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

            Carrying in loads of aluminum trays of noodles loaded with chicken, mountains of green salad and hot vegetables, fresh rolls by the hundreds along with multiple gallons of milk, orange juice and lemonade, and package after package of cookies for dessert, we arrived at the Austin Street Shelter within the deepest of the bowels of downtown Dallas.

            Two hours before, our washing machine had frozen on it annual "won't run after it's filled itself to the brim with water" position.  That had been the last straw for Patty and me as we had tried to traverse through the one crisis after another weird day that was now to be followed by a full-moon.  The only thing we felt sure would be missing would be the witch flying past it in the night.

            With five other members of our church, Episcopal Church of the Incarnation, we brought in the food.  Only one of us had ever been there before.  There were more than three hundred cots lined up, one after another, row after row.  Each cot with the 12 square feet of floor below it, was the entire home of a person -- many men and about eighty women, most of them with their children.

            It was very quiet; no rowdiness.  The air conditioning made the huge room very comfortable.  There was no body odor, not a bit.  The only smell that hit me in the face was that of a cigarette or two that had apparently been smoked somewhere in the building.

            The man who met us at the door, Scotty he said his name was, thanked us over and over again, and that was before our gifts of food had been unveiled.  He said that frequently groups of pseudo-benevolents bring over peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and don't stay around to serve them.  Others promise to provide dinner one evening and never show up.  Can you imagine?

            For me it was hard not to keep from crying, the very idea that groups in the name of God would be so cavalier toward the feelings and health of those who can't fend for themselves, and can only give back to their benefactors six words, "Thank you.  May God bless you."  It must not be enough payment for some, although it's totally impossible to understand why.

            The Austin Street Shelter is and has been overseen by two ministers.  They met in a homeless environment just like this one, married, and became ordained Episcopal priest.  For more than twenty years, they've somehow been able to return peace and continuity of life to thousands who could have never re-bridged that gap by themselves.  Others haven't yet made it.  Most keep trying.

            I had only heard of the Reverends Harry and Beulah "Bubba" Dailey before last night.  When Patty and I got home from this spiritual adventure, I didn't see any need whatsoever to pray for the recovery of the Maytag.  Instead, I thanked God for leading us to see and experience the ministry of Father Harry and Mother Bubba.  

            And in my prayer to ask forgiveness for those whose benevolence for the down trodden doesn't extend past a couple of lathered-up peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, or not showing up at all.

            The Austin Street Shelter is at 2929 Hickery Street, the corner of Hickory and Austin streets.

Some years ago, there was a sole practitioner in Houston who sold a lot of real estate.  His name was Ken Jacobson.  He was a blond-haired guy with a big smile, a resonant voice and a gift for gab. 

He made tons of money, drove a new paid-for Mercedes 560-SE, that, when he was home, was parked on the brick-paver circular driveway in front of his expensive and paid for home.

And most of the people he called from his Rolodex every morning -- his client base --  felt that they were his good friends,  Interestingly, most had never met him. They had probably not knowingly seen him across the room at a restaurant or a party.

Ken didn't have a logo and he didn't run ads.  His office was a desk and phone and two chairs, all stuck in less than 100 square feet.  He had his college diploma on the wall.  It was in a cheap dime store frame.  If you asked him, he majored in choral music performance.

Oh, and I forgot to tell you that Ken didn't take listings either, that is he didn't take listings he didn't feel he could find a buyer for within the following couple of days.

Ken's idea was that taking listings for the sake of having listings was a waste of a broker's time and money.  Much more pressure than he needed.  Everything he did had to be pasted to the present with money making Super Glue.  No bets on the come.

What Ken did was develop his referral base.  Before he hung up talking with you, he'd have gotten the name of another person to call and who would then be added to his Rolodex, and that new person would now be receiving regular chit-chat calls from Ken.

"Ralph?  Ken Jacobson.  I just got off of the phone with our friend Rusty McKnight.  He said you run the most reliable plumbing shop in town, and do I need a plumber.  By the way, this might be some information you can use.  Do you know David McDavid?  You don't?  Well I'm going to introduce you to him.  Best place to buy trucks, and he told me the other day that he is horribly over-stocked on panel trucks....I call them plumber's trucks..."

