world is one where humans and viruses can live together. It can only be a serious player if it can survive. And this is the most likely scenario. COVID-19 will probably eventually find its way into so much of the herd that it will begin to have less effect. The fact that it is so easily spread seems to suggest that it is trying to pair up with as many hosts as possible in a short period. The effect this virus has on the elderly is extremely dangerous for this portion of our herd. And this is where we refuse to act like buffalo and leave our old ones behind. Thankfully, humans are far more empathetic than most other animals. We don’t leave anyone behind.

But if this virus finds its way into our communities and we’ve kept our elderly away, what is their defense when we begin to mingle again? If the virus learns to coexist with healthier, younger humans, then how will those healthier, younger humans not become lethal to the aged and unhealthy?

Herd immunity will eventually work, except many people will likely die as the fight has to be taken up by stronger, healthier humans. This pandemic is like a pack of wolves chasing our entire herd as I type this note. Way out front, you have those younger, healthier, faster humans running up and into the hills without giving out of breath. Behind them, you have some who are running, but are dealing with the dust from the younger ones and the fear of the wolves they see and hear behind them. Right behind that, behind people my age, you have those people who are over 60 and maybe not quite as swift. Right behind them, you have an enormous group of people who cannot outrun the virus. They are out of breath and many are too unhealthy to keep running. Some are giving up and some are being killed.

Amazingly, the altruism of the human race shows up in the nick of time. Some of the ones who could have outran this enemy have turned around to face it head on. You are seeing them in a staring contest with the virus.  We all have elderly or unhealthy loved ones. We are all determined that the virus can’t take them without a fight and everyone is preparing to fight now. How will this fight ultimately turn out for the herd and its nemesis, COVID-19?

As a senior in this very herd, with a mother who is 85, a father-in-law who is 85 and a mother-in-law who is 80, I’ve begun to stand between the virus and the elderly in my group. As a responsible fighter, I’ve agreed that I can probably risk a little more than my aged loved ones so I place myself a little closer to the frontline where food and necessities can still be had. I bring them to my loved ones and try to avoid any close contact. But I am deeply concerned that I can only delay this disease and not completely prevent it. The flattened models I have seen do not really show us saving the most vulnerable, it seems to show us delaying their infection and their fight. If the front lines do not find a way to kill this virus, it seems to me that the virus will kill some of our elderly population in a wave; now or later.

It may be that the new ventilators will save many of our stronger ones. If they survive it, the virus may be around for decades and it may kill millions as does the flu and cancer. It may be around for the rest of this human period. I may survive this and become somewhat immune to COVID-19 and die of something else later on. It may be that the only possible solution is to build our individual immune systems to fight this thing individually, but what about my mom, father-in-law and mother-in-law?

I think the only hope for them at all is a serum. Whatever the human immune system develops as a cure for this disease, will have to be administered to the elderly. This is the race now. This is the fight now.

Time won’t take care of this. Having the virus running freely within our community will only provide better health for those who are already relatively healthy and fairly young too. But for anyone with any kind of illness or already fighting the disease of age, this virus seems to be the one they cannot beat.

It’s our time to show creation what we are made of. Honey bees are a good example of what our best may well demonstrate during this crisis. We’ve taken note of this coronavirus and we feel threatened. We recognize the enemy’s desire to do harm to our hive, our tribe, our herd. When a honeybee has decided that its hive is being threatened, it finds the enemy and stings if possible. The honeybee does not take this lightly as it knows that it will die after it has stung the assailant. It will take this mindset to defeat this enemy. We will have to fight with a honeybee mindset. You are seeing this today. I am proud of the human race for saying, “No, you cannot take our old people and our unhealthy people without a fight.”

The entire herd seems to have stalled out and turned around to face this thing. It has been a beautiful moment to witness. At first, the youngest ones could not be slowed down. They are too filled with excitement and life. But they saw the middle group stopping and they eventually stopped to look back. We’ve witnessed the tragedy out back, where the oldest ones are being taken down by this enemy, but almost at once, others in the herd began to stand between the virus and the herd. Now it is a standoff. Right now, nobody knows what happens next.

