Waynesword— In Seasonal Transition:
A Semi-Dormant December ’08, Into a New ’09…

Winter’s Beginning…

The first two snowfalls up here in Middle Grove in early December were just a tease, a taste, a dusting of what real winter would and will be, but it was good not to get socked right away. On the other hand, now that snow (and ice and sleet, in varying doses) has finally been “coming down hard” I belatedly take the time to change the seasons on my website, hoping there’s always another snowday, or holiday, the next day to help me make up for stealing hours from the night, as I did so freely back when: before kids, and serious work. I could sleep late back then--an indulgent luxury that family responsibility, restiveness, and insomnia have conspired to take away.

Now I am compelled to be up by 6 a.m. at the latest, and find myself turning into my paternal grandfather, who always confounded me—I liked to get up before anyone else when I was young-- by getting up at 5 or 5:30 each morning, way before it was light outside, even once he was retired. Late in life, into his early 70’s, he appeared ready and willing to work, shaved and groomed and drinking coffee before dawn, though he no longer had to be anymore. In retirement he had graduated to a fully-paid-for single family bungalow on the edge of town—hardly a rich man’s retreat, but a sign of success in his lifetime. But I think the memories of survival during the Depression kept him alert and prepared, right up until his final day at home, before getting hit by the stroke that did him in. I don’t know why I’m channeling thoughts of Pepere right now, except that I am carrying forth his last name, and I too plan to survive well into old age, and not be incapacitated by hardship, whatever happens.

My father’s father (& my uncle’s father, for that matter) came down from the hardscrabble coastal region of Bactouche, New Brunswick, where, in the early 1900’s and earlier the Acadian French helped form the working class in an area known for fishing, lumbering, and shipbuilding. Leon Perras (pronounced Lan by my heavily accented Memere) was one of 14 children, in an era when large families were the norm, among families who knew that not all those born would necessarily survive. Of my grandfather’s generation, enough of the males did so to produce 49 Perras children in the next generation, out of which, I was told, 42 were female and only 7 were male, surely a genetic quirk of numbers.. One of those seven males was my father, and another was my uncle—an artist and marble sculptor in the Hartford area whose only child (a boy) was, tragically, stillborn. Out of the other five men in that Perras lineage, none apparently had male sons who would carry on the name, so it was up to my brother and me to do so, and so far my industrious brother has not had the time or inclination for children. Therefore I am taking my role of fatherhood very seriously—my two sons have a chance to extend the Perras name forward, and in the new age tradition, perhaps my daughter will too. There are others with the same last name, but it is not particularly common in upstate New York—my paternal side having come through New Bedford and North Adams, Mass., as well as, for my parents’ generation, Hartford, Connecticut.

Others with the Perras name in Cohoes and Troy and other scattered spots in the Capital District are from different DNA strands, I must assume. There was a harness track trainer/driver named Serge Perras when I first moved to Saratoga, but he must have been straight from Canada himself, without the detours my family took before I made it this far. People always used to ask me if we were related, but he must be retired now because I don’t hear that much anymore, though his limited fame preceded whatever I
brought or might bring to the name.

WHAT’S IN A (LAST) NAME?

“That’s NOT my name--
That’s not my NAME--
That’s not MY name…”

--The TING TINGS

One reason I am making an issue of this, I guess, is that with my older son Miles now playing varsity hoop and being featured in brief video news clips on a couple of different stations in the few weeks of the season—the first time they pronounced his name right, but the next time one of the announcers called him Miles Perez, and another time his 3-point shot was shown, a different teammate’s name got mentioned instead of his. Then, most recently, he had a featured video clip where they dubbed him Miles Parrazz on a Channel 9 segment that was shown repeatedly. For the record, our last name is pronounced Paris – emphasis on the first syllable, like the city, I always say.