You get Ken's strategy.  It was impossible for him to get a rejection because he never called to sell a person anything, just to chat and in the process do something for them while they gave him at least one new name he could use.

Well, while I'm no where nearly as adapt at it as Ken was, nevertheless, I've used a modified version of his marketing plan for many years, now.  Most of my listings, sales and consulting haven't cost me a dime to develop and get.  They've come from my Ken Jacobson-like Rolodex that is full of dog-eared cards.

And that, quite frankly, is why you should call me when you have what may be a real estate challenge.  My Rolodex friends and their friends and their friends will most likely supply the answer for me to deliver to you with my best impression of a Ken Jacobson smile.

BILL'S BIO

As radio broadcasting goes, its rich history in Dallas dates back to August 1921 when the City of Dallas put WRR on the air.   It was not only the first station in Texas to get an FCC license, but was one of the nation's first five to go on the air

WRR had a weird beginning, actually.  The city formed and licensed it so that the latest news about fires in Dallas could be broadcast.  In fact, the station was first housed at the fire department.  So when the firemen had nothing to talk about on the air about fires, they played music, told jokes and gossiped to fill up the air time.  Dallasites began buying crystal radios to hear the antics for entertainment.

By the early 1930s the station had been moved to the Adolpus Hotel, and it was a serious commercial venture, although still owned by the city.   By the time it moved to its own building, the Art Deco building at the famous Dallas Fair Grounds where it still is today, it was broadcasting its programming on both AM and FM signals.

WRR remains city owned, and it earns it way as a profitable commercial radio station that plays a classical music format.  All of us here are proud of WRR's place in the community.  In fact, it's definitely a sacred cow.

From that early and formidable beginning, came many radio programming "inventions" in Dallas, including the Top 40 format that Gordon McLendon established at KLIF-AM in the mid ‘50s.  He added other stations that he bought, but it wasn't long after that stations all over the nation were copying his famous format.

<<===Top-40 Legend Gordon McLendon

In 2004 another well-known Dallas broadcaster, Larry Shannon, and some of his buddies like top 40s legend and my friend, Chuck Dunaway, formed the Texas Radio Hall of Fame.

I have the honor of being one of the Premier Members of the Texas Radio Hall of Fame because of my many years of broadcasting, beginning in 1954 at 14.  For me it was primarily a way to pay for school and college expenses and then with it firmly in my blood, as a serious avocation all throughout my adult life.

The 2007 Texas Radio Hall of Fame Induction Dinner and Awards Program will be held on Saturday, October 27th at the Dallas-Addison Marriott Quorum Hotel by the Galleria.

This year, those who will be honored with induction are Gordon Baxter, Bob Bruton, Gary DeLaune, Larry Dixon, Terry Dorsey, Roy Eaton, Don Harris, Dan Ingram, Charlie Jones, Randy Robins, Jack Schell, Arch Yancey.  Instated will be Steve Crosno, Jon Dillon, Paxton Mills, Dick Risenhoover and Peggy Sears.  

I am especially pleased that old friends Arch Yancey (Houston) and Jack Schell (Dallas) are among the inductees, and that all-night Texas Network talk show host, Charlie Jones is as well.

            Home sales have, in reality, been falling for several months. But statisticians friendly to home builders and real estate agents, until recently, have been able to tinker with the figures and thus disguise the breadth of the problem.  Time's up!

            Most of you as well as the statisticians will now agree that the cat is out of the bag.  Home sales have fallen dramatically.  Lowering the interest rates will help to cushion the fall, but the fall will continue for a while, nevertheless.

            As this is beginning, I am trying to count how many of these cycles I've endured during my many years as a Realtor.  Suffice it to say, it's been more than five or six.

            Agents who came into the business without sufficient tools and who did not continue their formal education in real estate, quickly found they could no longer make a living when a hot market cooled.

            And their clients, those who had read and believed all of their self-promoting "I'm #1" ads in the local newspapers and magazines, learned that those agents were unable to pass muster in a buyer's market.  Their ability had the quality of a cheap suit or the knock-off Gucci handbag they carried.