Some people are calling for the herd to carry on. But there is too much love among humans for that. Most people know that if we carry on and do nothing, we will be thinned out and the ones we love will have died for us instead of having it the other way around. It’s a beautiful fact that most humans, when given the choice of dying for someone verses having someone die for us, we choose to die. It is not an easy choice. Life has always been our most valuable possession. I believe many people will be risking their lives in order to fight this disease on the front lines. Some will lose that fight. But I also believe the one thing this virus cannot withstand is a love so great.

This is not the first time this has happened. It happens in every generation. My uncle was on a tractor, in 1939, plowing a field. He had been hearing about the war and how the enemy wanted to take away American freedom. He stepped off of that tractor, walked by his mother and father, on his way to gather a few things and he was off to the train station where he joined 16 million others and became a soldier. His life was not at risk in that garden. But there was no way he was going to allow an enemy to have its way with America.

This is what we do. This is how we are naturally wired. Millions of people are literally risking their lives to save others right now. This is happening all over the world. If the enemy wants a fight, mankind will give it to him. The thing that no enemy is ever really prepared for is The Divine Wind. Today, we are seeing the evidence of this Divine Wind. When you see people risking their lives to save others, there is a Wind behind them and it is Divine. It’s the soldier, the nurse, the doctor, the honeybee and the caregiver.

To answer your question, Jack Johnson, “Where’d all the good people go?” take a look around.

God and the Coronavirus

If I were challenged to explain God’s position on this coronavirus and its effect on our world today, as anyone else, I would likely grapple and wrestle with my thoughts and how to communicate them. But if there was ever a time for anyone to self-examine one’s spiritual convictions, it would be now.

To begin, I would offer a disclaimer to admit that I am a doubter and on my best days, I am not a fundamental believer. In other words, if someone wanted to read about some of the most traditional religious dogmas, I would never be a good source. In my case, I have never been one to promote or encourage the validity of someone else’s views. I have always been on a very personal journey regarding my faith and I never take anyone’s word for what I cannot test for myself. Needless to say, I would not want to depend on a prayer-cloth, purchased from a televangelist, to get us through this pandemic.

I believe the ultimate answer is available for everyone and not just for the few who can muster up the faith to believe it to be so. Love, in a word, is what we can rely on. Whether we’ve accepted a specific religious path or not, the case for Love has been proven over and over. Life is just one thing and we are all expressions of it. The only way through any trial we face as a people, is to respond as a people. We are truly all in this together. If Love is the one thing we know we can rely on, we should trust it to get us through this.

I believe in people in general. I think we will naturally be more inclined to love our neighbors when we learn that more and more of our neighbors may actually need something.

On Tuesday, in Atlanta, Quazavier Dupre was on his way home from work and he saw a house on fire. His work crew was with him and he said their first reaction was to stop and help. Inside the house, they found a man, a woman and a baby. Darrell McClendon said he had to save the family. He has children of his own and was thinking about them. The woman in the house was naked and the men clothed her. The men who stopped to help “neighbors” on the way home from work, saved the family.

Dupree told reporters he was just doing God’s will. Cornell White said he didn’t feel like a hero, but a blessing and he said, “Thank God for that.”

Hearts like that will get us through this. If we see someone in need, we will have an opportunity to help. It’s not that we won’t see smoke, flames and families facing such challenges, but we will see the best in people and we will see people running into dangerous situations to help. Where is God in this pandemic? We can see Him. He’ll look like Quazavier Dupre and his friends.

Howard Ivey Coker July 9, 1930 - August 13, 2019

He smiled and told stories. He sang and played guitar. He drew and he painted fantastic scenes with complex themes. In some ways, Howard Coker was an unremarkable man; and probably the happiest. His favorite quote was, “Time don’t wait on nobody.”

He was in the army and served during the Korean War. He never saw combat but he built pontoon bridges. I never knew where these bridges were or how many he was involved with. The story he told the most was that he’d play anyone’s guitar while taking breaks during boot camp. He did not have one of his own at that time. He told how Elvis Presley gave him a guitar at some point during his early months of training. There is no picture of the guitar. Howard said it was stolen before he even got out of boot camp. Of course I always wondered if this was one of Howard’s “Big Fish” stories, but I always went along.

