Hey Jude...Dude.

{A few days ago}

While standing in the Starbucks line with one of my younger clients the other morning I noticed Paul McCartney's latest attempt to puncture the demograhically unforgiving shield of the twenty-something buyer we all seem to be expanding toward with near Einsteinian adequation. Word on the web and beyond is that the ex-Beatle averaged less than a million paid downloads for each of his last three singles (Dude!) and is now banking on the 'check-out line of choice' for Realtors and housewives of all ages, to boost his shrinking musical market share in the U.S. I stood silently looking at the CD display ironically titled, "Memory Almost Full," waiting for my beverage. I tried hard to remember if I even own a CD player anymore. I don't think I do. Great excuse for not forking over the other half of the twenty-spot I just handed the Barista.

To put it in persepective, Hey Jude--a record I did buy with my paper route money--sold 4 million records in as many months back in '67 when the same time adjusted dollar bought you an actual piece of circular vinyl in a mini record jacket with Peter Max artwork, liner notes, and an extra 'B-Side' for all the yet-to-be morphed Trivia Pursuiters in unknowing early gestation. Even compared to a contemporary talent as benign as... say, Hannah Montana of current Disney Channel fame, the old rocker from Liverpool is at best these days, just barely "like...so whatever." (translation: not very popular.)

And while my own twenty-something client was fairly certain she'd heard of the man, she wasn't really sure of anything he'd recorded. "Oh wait...I know. Satisfaction...right?" I should add that she also refers to me as Mr. Petro which pretty much makes me feel like the junior high school Science teacher I never wanted to be. And upon exiting the coffee shop, one last glance over at the air brushed album cover only reinforced the fact that while I'm at least a decade younger, I may actually look older than Sir Paul. Hey, at least my beautiful wife still has both of her own legs and a much sweeter disposition, from what they've been telling me on the on E! Channel.

{40 years ago}

And since I now find myself rapidly digressing down the Abbey Road of my youth I should probably take a moment to mention that the last song of every dance I recall attending during those junior high soirees of the late 1960s was in fact, Hey Jude. It was during these same awkward middle years that I, along with a few of my closest inner-sanctum buddies, would hover close to the Boys Locker Room entrance in the gym only to stand and watch as the marginally cooler upperclassmen and really pretty, older girls (tenth grade) swayed insufferably for the full 7 minute 7 second 'long version' of the ballad. And by the time my buds and I were old enough to get our own pretty girls, Hey Jude had been replaced by Miss American Pie and a dance was the last destination we had in mind as we flew through those remaining high school nights in our Fords and Chevys, with no foreseeable end in sight. And according to my client, herself a 1998 high school graduate, Smells Like Teen Spirit was the long playing finale at her spring formal...from what she understood. Apparently, her and her date never made it to their big event either.

{Back to the future}

We took our Ventis back to my car and quickly navigated through the Northside Chicago traffic before turning onto Lake Shore Drive, headed north to meet her fiance at the Uptown property. We had collectively--on our own and together, in all combinations of accompaniment--already looked at 30 similar places. There was no reason to imagine (hope) that this one would be any better or worse than the others. The light wasn't 'right' at one, 'too bright' at another, 'on the alley,' 'off the alley,' "What...no alley?" 'too close,' 'too far'....and the thing is, I totally get it. Everything is just 'so whatever' these days, from music to condos and everything in between, that I decided to quit fighting it and instead... just get it.

You see, I can't just slap my product at the end of a check out line like Paul McC and expect some unsuspecting young housewife, fiancee or whomever to impulse buy a condo too close or too far from an alley, with or without too much light., based on my past reputation and successes, no matter how much I air brush the promotional photos on my website. My typical internet clients have many, many options so the fact they are even in my car is remarkable in itself. So what, if we have to look at 30 properties together. They've no doubt looked at hundreds on line before we even made a connection. So like I already said, I get it.

I turned up the radio and we listened to NPR in silence as we drove along the lake. They were airing story about the Israeli/Palestinian conflict. Go figure.

"Have you been following that conflict over there?" she asked me, trying to make general conversation I guess, obviously sick of talking about Real Estate and all it has to offer to society. I was lost in thought about how bad Paul McCartney sucks these days.

"Yeah. My entire life." I said. "I've been hearing about it over there, in one way or another, ever since I can remember." And this is true. Be it 1967 or fast forward to 2007, that is the one situation on this Earth that has remained constant, the way I see it. The two best Beatles have already died and nothing has changed for the better in the Middle East. Not even close.

I veered onto the ramp for our exit as her cell phone rang. Her fiance was running about 20 minutes late, she announced. He's always 20 minutes late. Historically, I've never been a late person and such last minute delays used to really tick me off. But lately, I've started to become a bit tardy as well. I mean, who really cares when it's all tallied up at the end of the proverbial day? I circled the block as it started to drizzle.

"There's a Starbucks at the corner," I said. "We can wait for him there."

"Cool," she said.

We stood in the Uptown Starbucks and found ourselves in a similar line staring at the same "Memory Almost Full" display as earlier. The same CD was playing through the speakers. Not very good, I thought again. Pretty lousy, in fact. I felt a little embarrassed for my generation. At least a more youthful icon like Kurt Cobain died before he had to trap consumers at a coffee house and he was actually from Seatlle. As the Barista topped off our half-emptied beverages my client turned to me and spoke,

"I think that Prince is around 50, isn't he?"

{Just the way it is}

I think it was her way of trying to identify with me more as a person than a Realtor now that we touched on such non Real Estate issues such as the Israeli/Palestinian conflict and music from the last 40 forty years. A little of that perhaps, mixed in with trying to find a way to fill the next 15 minutes with small talk until her partner showed up to nix yet another condo. Too 'uptownish,' was my best bet on this occasion, or maybe...'too close to the lake' (I haven't heard that one yet this year) but I chose to keep it to myself. (I stop biting my tongue however, after the 4oth showing-- or the second 'back out' or 'deal kill,' whichever comes first.)

But as I paid for the second and final round of the morning and caught my own middle-aged reflection in the scone and muffin glass at the counter, I couldn't help but think that just maybe I happened upon a connection to a generation that virtually no one--with the possible exception of me and Prince-- born before 1960 might understand. Truth is, a couple hundred grand is a lot of money to those of this generation and whether they plan on spending it on a condo, graduate school, or simply walking the Earth like Cain in Kung Fu, they are going to definitely do it in their own time and in their own way. And in my opinion, at least their music doesn't suck for the sake of being commercial. It's just generally bad on it's own terms.


image by mosaiccartsource

Geno Petro

Check Out The Crib

O.M.G! Your BFFs will die when they see your supermodel Duplex in West Lincoln Park/Lakeview. Jenn-air, Bosch, and Granite Kitchen. Marble Baths with Grohe body sprays in two Baths. 20 foot Living Room atrium with curio Fireplace. Two levels of custom paint in designer colors. Deck, so many closets, and 2 secured Parking Spaces make this condo a 'Best in Show.'

Oh, and B.T.W.....it's mine. ps...for $474,900...it's yours.