            That's what is in store for many of them this time, too.  But this blog, after all, is for the purpose of advising those of you who are planning to sell or buy a home within the next few months. Here's my take on this.

            It would be a particularly good time to pick one of the old-timers with wrinkles on his face, and who has continued to earn a nice living in the real estate business through slow times as well as good.

            I'm one of those old-timers.  And quite frankly, it's the very reason most of my clients pick me time after time.  I know how to rise to the occasion when it looks like the chips are down.  Watch my agility.  I'm noted for getting deals together and closed that many others would surely lose.

BILL CHERRY'S BIO

            "What's Important Is Who Plays the Part of Arthur Fonzarelli," will be the title of my talk this Tuesday, September 25^th at the noon meeting of the Rowlett Rotary Club.

            Rowlette is a wonderful community on Lake Ray Hubbard near Dallas.  The Rotary meeting is at noon at the Kayota Japanese Steakhouse, 9900 Lakeview.

            Rotarians from other clubs and their guests are welcome to attend, too.

            For more than thirty years, I have written and talked about the real people who have come through my life and who, with their moral character, have overcome adversities and taught me life's lessons.

            "What's Important Is Who Plays the Part of Arthur Fonzarelli" was first reported in my weekly column about fifteen years ago.  It was so overwhelmingly popular that I have given it as a speech from time to time, most recently before the senior citizens' group at Park Cities' Saint Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church.

            The story unfolds at the time this photo was taken in 1957 at a high school ROTC military ball, and it's about the fellow in the tux, Victor J. Damiani.

             Bill Cherry's Memories is a regular monthly featured column in Texas Escapes Magazine. www.texasescapes.com.

             Visit me on the web at www.billcherrybroker.com

             When I first went into the real estate business in 1964, it was as a young man who had a real estate broker's license.  I bought historic homes in Galveston and Houston, and then adaptively renovated them.  At the same time, I was a commercial lending officer for a savings and loan association that served most of Texas.

            Combining the information I got from those two interests dramatically helped me to sniff out good potential investments, to hone a skill at negotiating their purchase and sale, and to discover creative ways to buy and finance those investments.

            But there was one great lesson I reasoned out and taught myself.  I want to share it with you.

            You can't have a valid auction when you are both the seller and the buyer.

            It boils down to this.  You can almost bet that if you have a property for sale and it's not getting the buyer-market attention you think it should be getting, you'll assume you have it priced too high.  Your agent will, too.  But that's frequently a fallacious line of reasoning.

            If you haven't had anyone offer you a lower price, to reduce it you are in essence bidding against yourself.  That rarely makes sense.  After all, who says that's the reason it hasn't sold?

            It is far more likely that the person who wants what you have for sale hasn't yet found it.  Yes, I've discovered that is, quite frankly, the more frequent and logical reason something hasn't sold.

            Back to my story.  Often when I wanted to buy a home for renovation, the seller would also have some rather undesirable piece of property, frequently a vacant lot, they would insist that I also buy as a condition of the sale.

            So there I was.  The positive side was I had the house I wanted.  The negative side was I had a vacant lot I had to get rid of.  What to do?

            I would do my studying and figure out a fair listing price for the lot.  Often the  darned thing would sit there for six months without an offer.  I'd take it off of the market for a month or two, then re-list it, but this time rather than lower the price, I'd raise it to cover my accrued carrying expense.

            Interestingly, when someone came along who had a use for the property, we'd get down to serious negotiations between "a willing seller and a willing buyer."  And that's when the price would be determined.

            How often did I net more than my original listed price?  Every time.

            CONCLUSION: It takes so much more than a real estate license to successfully represent clients.  It takes the ability to be able to go deep inside your soul where you can find the answers you need to give them their money's worth. 

             It's why you do business with me.

The U.S. House of Representatives today overwhelmingly passed the "Expanding American Homeownership Act of 2007," Here's what's in store if it passes the Senate:

• Allow FHA to make zero or lower down payment loans for borrowers that can afford mortgage payments, but who lack the cash for a substantial down payment.
  