After the war, Howard came back home to Powder Springs and started working with Tommy Barnes, Ray Padgett and Billy Hall in the landscaping business. One spring day in the early 1970’s, Howard was cutting ivy vines away from a house with a chainsaw. Naturally, the saw got tangled in the vines and he nearly lost his leg as a result. His recovery took over a year and when he did go back to work, Tommy gave him a really easy position as the landscape caretaker of the personal residence of J. Leonard Reinsch, the president and CEO of Cox Communications. The Reinsch family treated Howard like one of their own. Mr. Reinsch would give Howard his retired fedoras, shoes and jackets. Howard worked for Mr. Reinsch for the remainder of his career and one day, he just stopped going in. He had bought some land in Cedartown and decided he’d build a cabin.

Howard shoveled out a hillside by hand and started there with his cinderblock walls. In that back wall, he built in an iron stove for heat. The one room cabin was crude in every way. It had two windows and one, solid door. He still lived in his mother’s home in Powder Springs and he’d drive to Cedartown to work on his cabin once or twice a week. As soon as he managed to get a metal roof up, he’d go up and spend the night. He’d talk about the rain on the roof and how he loved that sound. He found the perfect girl to share the cabin with. Thelma was one of a kind. She was as tough as Howard and she was the only one I ever knew who could keep him in line. I’ll never forget my first trip up to the cabin. There was a lake down below where we fished. While Howard maintained there were catfish in that lake as long as his arm, all I caught was a cold. Bill and I were there that Saturday and it started raining. We sat in the rustic old cabin and listened to the rain on the metal roof. It was as amazing as Howard said. Going home that day, the old green, 1958 Chevy squeaked as Howard tried his best to maneuver the ruts coming down Everett Mountain. The wipers were squeaking too. With the rain and wind, it almost seemed as if we were out at sea. At the foot of the mountain, we came upon two long-haired hippies staring under the hood of an even older car than Howard’s. Of course Howard pulled over to see if he could help. They tried to get their car going but it was no use. The two hippies, dripping wet, climbed into the back seat with Bill and me. I was terrified. I think Bill was too. As soon as Howard started rolling again, one of the hippies leaned forward and reached into his back pocket. I looked over at Bill and he looked at me. I’ll never forget the look Bill gave me. We were both considering whether we should open the door and just roll out right there. Thankfully, it was a comb and not a knife.

Howard carved and painted and drew. He allowed nature to reclaim his old cabin. A few blocks remain to this day. He spent several years in the old home-place. He rode his bicycle everywhere he went and he was a familiar sight around Powder Springs. So much so that he inspired our local historian to write a story about him. He was harassed for riding his bicycle on the sidewalk once. Myra called one of her friends at The Powder Springs Police Department. He assured her that Howard would be an exception and he was allowed to ride on the sidewalk from then on.

After many joyful years in the old farm-house, Howard’s mental health finally declined to the point where he could no longer take care of himself. Myra and I found a nice facility for him and we oversaw his care as much as possible through the years. A few years ago, I took Susan by to see him and I asked, “Howard, do you remember Susan?”

“I remember Susan Hayward.” Was his reply.

We got the call yesterday evening. Myra and I headed to Cedartown. On our way, we noticed lightening in the distance. When we arrived, the power was out at the facility and two workers came out to the parking lot with flashlights. Walking in with us, they told us that the power went out the very moment Howard died. We made our way to his room and one of the flashlights revealed that his clock had stopped at midnight or noon. Either way, I think it was Howard’s way of saying that sometimes, time does stop.

After making some arrangements, we headed out and there on the sidewalk, watching the power crew working on the lines, was an elderly man on a bicycle. What an odd thing to see in the middle of the night. I saw it. Myra saw it. I don’t know; but it gave us comfort. 

Paperwork

I hate taxes and paperwork the way a fourth-grader hates homework. It is agony to me. It is damn near painful. In fact, if you said I could get out of ever doing any kind of paperwork ever again if I would just agree to drive spikes on a new rail system, I believe you would be calling me John Henry in no time. And, like John Henry, there would soon be a death and then a legend. And, as with Henry, there would be so many legends that you would never know the truth about what happened to me as a result of hating paperwork. The legend of Mark Coker would serve as a lesson for young people who want to get out of paperwork. Grownups would assume that if they told the story of Mark Coker, and how he died an untimely death because of his reluctance to take paper and ink in hand, they’d be more apt to follow through with their paperwork and finish clerical and contractual jobs. Ah, but anyone who hates paperwork as much as me would not be swayed by any such warnings. They’d follow me to their own early graves just so they too could get out of paperwork.