2746 N. Wolcott Ave Chicago IL 60614

Call or e-mail me at 773-975-2130
GPetro@CHEmail.com

Geno Petro

The Cobbler's Shoe

My wife and I just made an offer on a house and I think I've lost all voice of reason. Of course I, in my unbiased Real Estate opinion, think the place is undervalued while she, with her eye for detail and blessed with superior negotiational instincts, considers it overpriced. I like it the way it stands now with it's odd living spaces and turn of the century quirkiness (that's two centuries ago, mind you). Nothing I can't live with, I don't think. She already has plans on turning a guest suite into a private dressing room, as lack of substantial closet space is one of the above mentioned quirks. But then again, she does have a hundred (alright, 50) pairs of shoes and again as many handbags.

She wants to knock out walls and invite Emeril and Ina Garten over to redo the kitchen (which is pretty bad, I admit--and I can't believe I actually know who those people are) while I can live with the un-chic appliances and stenciled oak cabinets for now. She reminds me though, that "for now" can mean "for-ever" in my world and also that my idea of fine dining is airline food---First Class, of course but airline food, nonetheless.

See what I'm saying? I have very little control over this situation and it's not because of this 'God thing' I've been hearing about in the media (alright, NPR) or anything like that. It has to do with that whole Tailor wears a torn suit and Cobbler has a hole in his shoe phenomenon that's been floating around since Aesop's time. I'm an expert negotiator except when it comes to something that requires my own subjectivity. And while I've been called the Real Estate go to guy in Chicago when it comes to OPP*...I can't even buy groceries at Trader Joe's without getting stabbed and robbed in the check-out line (and they're 99.9% recycled and organic tree-muggers).

I am writing this as a mental exercise I suppose, to put aside my obsessive thoughts of lounging for entire weekends in a row on a hammock while the day's catch** smokes itself to perfection on the grill in an actual yard. I should stray from the idea of simply opening the back door in January to let the hound out into the sub-zero night with no residual 'pick-up' duties of my own until the Spring thaw, messy as that might be. I should not allow myself to believe that something as mundane (although it is architectually beautiful) as buying (overpaying for?) a house that someone else no longer wants, needs, whatever...will change my remaining time on this Earth in any significant way.

No, this purchase will not slow down the aging process I've been noticing these past several months in the mirror nor will it help me shed those 10 unwanted pounds (alright, 20) from my middle-aged girth or even make my lovely wife love me anymore than she already does-- or my pets any more loyal than they are, in their own simple ways. Hell, it won't even do anything to help me sell my own listings I have lingering on the Market including the Condo I live in now. Buying this house will simply make me feel good for a few months until I am forced off the hammock and into the garage to try and uncover the lawn care WMPs*. Come to think of it, all these reasons are why I bought a Condo instead of a House in the first place.



(* Other People's Property)
(** Nick's Fish House)
(*** Weapon's of Mass Procrastination)

Geno Petro

Issues, Smissues...(bring out the tissues)

Real Estate negotiations have been relentless, if not downright brutal these past several months in my fair city of Chicago. Grown men have been spotted sobbing at Title Company closing tables and the legal mouthpieces are certainly earning their shekels as the bartering continues deep into the final hour, often times culminating just seconds before the final T is crossed and the keys to Heaven are exchanged for the balance of Escrow. Lately, everyone seems to be grabbing with both hands from the metaphoric candy aisle conveniently located at the check-out counter of the Buyer's Market.

As a Realtor, I too have found myself at the foreront of this high seas Trick or Treat line with open briefcase, taking as much as I can for my own Buyers while, likewise on the List side, slamming the door as quickly as possible on the masked marauders trying to steal a deal from my Sellers. They hover around our properties like pirates in business suits and BMWs--sword and pen in one hand, low-ball Offer in the other, ready to pounce on the residential booty with the longest Market Time. Arrghh.

And once a deal is finally agreed upon, it doesn't end peacefully with simple Mutual Agreement and Signed Contract much less, a bloody handshake. More now than ever it appears, The Inspection is becoming the 'Deal after the Deal.' Whether it's involves New Construction, Condo Conversion or Residential Resale, the Home Inspection Report is becoming the preeminant catalyst in most Real Estate transactions I'm privy to these days. What used to be addressed exclusively in the 5 Business Day Attorney Review Period--conveniently nestled between Signed Agreement and Mortgage Contingency Period--the Inspection Period as of late, has been running right up to and beyond the Final Walk-Through with dollars and Seller Credits being re-negotiated even as the last RESPA is being printed out at the Title Company.

Note From Above: All subsequent Real Estate-centric prayers should be immediately redirected from the Appraisal Department to the Inspection Issue Department. Amen.

I was at a Closing last week and got up twice and headed for the elevators with my Buyers. Twice, we were called back to the table to find a remedy for overlooked Inspection Issues that arose during our Final Walk-Through of the property. Finally, a number was agreed upon and the deal Closed. It was nothing that simple Disclaimer and Disclosure (The Double D's of Real Estate) couldn't have addressed months earlier, had the Seller's side of the deal been more forthcoming. In the third hour at the table, someone went into their pockets for $5,000 (and a few tissues, I believe) more to make the deal happen---and it wasn't me. Sad thing was, we all left the building in silence feeling that no one really won. Even the Attorney attempted to tack on an extra $250 at the end. Maybe brutal is the wrong word, but relentless...for sure.

Geno Petro

I Ain't Cause I'm Not...

I was recently referred to as an 'anecdotal' writer by a Commentor on another blog I contribute to on occasion. Actually, she didn't even refer to me as a 'writer,' (which is okay with me as I didn't make a nickle last year from that craft)...just 'anecdotal.' And she didn't mean it in a nice way either, I don't think.

I was informed that 'bloggers' in general are not 'journalists' at all but rather, individuals who base their subjective 'spewings and conjecture' on, are you ready?... "personal observation or random investigations rather than systematic scientific evaluation...of the treatment of subject matter in representational art..." (I'll spare you the rest of the diatribe). "Especially real estate bloggers," she added. In closing she mentioned, in kind of a snooty tone to boot, something about, "Man On The Street Reporting" and that it was among the lowliest of literary genres...if even that. "Just look what it has done to local television news." Sounded to me like she got dumped by a real estate blogger sometime in her past, but that would be subjective conjecture on my part. And as she was quick to (or not to) point out, what do I know? I stepped back, put on my Chicago Realtor hat and thought for a few moments as I re-read her Comment.

"Huh?" was my best retort, I concluded. The response seemed appropriate on so many levels--the old implied "I know, I know...I'm dumb, you're smart/you're right and I'm wrong" reverse-psycho, half-hearted sarcastic, ying/ yang 'come back' I learned in the 8th grade (when I also first learned what an anecdote actually was). After a minute or so of further mental debate I went ahead and pushed the Send button--admittedly a weak 'fire back' across the bow--adding my own monosyllabic Response to the modestly accumulating Comment Section below my piece. Let it be known from here 'til Deletion...The author's ('blogger's')reponse was "Huh?"...

I had most certainly happened across the dictionary definition of 'anecdote' in a past life but never thought it was a bad thing, necessarily. I've just always preferred to write in this manner (if I even felt like writing at all, to be honest). It's not like I'm applying for a Pulitzer or even a copy desk job at the Daily Herald, Bugle or wherever. I am purposely not a journalist because I purposely need to make about what a good attorney makes a year. I'm just a middle-aged fellow who sells Real Estate for a living in Chicago and spins the occasional yarn to keep things light--anecdotal, I am told...