• Double the current funding level for housing counseling for sub-prime home buyers and borrowers late on mortgage loan payments.
  
• Direct FHA to provide mortgage loans to borrowers at higher risk, but who are still qualified using prudent lending standards.
  
• Expand and improve the FHA reverse mortgage loan program by raising loan limits, removing the loan cap to avoid program shutdowns, and by reducing the maximum fee lenders can charge for these loans.

Real estate professionals and the public need to take this bull by the horns by notifying their senators that they expect them to make certain this legislation passes without being watered down.

There was a period where the use of the name Nelson was often meant to bring respect and fear. At least there was one Nelson, Charles was his name, whom everyone seemed to know was harmless. He sold cosmetics at Central Drugstore downtown. Most of the other Nelson boys, though, had the reputation among us teenagers for being The Enforcers.

So the trick was to convince everyone that at least one boy named Nelson was your friend; that you were very close. If they believed you, you didn't have to worry about being bullied.

It was their dress and demeanor that did more to bring the Nelsons respect than their actions. In case you didn't know any of them, they were like Fonzie on "Happy Days," but far cooler.

Trying to be a big shot in the eighth grade, I told a kid named Aubry that one of the Nelsons (we called him B.B.) and I were close. Aubry was packing the tobacco in his pack of Lucky's by tapping it over and over on his school desk. Miss Ellen Wayne Ormond was making out like she didn't notice. She was busy teaching sentence diagramming.

"If you two are so close, what's his real first name?" Aubry asked, catching me off guard.

The only name that went with Nelson that I could think of on the spur of the moment was Gene. Gene Nelson was kind of a sissy tap dancer and singer I had seen in the movie "Oklahoma." "Gene," I said. Aubry bought it. The Enforcer would have died if he had known I said his real name was Gene. Worse, what would he have done to me?

There was also another alleged Enforcer called Sleepy. He was quiet spoken, expressionless and kept his eyelids at half-staff. The rumor started that if someone were to do something that displeased Sleepy, they'd know it immediately because he'd raise his eyelids to full-staff and go into an uncontrollable rage. Someone said that had happened once, and Sleepy'd beat up every one of the Red Coats gang. I heard it was because he had caught one them winking at his girlfriend.

In reality, that was a bum rap for Sleepy. He was a nice guy and probably the most talented car mechanic that ever lived. But on the other hand, Sleepy's bound to have known about the fabled reputation he'd garnered, and I don't think he ever did anything to set the record straight. If I had been he, I assure you I wouldn't have either. It was an enviable position.

It was about then that a science nerd called Champ guessed that a cherry bomb firecracker would blow up underwater. The wick was waterproof as was the hard red case that held the gun powder. And those things were really powerful. He began to talk about his theory with anyone who would listen, and what would happen if he were to light a cherry bomb, then flush it down a toilet.

So Champ must have decided that his test run would be at the State Theater during the 1957 Christmas holidays. Everyone was there that Friday to see Pat Boone and Shirley Jones in "April Love." And the fireworks stands were open on the highway into town because New Year's Eve was just a few days ahead. The perfect setup.

Some of us were scrooched down in our seats smooching. The pimply faced ushers were being their usual obnoxious selves, shining their flashlights at our knees and telling us to get them off of the seat in front of us.

You probably know that you can't smooch good sitting up straight in a theater seat. I feel sure that our parents gave them those flashlights and tipped them a George Washington to do that.

Those who weren't there to smooch were running up and down to the concession stand, and otherwise being disruptive.

All of a sudden a sound deeper than any sub-woofer has ever even begun to produce began a roaring crescendo throughout the insides of the walls and ceilings of the theater. It must have lasted ten seconds. Everything shook. It was as if the Almighty himself was letting us know he was siding with the ushers and their flashlights.

Then some kid announced that water was cascading from the balcony down the staircase. That's when we knew that Champ had gotten up his nerve.  He had blown up a toilet.

The lights went on as Mr Brown, the manager, ran to the stage and said in his Barney Fife voice, "We're not going to finish this show until someone tells me who blew up the men's room."

From the audience and over the raucous laughter came, "I think Sleepy's here, Mr. Brown. Want me to go find him for you?"

