BILL CHERRY'S GREATEST DALLAS PARK CITIES REAL ESTATE BLOG: November 2007

JANET PASCHAL and I have been "sort of friends" for about fifteen years.  We've never met in person, but we've written each other from time to time, both emails and old fashioned post office kind of letters.  And we've traded books. 

Miss Janet is a well-known contemporary gospel music singer.  If you're familiar with the Bill and Gloria Gather Homecoming videos, you've seen and heard her. 

Not only is she a superb performer, but she's also an excellent writer.  Writing is our common interest, although I am a musician, too.

A few years ago, Miss Janet married a commercial airline pilot, Captain John.  Shortly thereafter, she learned that she had breast cancer, and quite frankly, it was nip and tuck for awhile.  Even the strongest chemo didn't seem to be working.  In my heart I knew she would be spared, and I told her so.  Fortunately the doctors figured out the cure formula, and she's now cancer free.

Along with many of her other friends, Miss Janet sent me an interesting Christmas message.  I want to share it with you because there is a lot there.  Here it is, and here's where you can read more about her and buy her CDs. JANET PASCHAL.

Hey Everybody,

    There are some things that, as a child, I just knew.  For instance, I knew that my sister would be the first to awaken on Christmas morning and I knew that she'd whisper for me to do the same.  We'd tiptoe to the kitchen, feel for the light switch and, together, flip on the light.  I knew there'd be two chairs - one for each of us - topped with toys, games, dolls and a stocking.  Oh yeah, there were usually clothes and shoes but we didn't spend a lot of time there.  We knew instantly which chair belonged to which sister - Kay's dolls were brunette and mine blond.

    Just before noon, I knew we'd go to my grandparent's house for lunch.  My grandmother would have cooked for days in preparation for her four children, their spouses, and all of the grandchildren.  No one in the world cooked like she - especially her fried pies - and the dishes just kept coming.  I knew every year that the men would gather around one large table and the women and children another.  My grandfather always occupied the seat at the head of the table and when the last dish of food was crowded onto the table, everyone would automatically begin to quieten.  No one ever had to say it was time to pray; no one ever asked who would pray.  I knew that my grandpa would cup his hands over his plate, interlock his fingers, bow his head and begin, "Precious Lord...."   I also knew that, when he finished, he and the other adults would quickly wipe away tears.  That's when we'd all dig in to a feast without equal - until next Christmas, anyway.

    Our first Christmas without him was sobering.  We knew there'd be fragile, painful moments, and we all carried in our hearts a void so real that it was almost palpable, but it wasn't until the final bowl was placed on the table that everyone realized what would prove to be the most keen moment of loss.  It was at that moment that everyone realized it was time to pray, and he wasn't there.  For a few moments, no one knew what to say - or do.  I think what we most wanted was another chance to hear him pray - just one more opportunity to hear his simple words convey his tenured depth.  I think we'd have savored every syllable, every inflection.  I think we'd have urged him to take his time, to let the food get cold, to pray without ceasing - literally.

    He was the first one in my family to hear the gospel and to accept Christ into His heart; the first one courageous enough to take the Nazarene carpenter at His word; the first one daring enough to totally abandon everything else in order to gain Christ.

    He, too, was a carpenter.  He literally and figuratively built the little church where I was raised.  He continually remodeled and updated the tiny building that housed his evangelistic fire.  He built fellowship halls, covered homecoming tables, and panelled and carpeted everything in sight.  But more than that, He built dreams and goals into the hearts of those of us who watched him drive nails and pour foundations.  He showed us the gospel day after day, so it was only consequential that he preached it on Sundays.

    He bore his share of sorrow.  We watched his cross grow heavy and his steps slow when overwhelmed by the responsibilities incumbent upon one who dared expound the foolishness of the gospel.  He scaled tall mountains, plowed through narrow places, and walked on water more than once.  At least it seemed like it.

    I don't think he was ever interviewed.  His accomplishments were easy to pass over.  He won countless wars without any fanfare, but he stored up stars, crowns, and weights of glory where it really counts - where motives matter and where prayers prayed in secret are heralded for all to see.  He and my grandmother said a night never passed when they didn't both go to their knees and call each son and daughter, grandchild, and great-grandchild's name in prayer.  Every night.  Without fail.  Only God knows where we would be were it not for those quiet, relentless prayers.