I mean come on, do you really care about "Ten Things To Do Before Listing Your Home," "Spring Cleaning Tips," "Market Trends In Hot Neighborhoods?" or other such sophomoric (if even) real estate 101 crapola every other blogger in this field writes about 24/7/30/52/365/infinity...? Don't you already know these things anyway or at the very least, are you not able to figure them out on your own? I pay a monthly fee to have such items addressed in my sidebar or linked to my Home Page so I can write about...well...anecdotal stuff. You know, funny stuff.

So to my beloved Commentor, allow me to add to my three lettered, time stamped "Huh?" the following: The way I see it, I get to be funnier than most attorneys, live in the same neighborhood (two in my condo association alone although at last count, no 'newsmen' that I know of) without ever having had to attend law school or ever pass a bar--of any kind. And as far as whether I do or do not fancy myself a journalist, all I can add is I do have some experience in the field--I was a paperboy once. Oh yeah...... and I sold a house today. So there. That's about 10 grand after taxes, if you're counting.

Sincerely yours,

Man On The Street

photo by answers

Geno Petro

1421 N Halsted --- $284,500 in Old Town!

ps...Check out the Virtual Tour

Geno Petro

Marvin Gardens, The Shotglass and Me

For the first seven years of my life I was an only child. Both parents had careers and my mom continued working (as she had for the 10 years of marriage before I was born) until then. When my first sister popped onto the scene in 1963 the Petro family dynamic would change forever in our new, single income home. And while on one hand I had newly found seniority over another living creature other than the dog, Shatzie, I likewise learned to accept my reduced share of cherished parental attention (yeah, right...it was the 1960's. Let's be real) with dignity. A few years later, 'sis' number two came along and instantly, it was an oligopoly--which, if Econ 101 serves me correctly, is at least one more than a duopoly and two or more than a monopoly. In other words, I no longer ran the entire show in the 'age 7 and under' category in our house and soon came to understand that any and all future familial credits and debits, material or emotional, would forever be split at least three ways, ad infinitum. Throw all that 'Only Child' psychological junk right out the window. Enter... 'Oldest Son.' It was my first promotion.

Two sets of Aunts and Uncles, a few blocks away, watched me on an alternating basis almost daily up until this point in time. So to my many cousins, I was the 'orphaned cousin Genie,' the skinniest child ever to walk the already crumbling sidewalks of Levittown, Pennsylvania. And to top it off, because one Aunt saw me "rolling my eyes a lot" she suggested to my parents I wear glasses--as it turned out...big, black ugly ones like Elvis Costello wore in the 80's and high school Science teachers wear to this day, I suppose. I had already narrowly escaped the big, black orthopedic shoe scenario with some quick think 'mimic walking' of my non pigeon-toed peers but my early onset sarcasm (the eye rolling, apparently) put me in thick black frames until I stopped cutting my hair in the 70's when all childhood bets were finally and ultimately, off for good.

So....until that second grade Catholic school year I spent most of my unquality time at my cousins' respective households where I was among the youngest and smallest of the Petro males. There were a lot of Petro kids of all grades and sizes in that particular era, 15 besides me--at least 15 if I recall correctly, so we played a lot of games to pass the time--the kind of games made out of cardboard and toxic lead pieces in taped up boxes--not silicone chips, LCD screens and joysticks, if you know what I'm saying. And being an hour or so west of Atlantic City, we always played Monopoly. It was the best game ever invented, we were sure.

Now, hovering around the bottom of the family foodchain meant my game face persona was, as you might guess... The Thimble. Not The Dog, nor The Racecar.. not even The @#&%ing Iron.

No, GenieWeenieJellyBeanie (that nickname hung in the air until I got bald and heavy and everyone became convinced I was either in The Mob or auditioning for The Sopranos) almost always got stuck with The Thimble. And with such a status symbol handicap (even The Shoe could at least be mistaken for a boot, which is pretty cool) and little, if no knowledge at all of how to best allocate the multicolored $1500 stake, the most I could mentally muster back in those wonder years was to aspire for the yellow corner of the Monopoly Board--Atlantic, Ventnor, and my all time favorite--Marvin Gardens. Maybe even someday hope to own a few little green houses here and there before inevitably--parking illegally in some Park Place tow zone, blowing my Boardwalk rent money at the Casino or searching frantically for my last Get Out Of Jail Free favor from an ex-inlaw--and going belly up for good. I strived to obtain the little green houses. We all lived in Levittown which was nothing but little green houses in the 1960's, if you think about it.

I learned to become risk aversive before the 3rd Grade. I knew to always keep a hidden orange $500 bill in my wallet in case of emergency. My cousin Eddie taught me how to play the game 'on credit', how to collect from a deadbeat sibling, and as I got older...the beauty of compound weekly interest and the importance of passing GO for the 'two big ones.' The biggest, if not the oldest of my males cousins, he took me under his wing and even let me borrow his silver car on occasion, allowing me to move for him or play in his place if he got bored and left the game for greater, greener pastures--usually a girl down the block.

And when Eddie was in the game, no one much argued with the way he counted the dice when it was his turn to move even though the difference between a seven and an eight can be significant in such a game of spaces. In a few years time I began to earn some family respect of my own at gaming table (bedroom floor). I purposely cracked a lens (to look tougher) of my heavy, back-up specs, wore three and four shirts to show (imply) bulk and swore the most venial curse words whenever possible, mostly beginning with H and D, to prove my entrepreneurial points. I was learning about the Real Estate game. Later in life, more than a few of these lessons proved invaluable. Eddie thought my thimble was a shotglass, or at least called it that to make me feel bigger and stronger, I imagine.

"Snake-eyes!...Shotglass Genie passes GO and collects 'two big ones,' he'd say, grabbing half for the rent I couldn't pay a minute earlier on his Boardwalk penthouse. Eddie was always the bank, too. He'd give me a 'side job' as a Teller which meant I was in charge of all the heavy counting, passing out 1500 'big ones' to start the game, and putting everything away in order, back in the taped up box, when all the fun was over.

If you play Monopoly your whole life you eventually learn how to sniff out the dirty dogs and stay away from the dirty deals that usually follow. You learn to pick your partners wisely and keep a cousin Eddie around, if needed. You learn to count in your head and dollar cost average your losses and not invest in the Railway system in lean economic times. You realize that the meat of the market may very well lie in the 'yellow properties' and the not in the heavily mortgaged and luxury taxed 'blue corner' of the city and if you indeed win 2nd Place in a Beauty Contest, just shut up and take the $15. But most of all...you learn how to have fun doing it.

house and thimble image by hasbro

Geno Petro

The $4,000 House

I once had a chance to buy a house for $4,000. That's right, one four, one comma, and three zeros. Granted, it was last century (scary thought) and about 25 years ago. The town was Slippery Rock, Pennslyvania and was (is, I admit) also home to my alma mater. Yes, I somehow managed to accumulate a couple hundred hours of college credits and a degree or two from Slippery Rock State College and yes again, such a monikered place does in fact, exist. And finally, in summary of this seemingly unending paragraph down Long Term Memory Lane (or what's left of it from that era), it's probably the main reason you are reading this article here and not in The New Yorker, Atlantic Monthly or any of the assorted 'top shelf ' publications that barely allow writers like me (with degrees from such places) a subscription on credit much less a by-line in the actual magazine.