Without answering, but now with fear in his eyes, Mr. Brown quickly left the stage, the house lights went off, and old Pat and Shirley continued their inane movie. The smooching resumed, the obnoxious ushers pointed their flashlight beams at people's legs, and the hecklers came closer and closer to outright challenging Pat's sexual preference.

From then on, when Champ the Nerd would blow up the men's room at the State Theater, someone in the audience would always cry out, "Sleepy's at it again!" The audience would erupt in a cheer, but Mr. Brown would do nothing more than send the ushers upstairs with the mops.

Now to set the record straight. Sleepy never once sent a cherry bomb down into the bowels of the State Theater's sewer system. It was just that his name carried so much more power than that of sneaky, sunken-chest Champ. And after all, inferring that Sleepy did it gave the event the enormous respect we thought it deserved.

Copyright 2004 - William S. Cherry

The hardest thing to do when you move to a new town is to separate the "wonderful" from the "not so wonderful."  Although Patty had lived in Dallas for most of her life, when we married, she moved to Galveston where I was hometown stock. 

Ten years later, when we moved here permanently, many of her old stand-bys had closed, moved elsewhere, changed hands, and so forth.  Progress it's called.  So we basically had to start over looking for vendors and service people who were of the quality we were used to.

I want to tell you about several of them.

CALAME is a fine jewelry store in the Highland Park Shopping Village.  We needed a trustworthy jeweler with fine craftsmen to do some repairs and appraisals.  I called our "new" church, Saint Michael and All Angels and asked for a recommendation.  CALAME was the suggestion.  I couldn't have been happier.  You should use them, too.

GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER? Heaven only knows why Chef Phillip Luna named his business after the famous movie, but he did.  This is one of the Park Cities' favorite caterers.  But here's the best part.  You can stop by there Mondays through Fridays and pick up full gourmet dinners, not frozen, just refrigerated.  Pop them in the microwave for 3.5 minutes, and you have a wonderful meal.  These cost $8 a piece.  Every now and then, when we aren't particularly famished, Patty and I divide one, like we did this evening.  We have it along with a loaf of French bread, garlic-olive oil for dip, and a glass or two of vino.  Perfect! GUESS WHO'S COMING TO DINNER? is on Audelia between Royal and the Dart tracks.

POPOLAS CAFE.  There are lots of good places to eat in Dallas, however this pseudo-Italian restaurant in the Preston Royal Center is beautifully decorated and the wait-staff has been expertly trained.  We have found that the fish dishes are especially delicious.  I bend toward those with shrimp.

ROMANO'S BAKERY is as good a bakery as there is in Manhattan, and there are some mighty good bakeries there.  In the shopping center at Mockingbird at Abrams.

NEIMAN MARCUS at North Park Shopping Center is overseen with aplomb by Malcolm Ruben and Henry Binkowski.  You will see from other blogs I have posted here, that I was able to get some personal insight into how Stanley Marcus thought that business should be run.  He and I accidentally became friends about 30 years or so before he passed away.  The Messrs. Ruben and Binkowski run this store exactly as Mr. Stanley would have. We love to shop there, and usually use it as an excuse to eat in the Zodiac Room, home of the best $20 steak in the nation.

THE BELO MANSION is an especially good place for receptions and parties, not because the building itself is spectacular, but because Byron Starnes is there to arrange the affairs.

GOODYEAR TIRE CENTER is owned and operated by the elegant Miss Mary and her son.  Mechanics nationwide lock their doors, turn out the lights, and hide behind the counters when they see me coming.  They don't here.  And the repairs and service are outstanding.  Why they even came by to pick me up once when Patty wasn't home to take me to get my car.  This store is located at Ferndale and Northwest Highway.  The address is 10140 Shoreview. Wonderful service.

DOBSON FLOORS has been serving Dallas for a long time, but it moved to the top when salesman Michael Santos joined them.  Dobson Floors is at 2010 Eastgate in Garland, near Northwest Highway and LBJ. Carpet, wood floors, vinyl, tile, marble and exotics.