Look, it is a lot like cleaning windows or painting walls in a stranger’s home. You know they won’t be happy so why do it?

I remember Joshua Burkett, who now tours and plays guitar for one Sam Hunt. When he was but a little boy, I dated his mother, Karen. He hated paperwork so much that it was obvious agony whenever asked to do his homework. You could tell that his his pain was as real any pain endured by any measure of torture. Josh would hurt less when he crashed his bike and landed on the concrete driveway. Homework was horrifying to him. I get it. But when Josh got a guitar, he had no problem figuring out how to chord a minor or a seventh. He learned how to bar-chord and play lead. His timing improved with much practice and he finally found himself onstage with some of the south’s finest musicians.

I’ll tell you why John Henry wanted to go against that steam-driller in the first place: they brought the shiny, new machine to the tunnel there in Virginia and asked him to look carefully at the instructions which were printed on several pages. Like me, John Henry looked at the instructions and then he looked at his hammer and said, “Screw it! Give me my hammer.”

What A Ride

It was called The Dahlonega Mine Train, and at five, my first roller coaster ride was with my dad. I was barely old enough to get on. I recall it being debatable as the worker stood me up to the sign that said, “You must be this tall to ride this ride.”

I knew I could not tiptoe, but I stood as straight as I could, trying to make my spine stretch like a Slinky. Daddy was wearing his khaki pants and a matching shirt, his dark glasses and a hat. I cannot really remember standing in the line, but I remember getting in the car that would jerk and rattle us around the track. I was terrified. The worker pushed the bar down to our laps and I held on for dear life. The ride started with a jolt and then it was up a small incline, “Click-click-click-click…” and then the clicking stopped. Almost silently, the train felt as if it were in freefall, but in those days, the fall was more gradual. Next, it was into a curve. As I recall, the first curve put me all the way against my dad, but the next turn was an extreme turn that would cause him to slide into me. I was pinned, if only for a moment, by the weight of my grown papa. And then, in the next jerk to the right, I was back in his space again. It was a painful ride. My dad swore he’d never get on another roller coaster in his life; that was a promise he would keep.

As a little boy, I could not have known anything about the life that was in store for me. Not that my experiences were all that uncommon, but I was barely tall enough to experience the clicking of that first incline, when I would go and sit beside Uncle Roy’s bedside. We would whisper to each other because Uncle Roy could not speak above a whisper in his final days. He was my first buddy in life. I got off the bus on Tuesday afternoon, February 16, 1971, and I went to see him as usual. I sat my books down on the old glider and noticed a lot of people around, but had no idea why. Going into the living room of my grandmother’s old house, I said, “I’m going to see Roy.”

All of the womenfolk burst out in tears all at once, but nobody knew what to say to me. They didn’t have to tell me. I was only seven, but I knew this was freefall number one.

Later that same year, I found myself in the first hard turn. Myra and Bill had a secret. They’d been snooping around in Mom’s room and found some diapers and other baby-related things. I can still see them, taking turns cupping their sneaky little hands to each other’s ears. Mom was well into her third trimester when she finally told me that I was going to have a brother or a sister pretty soon. In 1971, I lost a wonderful uncle and gained a great brother, but at the time, both events seemed like tragedies to me. I wasn’t the baby of the family anymore.

In May of 1973, Grandma Coker slipped away and I stood by her casket with my Dad. I saw a tear slowly falling down his cheek. It was the only tear he would ever shed in my presence. It was when I realized that my Dad was not quite invincible. We were in another hard curve and this time, Daddy was the one sliding.

It seems like life really sped up from then on. Some moments have been terrifying while others are filled with relief and even laughter. That’s life. What a ride. The climbs seem to take forever and the falls seem to happen way too fast. It can be a painful ride, but thrilling at the same time.

Yesterday, I found myself standing in the shade of the pines that surround The Dahlonega Mine Train. I propped on the wooden fence that kept me out, but I looked in and I thought about the ride I got on fifty years ago. It’s all planned out better than it seems to be. As the “philosopher” Joe Walsh said, “As you live your life, it appears to be anarchy and chaos, and random events, non-related events, smashing into each other and causing this situation or that situation, and then, this happens, and it’s overwhelming, and it just looks like what in the world is going on ? And later, when you look back at it, it looks like a finely crafted novel. But at the time, it don’t.”