The rent was $80 a month, the landlord, Charlie--a fall down, snowstorm drunk of Bukowskian proportions, and the setting...well lest I digress too deeply, it was a rock quarry college town in the late 1970's--early 80's fog of my graduate school years. Three miles or so outside of this Western Pennslyvania burgh of mid-to-higher education rested a two-lane stone and concrete bridge and a hundred yards or so below that was nestled, along a rocky and muddy winding descent of rutted roadway, a delapidating park-like community of 1930's circa resort cottages and rusting trailer homes on the banks of the Slippery Rock Creek. Once home to a grand summer pavilion with a painted pony carousel (on display at the Smithsonian for many years in its later life), roller rink, and Olympic sized pool with exhibition style diving platforms, Rock Falls, as it was aptly named, had long since lost its appeal for summer resorters and was all but left for the squatters.

Twenty years past it's heyday, The Falls was now 'home' to a year-round but transient collection of 1960's leftovers; Liberal Arts graduate students, admonished or expelled college professors, twenty or so wandering black dogs from the same lineal extraction, and a bearded and ponytailed platoon of Vietnam Veterans grazing on the GI Bill. Throw a handful of tattoo-branded 'Old Ladies' (biker chicks whose 'Old Men' were either on the lam or in the 'joint' with no actual motorcycles anywhere to be found), the occasional even smaller town runaway, and garden variety of trailer park drunks-- throw them all into the mix and you have before you, the afore mentioned neighborhood of the $4,000 house I once had the chance to buy.




My National Direct Student Loan for $4,500 had just arrived in the Financial Aid Office when the idea was first proposed to me by Charlie B. (He kept his AA designation although he had long since drifted from the pack, as it were). I was the only person with 'real money' in a two mile radius. The check, intended for living expenses, was earmarked to get me through my last semester of graduate school. Charlie B. had a better plan in mind.

He owned two cottages outright and grossed $240 a month in rents from his waterlogged purple corner of the Butler County Monopoly Board. I paid $80, my housemate paid $80, Charlie's housemate paid $80 and Charlie himself, lived for free. We as tenants, were permitted to keep any 'sublet rents' i.e. sofa sleepers ($40 a month), sleeping bags on the living room floor ($30 a month), and outside hammock sleepers ($15 a month in fair climate months). We were also to supply all alcoholic beverages for both houses and Heaven forbid, we ever ran low or actual God forbid, out. And thinking back, the houses themselves were barely habitable with no perc, dried-up water wells and overflowing septic tanks. We showered (most of us anyway) on campus in the Field House. Still, the rent was cheap and the property 'cash flowed' if paid off in full. My first student loan re-payment wouldn't be due for at least 18 months, he reminded me. My landlord might have been a lush but he could count other people's money with the best of them.


Charlie had been on 30 day roar when he came busting into my bedroom with his property deed in one hand and a bottle of Yukon Jack in the other. Again...Bukowskian proportions, I kid you not. He had done the math. With future rents and 'sublets,' I'd recoup my investment in less than three years while living free and clear myself. When I asked about fire insurance he thought for a second then replied, "You don't pay anything for that. No one will insure down here anyway so you make money there, too. You see...maintenance free..."

Maintenance free. $4,000. Renters. Sublettors. Oh, and $500 left over..."for liquor," he suggested. "We'll throw a shindig." He did a little jig jabbing the folded document about my head and thin air like a drunken shadow boxer. I felt like I was being pressured into signing over my last educational stipend. We drank from the bottle. And the pressure was soon on an equal plane with any time share pitch I've experienced since. Even the Mexican cab driver who shanghaied my wife and me to the Mayan Palace in Cabo had nothing on Charlie B. with a snortful of Yukon. I finally agreed, in principle, to think about it while he slept off his bender. Three days later he was back.

"I bought a car instead," I told him. "A 1972 Buick Riviera." This was 1981 so needless to say, it was a junker and perfect for the daily trip up and down the rutted road out of The Falls to get to town and back. I later figured each trip took $10 of value off my vehicle and in a matter of months I would have probably done better with the house deal but such is life and its lessons learned.

I gave him a case of Guiness Stout to make peace and an envelope with $200--two months rent plus my end of the 'sublet' for the current month. He looked like he was going to cry, then hit me, then hug me, then he left and never brought it up again. Honestly, I think he forgot the whole conversation and was just pleased with the booze and by the end of the semester I was gone forever anyway, never to return...

Except twice. Once, fifteen years later I decided to drop by The Falls to see who might still be around. Charlie was long gone, too and my BMW, up to its wheelwells in mud and rocks, had to be towed out of the park. Great, great, great grand descendants of black dogs circled me like a trapped animal, almost sensing I was out of place there with my Fortune 100 job and failed German technology. The house was still standing. A squatter from the next door cottage told me he heard that 'Charlie B.', a rural legend by now, lost both places in a poker game when he was drunk. Not sure how much faith I put in squatters but it made sense to me. Bukowski himself hadn't done much better if you think about it. And if you don't know who he is then you've read and drank way too little in your lifetime. Think Mickey Rourke in Barfly.

Five years later, passing through that part of the state on a business trip, I took the exit ramp off I-79 north on a whim, and returned once more--this time in an SUV. Dogs were there. House was gone. Burnt to the ground (not for the insurance, to be sure). I did the math. Even without the 'sublet' dough, over the years it would have probably been an okay 'buy and hold' seeing that soon after, I abandoned the Riviera on a Pittsburgh bridge when the front left wheel fell off. The $10 depreciation schedule had finally taken its final toll and expired in the middle of rush hour traffic. And while Charlie B. may not have been much of a landlord or an actuary, or even a poker player, he was a pretty damn hard closer and if nothing else, had found a way to collect rent and drink for free.

Geno Petro

The 'Hybrid Realtor'...(revisited)

I wrote this in a snowstorm late last December and posted it just before my wife and I vacationed in Cabo so to be honest, I'm not sure it got read by anybody. My statcounter only showed a dozen or so viewers for that entire week so now that readership has soared, I'm re-posting the piece. Four months later and deep into the heart of the Spring Real Estate market in Chicago, it's as pertinent and timely as ever.

There has been a lot of discussion lately in our Brokerage about the evolution of the Real Estate Agent in Chicago (or across the nation for that matter)..ie...The Hybrid Realtor. Eric Rojas alluded to this in a previous post and I'm pretty sure our Broker/Owner Joe Pinto came up with the monicker during one of his many sleepless nights planning the future. Our agency is as much 'think tank' as it is Real Estate sales I believe, and this is one of the great freedoms associated with working in a boutique environment

My first experience with the traditional Real Estate process was on an out-of-state 'house hunting trip' in 1984 when I submitted an offer on a Baltimore rowhome for $84,000. I called the listing agent out of the Sunday paper and she agreed to meet me that afternoon at the property. She was a 'veteran' Realtor to be sure, and as she pulled up in her big fat Cadillac, dressed for church, fifteen minutes late and talking a mile a minute, I knew at once that I had already lost any little control I might ever have over the entire situation.