    At one point, we knew it was only a matter of time before he would succumb to the dying part of living.  The doctors say he cheated death way beyond their expectations.  We think he cheated Satan quite a few times, too.  His life spawned pastors, evangelists, lay workers, and one very grateful Christian singer.  He left behind a rare, proud heritage and vivid memories of his fiery, but friendly sermons.  We'll savor our recollections of Wednesday night church services when he'd reach for his worn, slightly out of tune guitar and sing ‘Amazing Grace' or ‘Zion's Hill'.  That was always my favorite...

‘There waits for me a glad tomorrow
Where gates of pearl swing open wide
And when I leave this land of sorrow
I'll rest upon the other side

Someday, beyond the reach of mortal kings
Someday, God only knows just where and when
The wheels of mortal life will all stand still
And we will go to dwell on Zion's Hill.'

Oh yes, we'll go there - and he'll be waiting.  His heart will be strong and his vision clear.  His back will be straight and his feet steady.  We'll go because he paved the way.... because he set the standard.... and because we know he won't quit praying until we get there.

    So, when we gather around the table this Christmas, I know the food will be plentiful and good beyond description.  I know the room will overflow with laughter and warmth, and I know that my dad will begin his prayer, "Precious Lord...."  I also know that his petition will not go unheard by any of us.  We won't waste a word of it.  We'll drink deeply of the gratitude, the petition and the relationship.  And I've a feeling that, as we begin to pray, somewhere in heaven my grandfather will quietly cup his hands, interlock his fingers, and bow his head.  I can't prove it, but some things you just know.


Merry Christmas!

Janet

Have you ever noticed that many of the catalogs you get in the mail from, say, Pottery Barn, are the same catalog with a different cover?  I got the same catalog from Williams- Sonoma last week but with different covers.  The insides were exactly the same.

And how about products in the super market that have the same formula and manufacturer, but the bottles or boxes say the contents are for different applications?

And then there's the toilet bowl cleaner/disinfectant made by Clorox that costs about a buck a bottle, but the exact same formula is packaged by another manufacturer as a mold cleaner.  His product sells for three bucks.  Same stuff inside, same quantity.

So I started thinking today, what lesson can Realtors and home sellers learn from this?  There is a very valuable message here...an idea that has been tested over and over at someone else's expense.  Are you using it?

I have my ideas, but I'm far more interested in yours.

Bill Cherry, Realtors

Luxury Hotels Lose The Bible

Posted Nov 18th 2007 10:02AM by Deidre Woollard
Filed under: Journeys

"We've seen a lot of hotel trends over the years, plasma TVs, the rise of free wi-fi, pillow butlers, in-room fitness equipment and all sorts of adjustments as hotels adapt to the greening of America but the latest might just be the disappearance of an old favorite. ABC News has a story on the fact that luxury hotels are ditching the tradition of the Bible tucked in the bedside drawer. According to the American Hotel and Lodging Association, the number of luxury hotels that stock the Bible and other religious items has dropped 18 percent since 2001. Luxury chains taking part in the trend include Kimpton Hotels, the Borgata in Atlantic City and the Gansevoort Hotel Group. The hotels all offer various religious materials that are available by request.

"This trend is on the luxury side. In other motels, hotels and inns, the number of in-room Bibles has increased from 79 percent in 1988 to 95 percent today. In fact, a survey from the American Hotel and Lodging Association reveals that the more you pay for a hotel room the less likely you are to see a Bible. A full 99 percent of economy hotels have a Bible in the room but just 73 percent of luxury hotels provide one. Also Bibles are least likely to be found in urban hotels and resorts and are most often at hotels near interstate highways or at airports."

I won't be staying in these hotels.  The Bibles, as you know, cost these hotels nothing.  They are provided by the Gideons and have been for nearly a century.

After the Second World War, people started venturing away from home. That's when McCoy Farqua decided he'd take his first trip to Galveston. From all he'd heard, the island was far more laid back and less urban than Dallas where he lived.

When the train got to the island's depot, McCoy rented a room at the Panama Hotel across the street, then went searching for the Galveston Daily News building. McCoy wanted to see and fix in his mind the place where Texas' oldest newspaper was published. After all, McCoy was in the newspaper business himself. He was with Dallas' afternoon paper, the "Times-Herald."