It made me realize how careful one has to be with people’s names, getting them right, and respecting where they came from, and for giving proper credit where it was due. If you have an uncommon name, you spend a good amount of time in your life correcting its pronunciation during your life—but you’re even more defensive when it’s your own kid’s name. My grandfather and my dad, both gone now, would get a kick out of the family name being on TV, and maybe somehow they know. The blond hair and the fair complexions my kids have comes from the Norwegian side of the family, my maternal grandmother, and my English grandfather, but the name and the feisty survival spirit come from my Dad/s side, obviously

Enough of that “lineage-based ego” however—what I started out contemplating was that my grizzled grandfather with the trim mustache and the raspy French-Canadian voice had, with the practical goodness of his wife, survived and thrived beyond a series of difficult times. He only achieved the relative sanctity of a middle-class bungalow later in his life, having brought up his family first in a rented flat, then in a ramshackle three-family in Manchester, Ct. which he bought in the early 1950’s. Owning that place gave him great pride, I could tell from an early age. As a jack-of-all-trades carpenter and house painter, he had finished off a separate, hidden room in the basement, paneled and doored-off from the rest of the cellar, and well-sequestered from the living spaces above. It was his safe haven, with TV, easy chairs, and secret stashes of chocolate and pipe tobacco. He would invite me down there occasionally to watch Hopalong Cassidy or Gunsmoke or Bonanza—all those black-and-white westerns that he loved. He and my dad would be popping beer cans while I just marveled at the magic of the Zenith TV console, thinking what a cool space Pepe had created for himself, circa 1958.

By today’s standards, his finished basement was primitive—wood paneling,
no windows, an elevated floor set up on 2 X 4’s—but for a guy owning his first home, albeit a 3-unit tenement, in his early 50’s, I imagine it was satisfying for him to have achieved such comfort. During the Depression itself, say 25 years before this scene from my memory--a television set, a recliner, and the time to relax and enjoy both would have been hard to imagine for the man who would become my grandfather.

MY OWN VERSION OF THE DEPRESSION…3 Decades Ago

Flash forward 20 years from my wide-eyed 3 year-old youth, to 1978. Not to be outdone in the Hardship Department, having previously & impulsively left a lucrative college scholarship behind, I had decided to go the blue-collar route myself, in some weird downwardly mobile cycle I have a hard time explaining when I look back.

I guess I thought there was something romantic about living in a seventy-five dollar-a- month cabin in Greenfield Center with two cats, a manual Royal typewriter, and a couple of reams of blank paper, working menial jobs in between churning out prolific torrents of unpublished quasi-literary tripe.

Trouble was, the cheap rent also came with a significant caveat— no automatic central heat, only a 55-gallon barrel wood stove with a primitive stack into a leaky brick chimney. Little did I know when I took residence in the glorious greenery of summer, that the upcoming winter of 1978-79 would be one of the harshest on record, before or since, and that the five cords of wood I carefully stacked in the front yard of that small 3-room cottage might not be enough to get me through it.

Long story short (writing a longer comedic version separately), I once ran out of money, food, and firewood during the coldest part off February, 1979. The overnight lows for about an eight-day stretch ranged from 20 to 30 below zero, and during the day the temperature never got up to positive integers, I’m not kidding. And so I suffered an extremely lame, dumb-ass, unprepared, temporary impoverishment during the most brutal of upstate winter conditions. That was as close to Depression living as I ever hope to come. I somehow survived, but will spare you—(till my novel comes out, yeah right)—the details, other than giving credit to some friends who were only slightly better off at the time-- they had heat in their apartments, and a spare couch. I at least had a car—albeit a rusty Toyota Corolla with one dysfunctional door roped shut--so I didn’t have to remain and mope in the frozen cabin. Since at least one of my friends at any given moment was having some form of car trouble, I would barter transportation for temporary shelter—we practiced a form of transient interactive group survival. But I digress…