An hour later, trapped in her office (she insisted we take her car) I signed a full price contract. Less than 24 hours later I participated in my second and third Real Estate experiences--killing a deal (I'm certain the Realtor had a mini-stroke before my eyes) and then promptly submitting an offer on a similar rowhome in the same neighborhood for $10,000 less from a F.S.B.O. down the street. I ultimately backed out of that deal, as well---and it really goes without saying but I'll say it anyway; there were more than a handful of people that were hating me pretty badly by the end of that weekend, including my wife at the time and even myself on several different levels.

The thing is, the Realtor wouldn't let me look through her MLS book. I "wasn't allowed to," she scolded, clutching it tightly to her chest as if it were a purse and we were walking through an unlit alley. It's very funny now as I think back on the whole scenario. I was attempting to make the biggest purchase of my life from someone I hated, who apparently thought little of me as well and didn't even represent me. And then I took my newly found negotiating knowledge immediately into another deal where no one was represented and it ended just as poorly, if not worse because the second guy didn't want to give me my earnest money check back.

I subconsiously blocked out the next seven years of my life I believe, so I'm not really sure how it all even ended except to say I did wind up buying and selling from an array of Realtors over the next 15 years until 'Corporate America' quit transferring me around the country and abandoned me in Chicago where I'm presently enjoying the best years of my life.

My point being, I learned exactly how I didn't want to be perceived as a Realtor. I've met a lot of them. Almost all of them are what my Broker would refer to as traditional agents. Traditional agents are fine...I just don't want to be one. They tend to approach the business the way it was shown to them and it's...well, traditional--mailers, reliance on print advertising and assistants, an unhealthy dependance on referrals, magnets at Christmas, a lot of 'in the box' sales talk, etc. I am fortunate to have entered the business at the same time Technology entered the business. So let me make a short list about how I view myself and aspire to be, a Hybrid Realtor. And again, this is just my take on the subject.

*I traded my big fat S500 Benz for a Mini-Cooper after it literally cost me $100 to fill the tank with fuel. (I't's the coolest car {the Mini} I've ever owned and I've pretty much owned them all). My wife, being the great supporter that she is, promptly traded her Jag convertible for an X3 BMW SAV a week later. The Jag was a hog as well.

*I cancelled my Brooks Brothers credit card as there is nothing in the store that suits my fancy these days and while I still dress daily for work. think Italian--sans neckwear.

*If I were informed tomorrow that I could never spend another cent on print advertising or 'mailers' I'd probably just smile.

*If my connection to the internet gets interrupted, my PDA crashes, or my GPS navigation goes screwy in the suburbs, I immediately lose my mind---just kidding about the suburbs because I never go there although I hear it's quite nice.

*I strive to have 80% of my business come from people I do not know and have never met because everyone I do know is either a Realtor, or becoming a Realtor, or dating/marrying into a family where someone (other than me) is a Realtor. Several of my past clients have even become Realtors. In other words, the future for me does not lie solely in referral business even though I still receive them on a monthly basis.

*I do not need a personal assistant because the 'back-end' of our website is so powerful and advanced (in conjunction with my handheld devices and real time virtual access), it serves as my assistant.

*No more clunky 'sales talk' or catch phrases will pass through these lips (not that they ever much did): "I want to earn your business," "Unbe-liev-able" and all those other Real Estate 101 sayings that went out with the 'double windsor.' The consumer is over all that gab. (besides, its so un-hybrid!)

Because of my Blog and Web Page I'm open 24 hours a day, every day of the year, every remaining year of my life.

And finally, I realize that the general public has as much access to the Real Estate world as they care to have. I do not need to 'clutch' my knowledge like a purse in a dark alley. (And yes, my sister bought me a 'man purse' and what of it? Anyway, it's not the purse but what's on the inside that counts!) 'Transparency' is the way of the future. It's a wave I choose to embrace. It's a wave only The Hybrid Realtor will be able to ride, the way I see it.


image by science.uwaterloo

Geno Petro

Needs and Wants, My Love...

Okay. This is a mouthful but I'm going to try and spit it out. It's a concept my Managing Broker Joe Pinto, refers to on occasion and in recent weeks, has played out more and more in my own daily routine of showing property in Chicago. The crux of the idea has to do with 'needs' vs. 'wants' in the present Real Estate market. The 'My Love' part, while fairly irrelevant from a Brokerage perspective, is the rational 'icing on the cupcake' from the Buyer's point of view. It's not all spreadsheets and basis points, you know. It's about balance in the marketplace.

Eventually, an overwhelming need to purchase a home just takes over, regardless of the market climate. Example: If I come home tonight and my wife informs me we are having triplets then guess what---I'm going to kick the bejezus out of the father. Ha ha. But really....we'd seriously be looking for a bigger place. Regardless of interest rates, regardless of 'bubbles,' irrespective of whether it's a Buyer's market, Seller's market, rain, sleet, snow, yadda-yadda, onomatopoeia...or whatever...we are sooo moving. And when we find the perfect place, even if I'm not being stabbed to death in a brutal negotiation by the Seller and the Listing Agent, we're paying the price. It's a need thing. Oh yeah, we're going to love it too. All five of us-- Then on holidays there are her parents and my parents; plus her son and his girlfriend; and my daughter and ...Wait!... I think I may have to move anyway.

By the same token, if the Witness Protection Program sends a Western Union saying I have to move to Fargo, North Dakota (also a Ha ha) by Tuesday then guess what again? When the Government calls...we run. Condo For Sale On Wolcott. Priced For Quick Sale. Dog and Cat Included. Best Offer Over Maximum Pain Level Accepted. Jimmy H is buried at...("I'm spilling my guts here to make this deal work....Would you care for a cool beverage? May I take back a second mortgage for you? ...There's a trap door in the basement and plenty of cash in the freezer...")

And again, again. It's a need thing. Want isn't part of this particular picture either. Want is a lesser force of Nature in Real Estate. It's an after dinner drink, that unnecessary 'must have' handbag in the Prada window. It's the Harley I never get. Need is the triplets I don't want but have to deal with.

Where I have seen a lot of want in the past year or so has been with Sellers with no sense of urgency or need to move in the first place. A lot of overpriced Listings on the market. A lot of 'testing' the price points to "see what happens." A lot of inventory. A lot of want. Not a lot of Buyers. But as my Broker is quick to add, "The demand for housing doesn't go away. It just gets pent up." And of course, I concur.

The way I see it, one may be able to squeeze an extra year out of a beat up Bimmer or 'pass' on a new pair of Ferragamos for one more season but eventually 'need,' ('want's' bigger brother and a greater force of Nature), is going to step in and take over the situation. Then, in due time, a funny turn of events begins to occur.

Some of the inventory, the best of the best, gets scooped up quickly. Another portion falls off the market permanently as people stay put. ('Test' results are in. No 'social promotion' this year for the house with the bad kitchen and beat to hell bathrooms.) Buyers jockey for the next 'best in show' Condo, and Multiple Offers become more commonplace. Property starts selling with quicker Market Time and people start surfing the Real Estate websites at work and attending Open Houses on Sundays and Saturdays. The inventory 'back-up' calves like a glacier so life can move forward as the housing cycle regains its momentum until the next global housing cooling scare. The circle will not be unbroken and when it does, there's an Inspection credit at Closing for the Buyer.