Next door to the paper was one of Galveston's famous restaurants, Perusina's. He went inside for lunch. It was then and there that he saw his first Galveston character, Robert Kennedy.

McCoy was feeding nickels into one of the slot machines, mindlessly waiting for his lunch, when Kennedy, dressed in a white Santa Claus suit and drum major hat, stooped to come in the door. From his shoe soles to the end of the hat's feather measured at least eight feet. And that, by the way, was how Robert dressed when he was in Galveston, summer, winter, spring and fall.

Robert was actually a Canadian who had somehow found his way to Galveston, sold insurance for a while, then moved to Dickinson where he went to work for a truck farmer. But a great deal of his time was spent as that character he had invented known as Safety Santa Claus.

Inn the summertime Safety Santa stood on the deck at Murdock's Pavilion on Galveston's famous Seawall, warning tourists about the currents of the gulf. In the winter months, he would go to the schools in the county with Sheriff Frank Biaggne, one after another, and lecture the children on bicycle safety.

McCoy was so fascinated with Robert "Safety Santa Claus" Kennedy that he introduced himself, invited him to join him for lunch, and before long they were fast friends.

A year or so later, after McCoy had bought his Hudson Hornet, he called Robert and told him that he wanted to write a story about his Safety Santa character for the Times-Herald. To do that, he thought Robert should put on his white Santa Claus outfit and drum major hat, and that they should then go to Murdock's where McCoy would observe Safety Santa in action. McCoy would even bring along one of the paper's big Speed Graphic cameras to take pictures of Safety Santa in action, he told Robert.

By the time McCoy had driven from Dallas, picked up Robert at the Dickinson farm where he'd also freshened up after the drive, it was approaching the dusk of a summer's night. As they started onto the Galveston causeway, they heard a tug's horn, then they saw the boat pushing a string of barges from the east. Then the black and white striped wooden arms came down and the bridge's draw sections started to rise.

The Hudson Hornet was about five back from the last car that had made it to the other side. McCoy and Robert pushed the car's bench seat back, stretched their legs, and prepare for the wait. The windows were rolled down and dusk's breeze was crossing the water as it blew cool into the car.

Just then the driver's door of the car in front of them opened, and a fellow got out and started walking toward the drawbridge. He had on a suit, tie and straw hat. He took the hat off, bent over and went under the black and white striped wooden safety arm, and before they knew it, he was scaling the open section of the bridge, using the rail to help pull himself up.

Everyone else got out of their cars to see what the fellow was doing. He got almost to the top, then sailed the straw hat into the water below. It was then that they realized that he was planning to jump into the water. What to do?

By then the bridge operator was out of his booth and trying to coax the fellow down. Next a sheriff's deputy, siren blaring, came flying up the left lane and stopped at the black and white striped safety arm. By then the fellow was apparently either saying his prayers in advance of his jump, or saying the prayer that he be given the final burst of nerve it was going to take to make the dive that would let him breathe his final breath.

Robert, as Safety Santa, got out of McCoy's car. He put on his drum major hat, then pulled its strap under his chin. He walk toward the drawbridge. The feather was flapping in the breeze. Everyone was watching. He got on his hands and knees, steadying the drum major hat with his left hand so that he could crawl under the black and white arm.

The fellow was still holding on and still in prayer. The bystanders were silent. Now their eyes were on Safety Santa. The cluster of seagulls on top of a group of the bridge's pilings were watching, too.

It was then that McCoy realized that he'd better get out of his car and start taking notes and photos, because he was getting ready to see Safety Santa's biggest challenge play out before him.

He went under the black and white arm, but he was afraid to try to scale the open part of the bridge, so he put his pad and pencil under his right foot, then cupped his left hand around his ear while keeping the Speed Graphic in his right. He was thinking he'd be able to hear Safety Santa and the jumper's conversation, even snap a few dramatic pictures.

Just then the fellow glanced to his right, turned his head back so he could resume looking at the bay, then everyone saw him do the double take. He jerked his head back and mentally processed what he was seeing. There was a skinny fellow in a white Santa Claus outfit, black boots and all, and with a drum major's hat with the big red feather on top flapping in the wind, holding onto the bridge's rail, and scaling up to him.

The fellow started to laugh, and he laughed even harder, then he laughed even harder than that. By then Safety Santa had reached him. They shook hands, then the fellow and Safety Santa, arm in arm, worked there way back to the flat part of the bridge. The fellow was still laughing as the two of them got in the deputy's car.