I mention this now not as a sympathy ploy regarding my past, for certainly I had chosen my own plight, and deserved no pity for having detoured through the school of hard knocks. But I think it is interesting to note how the great majority of baby-boomers—a much-maligned generation who supposedly had things easy right from birth— and most of the generations since then-- can relate to tales of deprivation, suffering, and insecurity. Many of us have known great varieties of “character building” in our scuffling years. But once we attain a certain level of responsibility, we feel we won’t have to face those kinds of adversity again, won’t have to go backwards. Then when we hear that “The Next Great Depression” might be on our doorstep, we freak out internally, and panic, and become insomniac. Have we forgotten our survival skills? To my way of thinking—if you have been so charmed in your life as to never have known defeat, cash flow problems, or professional humility—it’s as if you have not been immunized to cope with tough times. I have; and not just In the old days… 2007 and 2008 were no picnic in the real estate business, especially with a small start-up company. But I declare the worst to be past, and 2009 to be the year of the rebound, from my point of view, at least.

Resilience is key: Cue Frank-ee…

“I thoughta quittin’, baby,
but my heart just won’t buy it…”
--Sinatra

LOOKING BACK AT 2008 FROM ONE REALTOR’S POINT OF VIEW…

What will I recall of 2008? I will picture a deep chasm between the expectations of most Sellers, and the Buyers who might show up to view their home. There was a gap that seemed to widen between the two camps, and as a result, fewer points of intersection, i.e. sales. In this climate, I often chose the side of the Buyers, who I knew would soon find the property they would like, given the amount of inventory that was piling up. For me, I realized a while ago that Buyer Agency was a powerful force in the market, and I re-doubled my devotion to that side of the market. But great patience and fortitude was required—it was a year of extreme circumspection on the part of those Buyers who wanted to acquire a good home at much lower prices than were being offered or asked. Many of them are still active with me as we turn the corner of the year, and the combination of lower interest rates and abundant choices to draw from bodes well for those Buyers… and a few Sellers who stand to benefit as they soften their position on price.

I will be eternally grateful to a handful of Sellers that I worked with in 2008 who were reasonable in seeing what was happening in the Big Picture without blaming me for the sag in market expectations: their understanding was rare. Those Sellers were rewarded by accomplishing what they wanted to do when most others were stuck in the mud by being stubborn. I had consciously taken took a strong stance when telling people what I thought their price-point should be, and lost or walked away from a lot of listings because of that approach. Some of those listings are still on the market—several months or a year later-- and other agents, other brokers-- are the ones who have to mollify those irate or exasperated Sellers, not me. One does not get rich in this business by abstaining from taking listings in normal times—but if you’re not going to get paid one way or the other, the aggravation is much less in having fewer unhappy Seller clients to attempt to comfort during a severe Buyer’s Market like this.

There were tribulations on both sides of the fence however. As a Seller’s Agent back in the fall, I thought I had successfully negotiated a contract on a property in Niskayuna at 9:30 one Monday morning, only to hear that the would-be Buyer had retracted his offer by 3 pm that afternoon when the stock market had plummeted by 700 points that very day. During that same month, working as a Buyer’s Agent with a Commercial Investor on a certain parcel in the mid-600K range, he abruptly withdrew an accepted Letter of Intent during the week when A.I.G. and Merrill Lynch went down in flames. In a year with far fewer people committing to purchase offers to begin with, it was disheartening to see any deals dissolve, once written.

I had to keep telling myself this past year that when you are going through a slump in the world of Real Estate Sales, it is not necessarily a reflection on your own skills or knowledge, but on market forces larger than yourself. People I was working with were literally frozen up in fear or hesitation, or in a belief that “the bottom” had not been hit yet—that prices were not done falling. Certainly there was enough statistical evidence to support that belief—some of which is still coming in.

But stats, in this business, are not a timely indicator of the current reality—they lag a month or two or three behind what the good Realtors already sense and experience on the front lines. By the time the turnaround is detailed by conclusive statistics, the savvy buyers will have already acted.

LOOKING FORWARD, INTO 2009…

Speaking of lagging, I have done my share of that myself. In the practice of Zen, we are sometimes counseled that the best remedy in times of agitation is to sit quietly and let the muddied puddle settle out. I feel like that describes what I have been through lately. I am ready for the pendulum to return to a more active cycle.