Need and Want I submit to you dear readers, form this elliptical cycle of Housing. It will most always be this way in a free enterprise system, I believe. Need is the dinner, the meat and 'taters. Want is the dessert, the creme de la creme brulee. And Love....love is never having to say "I lost you... in a multiple offer."

Geno Petro

We Don't Need More Dots...

"We don't need more dots..." I hear the red-faced, stock picking pundit scream into the CNBC camera as I glance up from my laptop. Late afternoon cable TV is how I home school myself on these occasional slow days in the Chicago Real Estate bubble, correction, vacuum, surge or whatever they're calling it this week in the media.

"Booyah!" counters the caller from Delaware.

"And a great big 'Booyah' to you, my friend."

Booyah. What a stupid word. Wikipedia defines it as a catch phrase of 'accomplishment' coined by ESPN personality Stuart Scott, but the only person I've ever heard say it is the vein popping bald guy in rolled up shirt sleeves I'm watching now, pacing around a studio sound stage of cow-bells, flat screen monitors, and bull horns. Him and of course, all his booyahnic buds.

Today, 'BooYah' is dressed like a Scotsman--tam, kilt, et al. Someone blows a bagpipe off-camera as the next caller inquires about a small cap 'Dog' (bad stock, apparently) with fleas (too many troubles to mention). BooYah starts pounding his desk with a rubber golf club..."Bad dog, bad dog..." More bagpipe then a commercial break for Cialis--the one with the 4 hour warning. Double...no, quadruple booyah.

I glance back down at my own monitor and peck a few more keys before hitting Save and starting a new Word Doc.... "Things I say. "

I make a quick list of my own favorite sayings--phrases I'd like to think I'm known for, whether self-composed or simple perpetrations of things I've heard in passing and improved upon--sayings I've lent my own voice to or, twisted around to make my own. And since I'm big on analogies, metaphors and such (requires less communication skills than making the actual point), I often weave these verbal delectations into my Real Estate conversation when discussing a property. So in no particular order, with appropriate annotations and due credit following, I submit to you:

"Start with supermodel, and work backwards." (On showing the best property first but can really apply to anything if you think about it.)
CREDIT: Half mine, half someone elses.

"No matter how beautiful she is, there's somebody somewhere... who's sick of her." (On questioning why such a lovely home is up for sale, among other more trivial observations I've noticed on the E! Channel.)
CREDIT: Someone else.

"A third are coming, a third are going, a third are making up their minds." (On why there is such a lack of Agent/Broker loyalty in the Real Estate business i.e....Agency 'ship jumping,' so to speak.)
CREDIT: Some Recruiter I used to know.

"You can recruit yourself out of any situation." (On re-building a floundering Real Estate Brokerage i.e.... Sending higher commission split 'life rafts' for those who already jumped or are considering treason.)
CREDIT: The Recruiter who took the other Recruiter's place.

"Everyone thinks their baby is the most beautiful child on Earth...and their house is worth more than it is." (Speaks for itself, really.)
CREDIT: Me. I said it first.

"Life is short. You're dead for a long time." (On just 'going for it.')
CREDIT: An annonymous Madison Avenue copywriter and I think perhaps, God originally.

"Don't push the Publish button after midnight." (On Blogging and trying to be funny at the end of a long day in the Chicago Real Estate business.)
CREDIT: My wife.

And finally...the newest addition to my lexicon of Genoisms....

"We don't need more dots...we need to connect the ones we already have!" (On most anything, anywhere, anytime these days...in my opinion.)
CREDIT: BooYah... and the boys.


Geno Petro

2323 W Montrose...SOLD IN 21 DAYS

It lives like a Single Family House. This Fitsgerald designed Duplex sits directly across from Welles Park in Chicago's Lincoln Square neighborhood. Original blueprints allowed for a 4 bedroom layout but the current owners opted instead, for a massive family room on the lower level. Beautifully appointed, this 2600 square foot Condo shows like a model---no...a supermodel!
Notice the all brick exterior accented with limestone and the west facing wall of windows that flood the unit with afternoon light. Chef's stainless steel kitchen appliances, maple cabinets and thick granite make entertaining a joy and preperation convenient. Look out the glass sliders to Welles Park or step out onto the balcony for a nightcap.
Offered at $574,900 this three bedroom, three full bath luxury Condo gives you space to live and room to grow. Of course, garage parking is included. Just steps to the restaurants and shops of Lincoln Square, the Chicago River, the Brown Line and Welles Park, 2323 W. Montrose is one to place atop your list on Open House Day---which, by the way, is this coming Sunday, April 15th from 1-4PM.... Or call Geno anytime for a private showing: 773-975-2130



*Click here for the Virtual Tour *


Geno Petro

Things You Don't Forget

The other morning during my daily walking (dragging) of the hound we noticed a new development on our block. It first caught the eye of my pooch as he put on the air brakes nearly yanking my arm from its socket. It wasn't so much a development really, but more of a twist--an evolutional 'baby step' for the neighborhood; a precursor of events to follow as residential life in the city plays out its hand--foreshadowing, at the very least.

While we technically live on the geograhic cusp of Lincoln Park and West Lakeview on Chicago's North Side, a new multicolored banner hanging from the lamp post (as they typically do) at the corner of Wolcott and Diversey has now declared our tiny annex of the city, Hamlin Park Neighbors. Some rogue neighborhood committee must have assembled its own group of condo-owning infidels while my wife and I were vacationing and captured the four block area through some back street ad hoc maneuvering our great city is so famous for. Last I looked, the Hamlin Park contingent had set up camp just south of Wellington but lacked the residential manpower to forge across Diversey. But this is just background music with perhaps, a few Aldermanic overtones.

The real story here is what first caught the eye of my dog on that brisk morning. It wasn't the hanging banner at all but rather, what we both witnessed coming toward us down the sidewalk. The banner itself was merely symbolism.

A young boy, maybe four or five years old, clad in helmet, elbow pads, knee pads, safety gloves, goggles and protective mouthpiece---patient 30-something father to his side with hand on shoulder--came weaving toward us on his virgin bicycle flight-- sans training wheels. Again, last time I looked, his mother was pregnant--with him. We both watched on.

I thought back 45 years to my own inaugural two wheeled mission, my own father's hand on my shoulder, with Salem in mouth and hint of Mennens aftershave lingering in the August air, guiding me with patience (yeah right) along. I think I was barefoot with no shirt in swimming trunks. It was my fifth birthday. Thinking back as I looked down at my attentive companion, that was many dogs ago.

What hasn't changed and what my point here really is---is...its 'five years and you're out' when you live in the city. The next steps for this young family down the block (mom is pregnant again) and I'm sure they already know some of this, is the For Sale By Owner sign on the black iron fence, followed in short order by the sign of my Brokerage most likely, then off to Lake Forest or Wilmette or some other bucolic Northern Chicago suburb for the next 15 or 20 years in a series of Center-Entry Colonials, before venturing back for the final city swing until finally, permanent retirement in a deep Southern state.

When one first witnesses the heavily armored five year old, father to the side, attempting to navigate the narrow sidewalks of Chicago on a mini mountain bike, one just knows a North Shore cul-de-sac with a more equitable (school district) tax basis is the next destination. Even my dog Elvis, with his two or three track mind, has an inkling that change is near for these young Hamlin Park Neighbors. Thinking back, I too lived in a fresh new house and attended a different, better school district by the time second grade rolled around. The main difference is my parents didn't vote to change the name of the neighborhood before they left.

image by all poster

Geno Petro

Allow Me To Retort...

