If You Don't Have Big Breasts, Put Ribbons on Your Pigtails (17 page)

"I'm leaving!" she announced loudly.

"What about dinner?'" Eddie asked.

"Your father's in charge. Ask him!*' she said, picking up her suitcase and heading toward the front door.

We all ran to the front window to watch Mom ka-thump her suitcase down the front steps, jerk it up onto the sidewalk, and head

down Hilliard Avenue. We watched as Mom dragged her suitcase past Gene's Candy Store, Mrs. Mertz's bakery, Bernie Beck's supermarket, and as she went over the ridge by Uncle Dick's police station, we couldn't see Mom anymore.

Mom plunked herself down on the green wooden bench at the bus stop on River Road and waited. She didn't know where she was going, she was just going. With a household full of kids, Mom was tired of being the full-time repairman, laundress, nurse, tutor, and cook. But the final straw that Friday night was that Dad wasn't helping her get us ready for his cousin's wedding the next day in Toms River.

As she waited for the number 8 bus to New York, a handsome, well-dressed man with a leather attache case sat down next to her. Mom yanked the two pink sponge curlers from her bangs. When the bus arrived, Mom paid her fare, took a seat at the front of the bus, and the handsome man sat down beside her. "Going my way?" he whispered to my mother.

It was two blocks south at the stop in front of the Edge water Aluminum Factory that Mom grabbed her suitcase and ran out of the bus.

We were all sitting at the dinner table, pushing Nana's frozen fish sticks around our plates, when Mom appeared in the kitchen. "I'm home," she said to no one, and plunked her suitcase down.

We looked up at Mom and waited. John was the first to ask, "Where'd you go, Mom?"

"To the aluminum factory and back," she said, taking off her hat.

"But Dad said you quit," Ellen added, taking a quick look at Dad.

Mom sat down, sprinkled some peas onto Mary Jean's tray, and said, "Moms can't quit."

After trying everything to keep my business afloat, I returned to the office on January 2, and received one of the most challenging and timely phone calls of my life.

MOM'S LESSON #18: Moms can't quit.

4fe

THE LESSON LEARNED ABOUT NOT QUITTING

I find that every big success happens after I think I've exhausted 100 percent of my options. For me, success only happened after I gave another 10 percent.

difficulty buyers were having in finding financing, made the apartments virtually impossible to sell.

I looked at the white-tile, white-tub, white-sinked bathroom badly in need of caulking. "At least there's a bathroom. It's lovely! 1 commented, and closed the door.

Finding buyers for these apartments would be no easy feat. Prices had plummeted 40 percent since the. stock market crashed in "87 and every would-be customer in New York City still believed that if they waited, they'd be able to buy any apartment for less the following day.

I returned to the office and called Mr. Mendik. "I'm afraid I have bad news, Bernie," I began. "There's just no way your apartments can be sold in this market. They've been listed for more than three years and there aren't any takers. I'm sure you're aware that the apartments need a ton of work and the maintenance charges are way out of line with the rest of the market. I'm sorry, Bernie, I really wish I could help.'

"Barbara,'' Bernie responded with his trademark enthusiasm, "you're a smart girl! You'll figure it out." And he hung up the phone.

Summer. Toms River.

Grandpa Ward was a huge man with big hands who lived in a small clapboard cabin in Toms River, New Jersey. To visit him, we took the two-hour trip sardine-style in the back of Dad's Blue Beauty station wagon. Grandpa Ward's house was at the end of a long dirt road, which he shared with the chicken farm across the way.

When we arrived, Grandpa had already prepared the usual lunch of warmed canned beets that he insisted were rich in iron and would make my brothers "strong, strappin' men." My sisters and I quietly wondered if women got strappin' too, and if not. why did we have to eat them?

We were sitting outside on Grandpas screened porch after lunch when I heard a lot of noise at the farm across the road. "MOM!" I yelled with my hands cupped on the screen door, "there's some fancy cars pulling up to the farm. Can we go see what's going on?"

"Just a minute," she answered, "and well all go together. Ellen, help me finish the dishes, and, Denise, put away the cups. John, sit on Grandpa's lap there and, Eddie, wipe your face. Barbara, stay right there, and, keep your eye on Tommy, Mary, Martin, and Jeanine."