What I foresee is that the nature of the real estate beast has changed— that in order to survive as agents and brokers we must be open to a wider and broader array of situations-- I am dealing with, at the moment, multi-family investment buyers, commercial land investors, a mobile home park purchaser, second-home bargain hunters, retirees seeking sequestered townhomes, and a host of first time buyers, including one family I’ve gotten to know well who are in their third year of looking. Another couple I work with is seeking the option of buying a commercial place together to house their separate businesses, and cut their costs over renting. I have several other clients who will list their highly saleable homes for a fair price, but only if they find a screaming-good deal on what they want to buy. And those sorts of deals are there to be found, even in Saratoga County, which is now seeing a greater number of short sales, and “third party approvals” more than ever before.

In other words, the traditional scenario of working with a lot of move-up buyers, who speculatively list their primary home without necessarily knowing where they want to buy, has decreased greatly. Those who specialize solely in such upwardly mobile suburban stories might suffer worse than most, in the coming year. Without diversification in the business model, there will be fallout in the ranks of fulltime Realtors, which may be a natural culling process in any case.

AN EXPANDED ARRAY OF SERVICES…

Those of us who enjoy delving into research and sales stats and discovering trends in the marketplace can find other ways to contribute their knowledge to the greater good, other than simply working for commissions upon closings. I am seeing a need for “Flat Fee Services” such as price opinions, market analyses for estates, or divorces, or consulting skills of the sort that don’t always result in properties being sold, but evaluated. These can be charged on an hourly basis, or per report. I have even encountered some folks who were buying a “For Sale By Owner” who wanted a “reverse CMA” on the property being considered, so they knew if they were getting a good price (or not!) on the purchase. In other situations, people who have plans for elaborate improvements on their homes or investments may want to consult a Realtor to determine, in a preliminary fashion, how those upgrades will affect future value, if they like where they are enough to stay.

Many more local Realtors than before are also engaged in rentals, leasing, and the listing of such properties, judging from the increase of such activity in the MLS. I may be involved with some commercial leasing myself in the near-future, an area I once shunned when residential business was more intense.

But what I still do best, and my favorite part of the business, is in helping Buyers make sense of and understand the process of searching out and procuring the proper home, investment. First-time Buyers especially can benefit from an experienced Realtor who is willing to take the time to teach all the ins and outs of 1st Home Procurement, as if it was a college course. The average Internet-savvy Buyer these days may be able to find a huge array of homes for sale, but choosing among them, and go through the Purchase Offer process itself is a more daunting task. To take advantage of the skills of a knowledgeable professional, without having to directly pay that professional yourself, should be a no-brainer. But many first-time Buyers still think they should “play the field” without committing to one good Buyer Agent who could guide them—they are missing the point of how the MLS system is currently set-up to benefit them, with the Seller offering financial motivation (i.e. compensation)to the Buyer Agent, even though that agent is working on behalf of the Buyer(s).

WHAT MORE (INCENTIVE) DO YOU WANT??!

As I conclude this yearly transitional piece, the interest rates for conventional fixed rates are in the 5.25% range, with FHA rates a fraction higher, and even commercial rates for qualified buyers in the 6% or less category. Inventories are swollen, and most Sellers who remain on the market are noted to be “Highly Motivated.” As cold and snowy as this winter of ’08-09 has already proven to be, it’s a great time to JUMP IN to a semi-dormant market, which features far less competition than spring will typically bring. If you’ve been holding off and sitting on your hands, you may want to contact me, or any other competent, persevering, fulltime Realtor to see what your options are, here in the new epoch of 2009.

Enjoy the New Year, and the coming change of regime in our nation, and stay tuned for lots more writing to be added to this site, in various forms, in the coming season.

Take care and thanks for reading…

Posted 1/4/2009

Waynesword— In Seasonal Transition: A Semi-Dormant December ’08, Into a New ’09…