1. This is really not a 'retort' per se but rather, my personal response to some provocative questions posed by a young couple who frequent this Blog from time to time. (And the above title sounded a little more intriguing to me than simply, Answers To Real Estate Questions blah, blah, blah. ) It is worth mentioning too, that these readers also have a Blog chronicling their own attempt to sell a property that you can find by clicking on the Haloscan section in my sidebar. Their following questions address my two most recent 'Multiple Offer' postings--in short, the Buy Side and Sell Side of the 'Big M.O.'
   
   Q. From a buyer's standpoint, how do you "really" know that another offer is on the table? I mean, do agents sometimes use this (whether legal or illegal) to get the buyer closer to the seller's asking price (or over)?
   
   A. This is where your Buyers Agent needs to have a well trained snout. I can usually smell a fake M.O. a Chicago city block away but yes, Agents sometimes do fake an M.O. I just believe that the skill set is so advanced to pull this off successfully that one might just as well use these talents to do the deal correctly. And this includes a 'Correct Pricing' discussiion with the Seller at the initial Listing appointment.
   
   Q. How does a buyer make sure that there is really another offer or if it is simply a tactic to drive up the price?
   
   A. I'm not sure how a Buyer can make sure but as a Buyers Agent, I have a small aresenal of multi-tiered questions I ask the Listing Agent in rather rapid fire fashion. (For me to proceed and reveal my 'weapons' an Exclusive Buyers Rep Agreement needs to be signed now!) One good way though, is not to change your offer at all during the second 'go round' of the M.O. If you don't get the property then you'll definitely know.
   
   Q. From a seller's perspective, I've heard agents say, "Sometimes the first offer is the best offer.."
   
   A. A Real Estate cliche, to be sure. But if a house is on the market 247 days before the first offer comes then guess what...? It is the best offer, end of story. Any offer under 30 days should be considered a gift and handled with care. I believe that "for every offer there is an equal and opposite re-offer" so the 'Counter-Offer,' a subject for a future post, is almost always in order in cases other than the M.O. Coming back with your Highest and Best in an M.O. is not a counter offer but rather, a repsonse to a 'No Counter' as the Sellers's position hasn't changed at all.
   
   Q. What should a seller encompass during a M.O. to determine the right decision? Is it price, earnest money, etc? I've heard stories about sellers choosing an offer based on price and then the buyer pulls out within the five day period and thus the seller's start from square one. What are your thoughts on this?
   
   A. Who's the Boss?....The Situation. The Situation is always the Boss. Having said that, Price, Earnest Money and Close Date rule in a Multiple Offer. Make sure your offer Price is right and the terms are tight. Keep Contingencies to a bare minimum without seriously jeopordizing your Earnest Money. Know your financial limits but just as importantly, know what you're prepared to live with if you lose out on the deal. Multiple Offers often times go 2-3% above List Price. This answer is obviously intended for the Buyer but I think you can gain some insight as well from a Sellers vantage point. As far as the second part of this question; when a deal starts to go sideways during the Attorney Review Period make sure your legal representation has a few teeth in their mouth. The sharper the better.
   
   polygraph photo by police-test
   
   Geno Petro

In The Catbird's Seat (...on the Sell Side)

I look at the Multiple Offer as being a home team advantage for the Seller in any Real Estate transaction. And it's because of this 'advantage' that the Listing Agent is not only obligated to lend expert advice to his client but obliged to set forth some negotiation ground rules to the other parties involved--i.e. the multiple Buyers making the offers. It's tricky enough when one or more of the parties do not have Buy Side representation but what happens when one of the offers is from the Listing Agent himself--placing him in a Dual Agency situation and a Multiple Offer? (ironically, most of my 'M.O's' have involved female Agents but allow me to use the masculine he/him/his throughout the rest of this post. I'm having a difficult enough time keeping each paragraph in the correct tense!)

Read on as I lay out for you some basic (written and unwritten/spoken and unspoken) 'rules' of the game. If there is ever a time for a Realtor to stay 'on the beam' and 'inside the box' it is when the 'Big M.O.' comes into play. (see my previous post)

Rule 1. The Listing Agent Represents The Seller and while obligated to lend advice to his client, he must ultimately conduct the negotiation as 'he is instructed to,' within the Realtor Code of Ethics and of course, the Law. (Yes, someone could end up in court if dirty doggery comes into play). And do remember, sometimes the Agent is just the 'messenger.'

Rule 2. The Listing Agent Must Let All Parties Know How He Will Be Conducting The Negotiation. Communicate the rules and most importantly, follow them. If everyone is getting a second 'go round' to re-group and re-submit a Highest and Best offer, then be true to your word as a Listing Agent. If for any reason another round is necessary then be fair and above board to all parties involved.

Rule 3. Do Not 'Counter Offer' Anyone. The advantage of being in this M.O. situation (on the List Side) in the first place is you are the only party who knows the details of all the deals. I believe it's best to keep it simple and let everyone come back with their Best. I'll usually advise everyone involved that a third and final round may be necessary and I communicate this as soon as I know for sure that more than one party is making an offer. If negotiation has already begun with one party and in the midst of counter-offering another deal comes in, and if the Seller hasn't accepted and Signed the first contract, then its back to square one. The last counter-offer is generally taken 'off the table' and the 'Highest and Best' rules come into play. If you aren't familiar with what I'm referring to, then read this paragraph again. Everybody hates it when this happens but its the Seller who's in control of the deal at this point.

Rule 4. The Listing Agent Should Be Forthcoming If He Also Represents One Of The Buyers. Dual Agency is an acceptable practice in the state of Illinois but must be followed to the letter of the law. If not, double dirty doggery is sure to follow. Just imagine if one of the deals in the paragraph above belonged to another Buyer of the Listing Agent. Let's just leave that tricky adjunct for another days writing.

Rule 5. Be Timely. None of the parties should be dragging their heels if they are truly serious about getting the deal done. Again, the List side should convey an approximate time when their final decision will be made and the accepted contract 'signed off ' on. Any offer that comes in after a signed contract must be considered a 'Back-Up Offer' only and subsequently dealt with by the Seller's attorney. Oh...and by the way; an offer is in writing. And Signed. And generally with 'Consideration' ($$$ in the form of an initial earnest money check made payable to the Listing Office)

Rule 6. No Contingencies Please. If you are unsure what this means then you definitely aren't 'as smart as a 5th Grader...' And I mean that in the nicest of ways. Pour yourself a glass of wine and go to my Archives.

Rule 7. Don't Grab With Both Hands. Think back to high school English class and the short story, In the Catbird's Seat. The Seller is always in the 'catbird's seat' when a multiple offer comes into play. Be grateful. It's your best chance of getting full price and possibly more. Just don't get greedy and blow the deal up when you are enjoying the 'home team advantage. Remember, in the catbird seat or not...the property still has to appraise.

image by vinylpulse

Geno Petro

The Big M.O. (...on the Buy Side)

No, I don't mean Modus Operandi although I do sometimes wonder what makes certain people (mostly Realtors) tick. What I am referring to is the other M.O.--the acme of all residential real estate negotiation scenarios; one of a handful of situations in the constantly fluctuating Buy/Sell world of Property where someone will definitely lose if all parties play it out to the end; the number one 'case in point' I'll always make for securing experienced Buy side representation. I'm talking about the...Multiple Offer i.e... Two Buyers + One Property= One Winner + One Loser---perhaps.

