Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
time. He liked anybody who wasn't young and dumb and married with kids, unlike most of
his clients. He shared his best opener on a regular basis and was proud of that too, because it
could still close a deal to a newlywed couple surely as it did thirty years ago—or ten years ago,
or last year: “You know, the bank says your credit isn't worth shit! And I say it is.”
“Hey, Sonny. Who owns the Sans Souci Apartments?”
“I do. Why?”
“Why would you list it with such an ignorant schmendrik?”
Note the code word here, schmendrik, underscoring the secret conspiracy among Jews
around the world, who let each other know in a single word that it's us on the inside and them
what's out. Okay, it's the same behavior exploited by “local” guys in provincial burgs around
the world. At least with us it's worldwide, and anybody can learn the jargon.
“I didn't list it. He wants me to list it. Why would I list it? He's advertising it. That's all. I
told him he could advertise it if he wants to and bring me a buyer. He can earn a commission
if he sells it. Why would I give him a commission otherwise?” Sonny didn't wonder why, but
then he wondered, “Why? You want to buy it?”
Billy Prieshard remains unique for his Yale law degree and molasses drawl flowing sweetly
over the teeth hanging innocently to his knees. Yes, Billy had the instinct for the quick and
merciful kill, what some people called jugular, yet the odd counterpart to that formidable
power was a heart that stands out with trust and goodwill. He listened to the summary dis-
position on the Sans Souci Apartments, turned to me and said, “Okay. We'll go thirds. Is that
okay with you?”
A million questions flooded in, one for each dollar. Make no mistake, Billy Prieshard was
no mystery tramp, but I stared into the vacuum of his eyes and said, “That sounds good.”
A young man with no discernible means of support was asked to participate in a million
dollar deal—and something echoed off the canyon walls. Maybe it was confidence or faith,
either one learned best from the toughest teacher, Professor Hard Knocks. And yes, Bob
Dylan encouraged a slow nod on a painfully repetitive lyric, because I had nothing and noth-
ing to lose and felt invisible with a few secrets to conceal but still unmoored and loosely rolling
as a rolling stone. How did it feel?
No doubt about it, feelings ran one decade to the next, but the times they were a changin'.
In a phone call Billy Prieshard brought in a bank on a relationship of magnitude via the pres-
ident, a former associate. So we set up escrow to close in a hundred fifty days concurrent with
individual escrows on each unit to close the same day to individual buyers who didn't even yet
know those units were for sale but would buy nevertheless—80% of them anyway—because
they already lived there! All this in two minutes flat, three on the outside, roughshod to be
sure but we had a hundred fifty fucking days to iron out the details and that's five months in
any dialect. The bank also provided mortgage loans to those buyers at 8½%—this was 1979,