Ten Seconds

“All of us have special ones who have helped us into being.” ~ Mr. Rogers

After his much celebrated career with Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood, Fred Rogers received many lifetime awards of one kind or another. He always took those opportunities to acknowledge the people who helped him to become. When time allowed, he would ask the audience, “Take just ten seconds to think about someone who helped you along the way.” He would say, “I’ll watch the time.”

I cannot recall a lot about Uncle Roy, but I can tell you what he looked like. I can tell you where he lived. I recall sitting by his bed when he was sick. In my memory today, it seems he went from walking around in blue overalls to lying in bed very quickly. I can remember him working in his garden. I remember when he parked his Chevy II wagon. Eventually, Uncle Howard bought it and traded it for a blue one which was much newer and nicer. Thelma, Howard’s Wife, wrecked the blue one and totaled it out. I remember a burn-barrel there where the garden was. And I recall a dog named Hobo getting burned there on my watch. Not bad, but he never got near the barrel again. I remember Roy picking a fresh tomato out of his garden, knocking off the red dirt, covering it with salt and biting into it like an apple. Uncle Roy always had Lifesavers. I recall sharpening a knife or two with him on the swing. I remember he’d take the knife and swipe his boots after sharpening it. “Why do you do that?” I asked.

He told me it was to get the burs off. But I heard, “To get the birds off.”

It took me a while to process that.

He showed me how to refill a cartridge but I could not tell you how today. I remember he said, “Never hit a bullet with a hammer. It’ll go off.”

Once bedridden, in an effort to encourage him, I would sit beside his bed and talk about all we’d do when he got better. I really had no idea he was not getting better. That simply never occurred to me. To this day, it breaks my heart to think about how I did not know to say, “goodbye.” But he knew and he didn’t say it either.

Those first seven years of my childhood were very complex. Daddy was an alcoholic and not very dependable. He did have good days, but the bad ones were enough to cancel them all. Roy, I think, was aware of the deficiency and he did a lot to distract me. He allowed me to be near him as often as I liked and I always wanted to be near Roy. Roy was plowing or weeding his garden. He was gathering sticks and burning them. Roy was whittling on a twig. He was cutting grass. In my eyes, Roy was the most productive man in our neighborhood. To anyone else, he may have been less important.

Later in life, I heard that Roy had had quite a temper. Daddy said that he had an X-ray on his chest once and it revealed an old fracture in a rib. “How did that happen?” I asked.

“Aw, Roy and I got in a fight and he took a shovel and hit me right in the rib and cracked it.” He said.

Now he was my dad and I loved him, but I knew enough to know that he probably deserved that crack in his rib. There was, even at that young age, a part of me that thought, “Way to go Uncle Roy.”

Daddy and Roy got in a few more arguments, but I don’t think Daddy ever wanted to push it to that point again. That may be why I felt so safe up there when Daddy was next door; drinking.

I suppose, more than anything else, Roy always seemed to have time for me. Time was what I needed. I recall the day he died. Yes, I was very sad. But I somehow managed to keep Uncle Roy with me all these years.

That was literally decades ago and I can still feel a great deal of love for that man. I do not believe the details of our conversations will come back to me, but the fact that we had them is fixed in my soul. Someone who had nothing in this world to gain by it, took some time to be with me. That point is the point that defined me.

So today, I gave my ten seconds to Roy McBride. I give him credit for sharpening me and knocking the birds off.

At the end of ten seconds, Mr. Rogers would always say,

“Whomever you’ve been thinking about, how pleased they must be to know that you’ve been thinking about them.”

Take ten seconds and do this. I’ll watch the time.

Why Me?

I remember a big turning point in my life and it happened around 1984. I was a mechanic. I’d go home tired, sweaty and dirty. My hands were rough already and my back was sore… at 20.

I made a few wooden tulips with a cheap band-saw. I painted them different colors and started selling them to people for décor. It was such a simple, little project and yet, I was getting 3 bucks apiece. I went into a little restaurant in Powder Springs. I was having lunch with Gary Lowe. I managed to sell several of those tulips while at lunch and lunch was, therefore, on me and basically free.

“You are such a natural salesman.” Gary said as we walked out.

Of course.

I would sell. I was never going to make a fortune with wooden tulips. I was killing myself in a garage. Why not sell?