McCoy wrote the first draft of his story as he and Safety Santa sat in the old John Sealy emergency room, while the doctors tried to figure out what to do with the fellow who went from contemplating suicide to having his biggest belly laugh.

Copyright 2004 - William S. Cherry

BILL CHERRY, REALTORS

TEXAS ESCAPES MAGAZINE

SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH BILL CHERRY

7^th Edition

LANDS' END & POTTERY BARN.  For years and years I've bought a great deal of merchandise by mail order.  The two companies that are the most efficient, the most gracious and the most competent are Lands' End and Pottery Barn.

And by the way, the children's clothes at Lands' End are very stylish, well-made and priced just right.

BRENDAN GILL.  He was the New Yorker Magazine's most elegant biography-in-a-short-story-writer for about fifty years.  His 1990 book A New York Life: Of Friends & Others provides fascinating tales of people you've heard about (Dorothy Parker, Eleanor Roosevelt, etc.) and people you've probably never heard of (Henry-Russell Hitchcock, Simon Verity, etc.).  I reread it about every two years.

BRENDAN GILL'S SON.  His name is Michael Gates Gill and he has recently published his autobiography How Starbucks Saved My Life: A Son of Privilege Learns to Live Like Everyone Else.  He and his book are nothing more than a total embarrassment to him, his family and to Starbucks.

HOME MARKET.  Unless the outcome would be to your financial benefit, I recommend that you not list or buy a residence at this time.  Irrespective of common wisdom, it is an economic Malanthrope to think that a buyer's or a seller's market actually has definable dimension, and a "buyer's market" is what we are currently experiencing. 

The only market that can be logically and accurately worked with and with reasonable certainty is a free market - that's the one that's described in the definition of appraised value.

NEW YORKER CARTOON CAPTION CONTEST.  This cartoon is a perfect and complete lesson in what might be the penance for earning the wrath of God. Two fallen angels are sitting on eggs.  The caption reads, "I always figured Hell would be less ironic."  It was submitted by Ben Snyder of Charlottesville, Virginia.

FALLINGWATER.  The Edgar Kaufmanns were a wealthy department store family in Pittsburg.  They found a piece of land about sixty miles from their house.  The land surrounded a large waterfall, and it was seeing that waterfall in the eyes of summer, winter, spring and fall that made the Kaufmanns know they had to have it.

They commissioned Frank Lloyd Wright to build them a home there, a home from whose windows they could watch the magic of their preciouswaterfall.  Instead Wright designed and built for them a house from which there were no windows overlooking the waterfall.  Wright said that they could hear its sounds from anywhere in the house, therefore this way, they would be a part of the waterfall, not just observers.  They bought the idea.  Afterall, they reasoned, he was the artist.

Wright named the house Fallingwater.  Why that name?  It contains Wright's initials (FLLW) in the proper sequence. Waterfall doesn't.

HIGHLAND PARK CAFETERIA.  In 1925 what would become a Dallas institution, the Highland Park Cafeteria, opened on Knox Street.  For whatever the reason, it closed in 1995.  The recipes that had made it famous went with it.  A few months back, new owners bought the recipes, the name, and many of the former employees joined them in establishing the new Highland Park Cafeteria, this time in the Casa Linda Shopping Center at 1200 North Buckner.

It's as everyone remembers it.  And it's not hard to know it's the truth because the place is always full of old-timers with their walkers, oxygen bottles and turned up hearing aids.  They're the ones who went to the original when they were young.  The place is beautifully decorated, very clean and neat, and diners are serenaded by a grand player piano.

The better known Luby's Cafeterias have drifted quite a bit.  More than likely whatever it is will now have as an ingredient chili powder.  However, Highland Park employees don't even whisper the word "chili" much less shake the stuff over what they're cooking.

FIRST OF THE HOLIDAY CONCERTS.  The Oak Lawn Band will be performing its "Holiday Concert" on Saturday, December 1, 2007 at 8:00 p.m. at Northaven Methodist Church, 11211 Preston Road.

HANDEL'S "MESSIAH."  The Dallas Bach Society will start you holiday season with Handel's "Messiah" on Sunday, Decmeber 2, 2007 at 7:00 p.m. at the Morton Meyerson Symphony Center. 