By the time we got to the road, there was a line of fancy cars, and a line of fancy city folks to go with them waited by the gate.

"What's going on today?' my mother asked a lady in a very shiny dress.

"What's going on?" the lady repeated, flapping a fan in front of her face. "What's going on is that that farmer lady gave me an appointment at noon and then let that woman there ahead of me."

"I had an appointment at noon, too," grumbled the bald-headed man behind her.

"And so did we" a very skinny lady said, standing with a man by their blue convertible. "And, by the way," the very skinny lady added, "you're behind us. n

"Oh, I don't have an appointment," my mother explained, as she straightened the hem of her housedress. "We're just visiting our relatives next door."

"What's everyone waiting for?" Denise asked.

"For the puppies," the lady with the fan said as if we should know. "They're Jack Russells, and they have three of them for sale right over there next to the barn."

"You better make that two" a lady with a poufed head of blond hair said as she walked past cradling a tiny brown-spotted puppy. She was making baby sounds. "I got the absolutely cutest one of all! Just look at his sweet little face!"

The people waiting in line bristled, and Mom moved us out of the way as the line squeezed closer together. "Come over here, kids," she directed, as the fan lady hurried through the gate, "and I'll tell you

what's really going on." Mom laughed to herself as she explained: "The farmer's wife was smart enough to get everyone to come at the same time because she knew it would make everyone want a puppy!"

"But why would it make everyone want a puppy. Mom?" Ellen asked.

"Because everybody wants what everybody wants. And when there are ten buyers and only three puppies, every dog becomes the pick of the litter."

I had an idea! What was good for the puppies would be good for apartments. The next day, I called Bernie back to make an appointment. Bernie liked my new idea and asked me to explain it to his partners later that week, which I did. Next, I explained it to three serious men from the underwriting banks. And later explained it to the even more serious men from the lead lender, Chase Manhattan Bank. And finally I explained it to the most serious men of all from the Equitable Life Insurance Society of the United States, the majority investor. They all seriously liked it.

By the fifteenth of January, my last-ditch plan to save my business was in full swing.

"Here's how it works," I said to Esther and to one of my best agents. Tresa Hall. Tresa had agreed to be the project's sales manager. "I've priced all the studios at $49,500. all the one-bedrooms at $99,500, and all the two-bedrooms at $165,500."

"Even the high floors?" Esther interrupted.

"Yes, high floors, low floors, front apartments and back apartments, all priced the same. Apartments with views or no views, those with new kitchens, old kitchens, or no kitchens at all, all priced the

same

"But how's that possible?" Esther asked.

C T added up all of the original asking prices, divided by the

number of units in each building, and then deducted ten percent, because that's what people would have negotiated off the price anyway."

Esther shifted slightly in her chair.

"And I've also taken away every objection that a buyer could possibly have. There's no board approval needed and one of the banks with a big stake in the buildings has agreed to provide the mortgages. Also, there'll be no monthly maintenance charges for two wholeyearsl None!"

"'None?'''' Tresa repeated. "But that's crazy! Who'll pay the maintenance each month?"

"The sellers will," I answered, "because it's included in the sale price. We're simply giving the buyers one less check to write each month and moving the high-maintenance objection out of the way." I pulled out a sample contract and continued, "We'll have the eighty-eight contracts prepared in advance by the seller's attorney, and we'll stack them high for everyone to see. The buyers will sign them right then and there the morning of the sale."

"But that isn't legal, is it?" Esther queried, as she tilted her head to the left. "Barbara, you know buyers have to show the contract to their attorney before they can sign it!"

I pulled out the big rubber stamp I had had made and with one quick motion imprinted the sample contract on my desk with bold lettering:

CONSULT YOUR ATTORNEY.

YOU HAVE TWO WEEKS FROM THIS DATE

TO CANCEL THE CONTRACT AND

RECEIVE YOUR FULL DEPOSIT BACK.

Esther and Tresa looked cautiously optimistic.