So, for the past 34 years, I have been selling. I’ve gone from cars to houses, back to cars and back to houses, but I’m still selling.

Selling is a good career if you love what you sell; it’s miserable if you don’t. The most difficult part is getting whatever you are selling in front of people; especially in 2018.

If someone is selling something, they have to interrupt people or they have to be right where potential clients can see the product when the client actually wants or needs it. With real estate, it’s easy to be available. It’s not like the clients are going to department stores to find houses. Listings are typically uploaded to a multiple listing service (MLS) and when the potential buyer is looking in the area for a home in the price range of the one you have listed, the connection is made and an offer comes in.

If you don’t have a listing, you need a buyer/client. If you don’t have a listing or a buyer, you are what my instructor called a “Secret Agent”. People have to find you and they have to want to do business with you. Having a license doesn’t mean that you are the right fit for a particular client. Believe me, a lot of people have a real estate license. Why would people want to do business with me?

I was trained to read real estate contracts and I’ve studied the industry for the last 30+ years, but that’s not all that unique. I’ve fixed and sold houses of my own (flips) and a lot of other agents have done that too. I’ve managed my own rental properties and that is not really rocket science. I have worked with big banks, selling their REO properties during The Great Recession and that experience prepares me for working with big banks in a slow market, but that’s not where we are today. I’ve worked with builders and vendors on new homes and I’ve marketed developments and sold a lot of new houses and that’s good experience, but it still doesn’t set me apart. I’ve begun to develop a knack for advertising a communicating with social media, but that’s a great place to get lost too. So how do I answer the question? Why work with me?

This is the hard part. This is where I have to be shameless and tell you how great I am. The truth is: I’m not.

When I think about the agents I’ve met through the years, I cannot tell you that I am the better agent. I’ve met some really wonderful people in this industry. Many of the agents, brokers, lenders, inspectors and appraisers have taught me what I know about real estate, and I still have a lot to learn. I’ve marveled at how some agents are so quick to think and how they can turn a situation around. I’ve been at closings where the deal was literally falling apart at the closing table and I’ve watched a closing attorney find the solution in a haystack of unacceptable outcomes.

I’ve made some mistakes. In the real estate industry, you won’t forget your mistakes. I’ve had to turn to my broker and we’ve found solutions in every case. And speaking of cases, I haven’t made mine here.

Of course, if you have a property to sell, I want to help you sell it. I’d like to see you get what you want, but I won’t lie to you and promise you that I can do it. I won’t insult your intelligence and suggest that I have the ability to buy all of the houses I list if they don’t sell. I’m sure you know that if I did buy your house, I probably wouldn’t give you what you wanted for it; that’s how that works.

And if you are a buyer, I want to try to find you what you are looking for. I will tell you that it won’t happen the way it does on television. I won’t show you three houses in thirty minutes and then meet you at a restaurant with outdoor dining so you can tell me if it is house 1, 2 or 3. In fact, it is quite a process and it may take weeks or even more. I can’t possibly show you every house you find on the millions of websites that list houses for sale. Many of those houses aren’t even for sale. In some cases, the house has been off the market for a year and it still appears to be for sale on a website.

Okay, here goes: my tagline has always been, “Real Experience in Real Estate.”

I always wanted the focus to be on the word “Real”. A lot of people have experience but when you get to know them, you find out they aren’t “real”. They don’t stop to consider your personal goals and dreams. They want to get the job done without empathy. 

HOWEVER

Recent studies reveal that empathy gets the job done. What is empathy? It is the ability to feel what someone else feels. You become more flexible and you listen more carefully. Sure, you can write a blog like this one, but you can meet someone face to face and have a conversation too. You can find the phone feature on your smartphone and make a personal call to someone. You can post a status update on social media and you can be sociable too.

Scanning an offer and sending it via email is good experience. Knowing where to place a sign in a yard is not a bad thing to know. Spelling most of your words correctly in your ads would be great, but about 20 years ago, I was standing with a client as the sun began to set and it painted the sky in a stunning orange glow. “Mr. D____,” I said, “Would you look at that sunset?”

He and I stood there for a minute and we both agreed that it really was a gorgeous sunset. After the closing, he told me that my reaction to that sunset was what made his mind up. I had no idea. I guess that’s what I mean when I say, “Real”.