THE NUTCRACKER.  The Texas Ballet Theater with its internationally acclaimed artistic director Ben Stevenson will present the traditional ballet and orchestral performance at Fair Park Music Hall on December 20, at 8:00 p.m., December 21 and Saturday, December 22, at 2:00 p.m. and 8:00 p.m., and on December 23, at 2:00 p.m. and 7:00 p.m.

NEIMAN-MARCUS 100th ANNIVERSARY.  From its opening day, Neiman's presented an image of both trendy fashion and superb quality. To Dallas, Texas, the United States, and the world, it remains a living legend. The hundred year anniversary of its first store on Elm Street in Dallas provides a good opportunity to reflect on its contributions to the fashion and retail world as well as Dallas history. A fine exhibit is on display on the 7^th floor of the Dallas Public Library at 1515 Young Street through January 6^th.  Neither the Neiman or the Marcus family remain as controlling stockholders, but the merchandising teachings of Stanley Marcus are very much alive

To the left is a photo of Lawrence and Shelby Marcus that was taken at the store's 100th Anniversary party by professional photographer Patrick McMullen.

I look forward to sharing this time in the park with you next weekend.  In the meantime,

GOD Blesses!

Bill Cherry

Dallas Realtor-Broker

Bill's Wikipedia Biography

"Man in the Park" by Carlotta Barker

This piece is in the latest issue of The Angelus, a monthly newsletter of The Episcopal Church of the Incarnation in Dallas. It is written byThe Reverend Thomas Blackmon, one of the church's curates.  I think you will enjoy reading it.

Mary Ann is in a Fort Worth hospital recovering from a lung cancer operation.  She shares the room with an Alzheimer's patient, the only thing separating them being a white curtain from floor to ceiling.

Often times during the night, the Alzheimer's patient starts moaning and screaming out.  Mary Ann wants so badly to comfort her, but what can she do?  And on top of that, the outbursts keep Mary Ann from sleeping through the night.

The other night when the lady was quiet for a moment or two, Mary Ann said to her in a quiet voice and from her bed on the other side of the curtain, "I'm an angel and I have been sent here to comfort you."  With that, Mary Ann began singing the hymns she remembered from the Baptist hymnal, one after another.

At first her roommate was still, but before long, she started humming along with Mary Ann, and then she sang the words she could remember.  Soon she drifted off to sleep and remained at peace for the rest of the night.

The next day when the Alzheimer's patient's family came to see her, she told them that the night before an angel had come to visit her.

I've been wanting to show you a wonderful home that is about two blocks from Patty's and mine.  The address is 9926 Robin Hill.  Robin Hill is in a big area of Dallas known as Lake Highlands.

While my photography doesn't begin to do it justice, nevertheless I wanted to show you three pictures of it that I took today.

Notice that the house's cube dimension is pleasant to the eye, and notice that the architect and builder didn't use whatever windows they could get on sale.  Consequently, the facade totally has symmetry.  This doesn't seem to happen much in these days and times...at least it doesn't in Dallas.

I also like the acute display of Pride of Ownership.  The comfortable cane chairs on the porch with the plump pillows, the basket of flowers hanging on the door.  The American flag, the pumpkins and the scarecrow. 

Cliff, the guy with the biology degree who can't stand to work inside, is the neighborhood gardener.  He keeps these grounds as if they were attended to yesterday.  Cliff and his family live on the next corner.

And I love the bay window with the standing copper seam roof that the owners added last year.  You can't see it in the picture, but there's a ladder back love seat there in the window.

There are many more houses in Lake Highlands that fit this bill.  Patty's and mine is one of them.  But I don't think any are as close to perfect as 9926 Robin Hill.

Congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Patrick Stewart for creating the Lake Highland's Inspiration House.

GOD Blesses!

Bill Cherry, Realtors

FRANK LLOYD WRIGHT.  The famous architect, who combined design with physics to create buildings that often times looked impossible, had a terrible problem with roofs.  His seemed to leak, and were frequently next to impossible to correct.

In the early 1930s, he invited a group of young musicians to come live and study in his home in Wisconsin.  The Erector Set-style music stands that the quartets used annoyed him, so he designed a special four-sided stand made from wood, and topped it with a lighted canapé.