At the next Monday meeting, I announced to our salespeople thai we had eighty-eight new co-op apartments for sale, that they were located in six different buildings on the Upper East and West Sides, and that we were going to sell all of the apartments on the same day for the same price. "Pick any studio for 849,500." I said emphatically, "any one-bedroom for $99,500, or any two-bedroom for 8165,500!"

When I wouldn't disclose the apartments' addresses, everyone wanted to know where they were even more. "This is not a sale open to everyone and it will not be advertised.'' I had no money for advertising, but didn't share that fact. "We will distribute the exact addresses and unit numbers only on the morning of the sale. I ask that you please tell only. I repeat only, your very best customers. And. of course, you can also tell vour family. The sale is limited to one per customer and will take place three weeks from today, first-come, first-served. Nine a.m. sharp!

Everyone looked intrigued, and after I ended the meeting. I could still hear the-buz? from my office.

Two weeks before the dav of the sale. I added fuel to the fire by worrying aloud to a few salespeople, "Fm a little concerned that we might not have enough to go around.' My whisper campaign created a virtual frenzy.

A week before the sale, accusations began to fly that someone had gotten hold of "The List" and that she was already telling her customers which apartments were the best ones. I quelled the rumor at that Monday's meeting.

"No one has the list!'' I stated emphatically to the crowded sales floor. "I repeat. No one has the list! There's only one list, and it's safely locked in Esther Kaplan's drawer. Esther, please show them! r With that, Esther played magician's assistant and walked over to her desk, where she unlocked the drawer and pulled out the sheets of typed paper. As she held them up and turned front one side of the room to the other, fifty salespeople wiggled forward for a better view.

"Thank you, Esther." I nodded. "Now, please lock it back up!" Everyone watched as Esther put the list into an envelope, put the envelope in the drawer, locked it, and dropped the key into her purse. "Everyone will get the list next Monday morning, nine a.m. sharp!"

8:55 A.M. East Sixty-ninth Street.

"Stand back!" Tresa Hall, a former flight attendant, commanded the chaotic, shoving throng of buyers. "I repeat, stand back and clear the doors!"

I was shocked to see the crowd of buyers stretching to the end of the block. "Excuse me, excuse me, please, excuse me," I repeated as I made my way up East Sixty-ninth Street.

The line had started at 4:00 a.m., and by 8:30 had grown to include hundreds of people desperate to snag an apartment. Tresas voice cut through the crowd. "We will distribute the list of apartments momentarily," she said, demonstrating with broad flight attendant arm motions. "And we'll be handing it out starting in the front and will work our way to the back of the line as quickly as possible. Please note that a map is attached to the back of each list with all the addresses and apartment numbers clearly marked. There are salespeople stationed on every floor in each of the buildings, the apartment doors are open, so that you can go in and look at any apartment you choose. Once youVe made your decision, however, you must return to this table in this lobby to sign the contract." She directed all eyes toward the banquet table, which stood in the lobby with eighty-eight waiting contracts stacked high.

"When you are ready to sign a contract and leave us your ten percent deposit check, the apartment will be immediately taken off the market. Please have several apartments you'd like to try for, as your first choice may already be taken! You'll be given a copy of the signed contract to take with you for your attorney.

"Okay, then," Tresa finished, and with great ceremony said,

"we'll now hand out the list of apartments!" The crowd inched forward and I wondered if I should have hired a few uniformed policemen to protect her, or at least for dramatic effect.

Like a Macy's Day Sale without the clothes, people began to run the moment the list was in their hands. In the mayhem, everyone had a strategy for charting, hunting, darting, looking, rushing, signing, and buying. Some people waited on elevators, while others bolted for the stairs. Some worked alone, while others worked in pairs.

The first successful buyer had flown in from Paris and had camped in line since 4:00 in the morning. He signed a contract for a one-bedroom on the highest floor, sight unseen, six blocks away.

One savvy couple had a pair of cellular phones and were calling each other back and forth as they dashed through the buildings looking at apartments. It was the first day I saw cell phones in use. When they decided on an apartment they liked, the husband ran to the table while his wife kept looking, just in case. As he signed the contract, he called his wife on her cellular and said, "Honey, we got one, you can stop."