SIGNATURE SIGNS.  I know the likelihood of you needing a sign is slim unless your church is having a big event and you're on the publicity committee.  But signs are a big thing to real estate people.  Judi Burdette has her fancy sign company among the antique and decorator shops and art galleries on Dragon Street.  I was happy to find her.

MINUTEMAN PRESS is my printer.  Somehow this guy, Eric Pirpich, is kin to me in a round about way because one of his relatives was named "Cherry."  So I call him Cousin Eric.  An engineer who decided he'd had enough of that, he bought a print shop. Cousin Eric and his boys do fabulous work, get it out on time, and at a fair price.  On Sherry Lane just off of the corner of Douglas and Preston.

W. NEIL GALLAGHER, PH.D. He's known as the Money Doctor.  Start with Doc Gallagher when you intellectually reach the point of concern as to whether or not you'll be able to retire safe, early and happy.  Doc is a financial educator, not a stock broker or banker. www.docgallagher.com.

AUDIO BY BYRON.  Byron Parks is a fine trumpeter.  But his amazing talent is as an audio engineer.  He flies more than $1 million of equipment when I go by to make "voice overs" or play the piano for background recordings.  This is a first class act,and Byron's not the least bit expensive.  469 964-5242.  If you have a special musical or performing talent, you really should put some of your work on CD so that it can be saved and heard by your descendants.  Call Byron.

WELLS FARGO BANK.  I absolutely abhor chain banks, preferring neighborhood banks where I know the owners, officers and tellers.  But since that has become almost an anomaly, Patty and I gave in about five years ago and began banking with Wells Fargo.  Oddly, the young Personal Banker who set our accounts up in a branch near Houston, moved to Dallas to become a branch manager.  He's the best.  You'll find Damion Phillips at the Hillside Village branch in the Tom Thumb store. He remains our banker.

RADIO.  KAAM-AM 770 for Big Band music to calm your nerves.  KSKY 660 for political and religious education from Laura Ingraham, Dennis Prager and Michael Medved. "Ernie and Jay Mid-Day" on KRLD-AM 1080 is the best of call-in talk radio in the country. And don't forget Dallas' own classical music station, WRR-FM 101.  I love it especially on fall Sunday afternoons after church while we devourer the "New York Times" in front of a roaring fire.

On the very first Wednesday morning of February in 1939, Ellis Badgett caught the elevator at a Texas hospital, St. Mary's Infirmary. When he got to his wife's room, he saw a newspaper photographer, Herbert Winters, on the top of a step ladder with his Speed Graphic camera aimed through the room's transom. He was snapping pictures.

Two of the nuns were steading his ladder while doctors were going in and out of the room.

That's when Mr. Badgett learned that his wife had just become the 1 in 670 thousand cases where a mom gives birth to quadruplets. They named theirs Joan, Joyce, Jeraldine and Jeanette and within moments they were nation-wide celebrities.

Imagine the publicity the Badgett Quads would bring to the Texas.  The city of Galveston, where they were born, gave them a brand new, two-story home on Broadway. Their mother had a postcard printed of them and put them in all of the souvenir stores. They sold like hot cakes.

The largest publisher of children's materials in the world, Saalfield, bought the license to sell Badgett Quad paper dolls. You'll find  a set today in Kent State University's archives.

Baylor University gave them scholarships; one of the milk companies hired them to be in their magazine and newspaper ads. The Girl Scouts made them honorary members. And when they were 6, Texas Governor Coke Stevenson made them members of the famous Kilgore Junior College Rangerettes.

And I almost forgot to tell you. When entertainers Phil Harris and Alice Faye were married in Sam Maceo's hotel apartment, guess who the flower girls were?

Joan, Joyce, Jeraldine and Jeanette graduated from high school in the late ‘50s. Fortunately by then, their celebrity had waned. They were able to then have normal lives. They married. Two stayed in Galveston. Two moved to Dallas. Joan, who had been a public school librarian for many years, died a few days after her 63^rd birthday.

The famous donated home has changed hands a number of times.

I went to school with Joan, Joyce, Jeraldine and Jeanette Badgett. I wish you could have seen them then. They sure were good lookin'.