Wright was very proud of his invention.  He built and sold about six of them.  The problem was they were impossible to use.  The lights didn't shine on the music, and there wasn't space to turn the music pages. 

No one wanted to tell Mr. Wright, so they would be hauled out of storage when he was to be in the audience.

WHAT'S LOVE GOT TO DO WITH IT? Norm Miller is chairman of Interstate Batteries.  We've been friends for a long time.  He called a few afternoons ago to check on Patty and me, then the next day I got a copy of a booklet he'd just written.  It's a total testimony to "the verb love" and what it means to us and God. 

I think Norm would be glad for you to have a complimentary copy.  Email Norm at Godslove@ibsa.com, tell him we're friends and that you'd like a copy of "What's Love Got to Do with It?"  You'll be amazed at his story and how similar it will be to yours.

MY LAST SUPPER.  Chefs have a "late night over cocktails" tradition.  They discuss what they would like to have as their last meal before they transcend their earthly surrounds to be with YAHWEY.   

Photographer Melanie Dunea has interviewed and photographed some fifty of the famous chefs about their chosen last supper, and come up with a coffee table book.  Lots of them include foie gras and caviar, and then there's Laurent Tourondel who wants a tuna BLT sandwich from a place called the Fish Shack. 

THE VILLAGE.  Beginning about thirty years ago, 337 acres of land right in the middle, so to speak, of Dallas were cleared and fourteen apartment projects were built to house 10,000 residents.  They set aside twenty-one acres for a green belt and built a six mile jogging trail among the heavily landscaped surrounds. 

While other developers built projects to have a short functional lifespan, The Village's idea was to create a community that would last a lifetime.  The Village is as popular with residents today as it was the day it got its first tenants.  Entrance to the Village is at Skillman and Southwestern Boulevard.  It's a worthy study for how to do it right.  New land planners, apartment developers, and city planning commission experts should take notice.

JOAN MIRANTZ.  While Realtor Joan Mirantz lives way up in Pembroke, New Hampshire, a full 1,717 miles from Patty's and my front door, Miss Joan and I have become fast friends as a result of our Active Rain blogs.

The other day she sent me her newsletter.  It is the most interesting concept.  It's a newsletter and a 3-fold brochure combined.  And it's printed on heavy coated stock.  Maybe you'd like to see one.  jbmirantz@comcast.net.

MARVIN STAMM.  When I first knew him in 1960, he was called Marv Stamm.  But don't let that throw you.  He was then and is now one of the world's greatest jazz trumpeters.  If you are a jazz enthusiast, you will want to buy Marvin's latest two-disc package titled "Alone Together."  It's a DVD and a CD, and is from a concert Marvin did in Beverly Hills with his quartet of Bill Mays, Rufus Reid and Ed Soph

It's now available on Marvin's web site on the CDs page.   If memory serves me, it's less than twenty bucks.  By the way, although Marvin lives way up in New York, he frequently plays Dallas, probably more than anything to massage his nostalgia.  He was educated at University of North Texas and left there to play in Stan Kenton's orchestra.

THE OLD TESTAMENT.  Patty and I have been studying the Old Testament under Bible scholar, the Reverend George Luck.  This is truly a fascinating journey that you should consider taking from a scholar near you, irrespective of your religion. 

I also recommend the Bible study DVD courses offered by the Teaching Company.  They are all full-courses taught by well-respected college professors.  The one on the Old Testament is taught by Amy-Jill Levine, Ph.D., of Vanderbilt and Duke Universities.  http://www.teach12.com/.

CUTE, FEMININE LADY REALTOR WEB SITE.  I just accidentally came on the cutest web site.  If you're a lady Realtor, look at this one of Lois Coleman's http://www.loiscoleman.com/about.htm.

COLOGNE FOR MEN.  Prada Ambou Pour Homme and Tom Ford Black Orchid.  Both available at Neiman-Marcus -- stores, on-line or catalog.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING!    GOD Blesses!

Pen and ink drawing of Bill in the Park by artist Carlotta Barker.

BILL CHERRY, REALTORS

NEW YORK ARTICLE ON FORECLOSURES

I personally suspect that the judge's ruling will survive appeal, and I am also inclined to believe that this may begin to lasso the all but previously unrestricted way mortgages have been packaged and sold.

I had wondered how long it would be before someone successfully challanged packaging these things up as the asset-holdings of securities.