And I see this occuring just as much now in a relative Buyers market, (high inventory to Buyer ratio) as it was in a so-called Sellers market, (low inventory to Buyer ratio) a few years back. The best examples in each price point bracket will always be first in line to get Offers. And when more than one party presents an Offer at the same time, the highest level of expertise is required on the Buy side of the deal. My next post will address the List side of the M.O. which can be equally as nerve racking for the Seller.

"Two people are in love with me...what to do?" Seller.

"Marry the one with the most money," Seller's Agent.

Whenever there is a large surplus of inventory like we are experiencing presently--a Market flush with Condominiums, Single Family Houses, Multi-Units or just good old vacant Land--there are many fine Properties from which to choose. And it's always the best of the best Properties that generate the most 'buzz' and end up with more than one contract on the fax machine at the end of the day.

The following pointers are therefore in order:

First, and foremost...have Realtor representation. Even the least experienced Agent in our office negotiated more transactions so far this year than most Buyers have experienced in their lifetime. And a 'top producer' (10-20+ million dollar annual volume) has the ability and savvy to structure an initial offer in ways you might never imagine on your own. And contrary to my short romantic dialogue above, it is not always just about Price--Close dates, Contingencies (of which there are many that can kill a deal instantly), Tax Pro-ration and Stamp 'language,' Closing Cost Credits and Buy-Back Clauses (New Construction), Addendums, PITI clauses, Inclusions, Exclusions.... all come into play.

Next, have a pre-plan. I always let my Clients know about the possibility of an M.O. before we submit an Offer. I explain that the majority of the time, going to 'Full Price' might still only give us a 50/50 chance at getting the property depending on how the Sell side is handling the negotiation of the Offers.

"How much do we love this Condo?" are words I've uttered many times in my career.

Be able to work the Sell side of the Offer. I'm not going into detail about this here but trust me, the real professionals can get enough 'scoop' to obtain a 'house advantage' (pun intended) in most M.O. deals. At the very least, we know which questions to ask about the 'ground rules' set by the other side and how to keep them to their word if things start to go sideways. I always research the Closed history of the Listing Agents to check out their List Price/Closed Price ratios. Then I always ask who the other Agents are involved in the M.O. and research their Closing history as well.

Be able to advise when its time to bow out and 'get back in the car.' I don't win every Multiple Office because there are occasions when it's best to just stop and let the other party pay too much. Other times the Seller just 'likes' the other deal better, all things equal, and you lose out anyway. People are funny. 'Funny how?' Don't get me started. But as we approach the 'tipping point' of any deal in which more than two parties are involved, I'll always pose the following question to my Buyers...

"How would you feel if you left this deal then found out later that the other party got the Property at a price you would have paid?" The answer to this question has a lot to do with how we proceed in the negotiation.

There are several strategies when it comes to negotiating a Multiple Offer and your Buy side representative needs to be well versed in all of them. Quick response time and the ability to 'appraise' the value of any given Property are but two of the qualities you must require of your Realtor. And equally as vital is his (my) ability to know when its right to just 'go for it' and get the deal done or...to simply walk away and let the other guy 'win' that one. It is a Buyers arena, after all these days. So if you're going to jump into the Chicago Real Estate game, you have to be prepared for the big M.O. when it comes into play.

photo by velocitypress

Geno Petro

I'm The Guy In The Blue Shirt

There was a time in the not so distant past when almost everyone I knew on a personal level was either already a Realtor, studying to be a Realtor, or thinking of becoming a Realtor--either that or a Mortgage Broker, our Siamese twin back in those white hot Housing days of Post-Y2K. (Remember that whole angst ridden countdown of months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds...) Then poof! Either nothing happened or I'm just like that Bruce Willis character in The Sixth Sense who doesn't know he's a dead man yet.

The country was 'abuzz on both Coasts, the Midwest and most places in between, with land speculation opportunities, negative amortization mortgages, and 'buy to flip' property deals. Many of us, Realtors and MBs alike, entered the industry in droves from other diminishing career paths. And if selling real estate was hot back in the day, originating real estate 'paper' was smoking.

LIBOR, (the volatile index for much of today's rapidly deteriorating ARM paper), was actually a vanity license plate on one Mortgage Broker's Bentley. The black and platinum handmade beast seemed to be perennially parked in front of the same fashionable Chicago Gold Coast neighborhood bistro six evenings a week and twice on Sundays. The lending business was apparently so brisk and forthcoming that it required toasting and celebration every day including the Sabbath. Again, this was not too long ago. Rumor had it the MB was a dot.com guy in a former life who grabbed as many handfuls of zeros as he could before jumping the internet ship and swimming to shore where the word on the street was... landlubber Realtors were 'flipping condos like hotcakes' in Chitown. The news this week of New Century Bank's dilemma has made us all (in real estate related fields) take note and do a moral or at the very least, ethical inventory of sorts.

For half of the 1980's and the better part of the 1990's I tried to do my own thing in Corporate America but the number of zeros in the YTD box of my direct deposit statement could be counted on one hand (if you didn't count the thumb). I'll always remember my first big corporate function when a Regional Sales Vice President took me aside, tugged on the lapel of my double-breasted suit and whispered in my ear, "Nice suit...but you have 3 too many buttons." Strike One...'not conservative enough for an upper management career in financial services.'

Time would inevitably reveal the fact that, while my 'leadership' skills were commendable on a sales management level, my 'followship' skills were weak at best on any level. Case in point was the 1995 Middle Management Regional Group Photo Session where Brooks Brothers gray suits, pinpoint white buttondowns, and red/navy rep neckwear were, by orders of a 3-part memo from the RSVP, the suggested (required) uniforms for the shoot. I wore a periwinkle blue two-tone shirt with a Jerry Garcia Collection tie and had just shaved my head on a whim. Strike Two...'may have a learning disability.'

A couple of 'brush back' pitches later I was still at bat as it were, but looking for a new Region to play out my contract. Strike Three came so hard and fast that all I can say about it is... it sounded low and away. And come to find out, arguing called strikes can only get you ejected. At age 40 my career options were quickly reduced to mortgage banking, real estate sales or a lateral move in the financial services industry. I think I went with real estate for two reasons---first, I had already bought and sold property myself (and always knew I could succeed in this profession) and secondly, the other two fields from what I could tell, generally required some sort of mandated neckwear enhanced dress code with a big fat RSVP hiding somewhere in the corporate bushes.

Truth be known, my non-written mental math skill comfort level falls somewhere between multiplying by tens and simple division so I've always been careful to surround myself with very good counters...i.e. money people. I can't really explain what a LIBOR is but I know one when I see one. And even when it was the loan du jour, I don't think I ever recommended it off the menu. Same thing with property'FLIPS'--just not my area of expertise in the world of Chicago Real Estate. Besides, that would make for a really stupid license plate on my Mini-Cooper.


Geno Petro