I Have a Sad Story to Share
When I first decided to invest in real estate, I knew I needed a realtor. I started with the realtor who had helped sell my residence. She said, "Work with my husband Art, he has been at this for many more years than me". Art and I became good friends. He knew little about real estate investing, as did I, but we learned together. He made commissions, I made money on property. He always returned my calls promptly and always gave me good advice. To this day, I am grateful that he diligently helped me to achieve my goals as an investor, and we purchased maybe 8 houses during our time together. I got to know Art's family, and even went to hear his daughter Alexa's band when they played at a local nightclub.
The 2008 downturn occurred and I lost touch with Art. By the time I was ready to buy again, I couldn't reach him on his cell phone. By then, I had another realtor and kept going. Then, in 2015, I got a call out of the blue from Alexa, who was living out of state in Texas. She asked if I remembered her and I said that of course, I did. She said, "I need to ask you a favor. But first, do you know about Dad's drinking?". I responded, "His drinking?" She said, "Yes, he has a terrible drinking problem. In fact, he is in jail near you and I am hoping that you can go visit him." I was blown away. I had never had a clue that Art even drank more than socially. I of course, said yes.
I called the jail and had to submit some info for them to check up on me. They would get back to me the next day. The day after, I got my certification, but when I called the jail, I was told he had been released and taken to a local hospital. Alexa confirmed that she had heard this as well. I called the hospital and was told he was there. When I got there, they said he had just been discharged from the ER, but might still be around. The ER confirmed that he had just been discharged and suggested I look around the waiting room for Art. I turned around and scanned the room. I finally noticed a shabby, dirty man with four days growth of beard. I took a seat opposite him and said, "Art, do you remember me?" It took him almost 30 seconds to remember who I was. His eyes welled up with tears and he could barely say the words, "I have a drinking problem." I asked him where his things were and he motioned to a duffel bag. That blew me away. When I last spoke to him, he was married an living in a pricey house. That day, he was divorced, with only one daughter willing to speak to him and carrying all of his belongings in a bag.
Working with Alexa that week, we got him into an emergency rehab and then a longer-term rehab. Still grateful for the wealth I accumulated working with Art, I offered to do anything I could to help him get back on his feet. I drove him to medical appointments, job interviews and social service appointments. I took him out to lunch. During I rides, I did what I promised I would do and told him point blank that he would die young if he kept this up. He told me he understood and was not going back to alcohol. As he progressed through rehab, the old Art emerged. After weeks, he had a professional plan to get back in the work force and vocational training to back it up. I encouraged him to be a realtor again, but he wanted to do something different. With Art on solid ground, I lost touch again, but my last words had been to call me anytime he needed a ride somewhere.
A few weeks later Alexa called. Art had left rehab. He was now being put up at a local hotel by his sister, where he was able to walk to a liquor store for his daily ration of vodka. I told Alexa, "I'm sorry, but I'm out until he gets back into rehab." She understood. I waited for weeks, months and then years for the phone to ring, but that phone call was the last I have heard about my friend Art.
The 2008 downturn occurred and I lost touch with Art. By the time I was ready to buy again, I couldn't reach him on his cell phone. By then, I had another realtor and kept going. Then, in 2015, I got a call out of the blue from Alexa, who was living out of state in Texas. She asked if I remembered her and I said that of course, I did. She said, "I need to ask you a favor. But first, do you know about Dad's drinking?". I responded, "His drinking?" She said, "Yes, he has a terrible drinking problem. In fact, he is in jail near you and I am hoping that you can go visit him." I was blown away. I had never had a clue that Art even drank more than socially. I of course, said yes.
I called the jail and had to submit some info for them to check up on me. They would get back to me the next day. The day after, I got my certification, but when I called the jail, I was told he had been released and taken to a local hospital. Alexa confirmed that she had heard this as well. I called the hospital and was told he was there. When I got there, they said he had just been discharged from the ER, but might still be around. The ER confirmed that he had just been discharged and suggested I look around the waiting room for Art. I turned around and scanned the room. I finally noticed a shabby, dirty man with four days growth of beard. I took a seat opposite him and said, "Art, do you remember me?" It took him almost 30 seconds to remember who I was. His eyes welled up with tears and he could barely say the words, "I have a drinking problem." I asked him where his things were and he motioned to a duffel bag. That blew me away. When I last spoke to him, he was married an living in a pricey house. That day, he was divorced, with only one daughter willing to speak to him and carrying all of his belongings in a bag.
Working with Alexa that week, we got him into an emergency rehab and then a longer-term rehab. Still grateful for the wealth I accumulated working with Art, I offered to do anything I could to help him get back on his feet. I drove him to medical appointments, job interviews and social service appointments. I took him out to lunch. During I rides, I did what I promised I would do and told him point blank that he would die young if he kept this up. He told me he understood and was not going back to alcohol. As he progressed through rehab, the old Art emerged. After weeks, he had a professional plan to get back in the work force and vocational training to back it up. I encouraged him to be a realtor again, but he wanted to do something different. With Art on solid ground, I lost touch again, but my last words had been to call me anytime he needed a ride somewhere.
A few weeks later Alexa called. Art had left rehab. He was now being put up at a local hotel by his sister, where he was able to walk to a liquor store for his daily ration of vodka. I told Alexa, "I'm sorry, but I'm out until he gets back into rehab." She understood. I waited for weeks, months and then years for the phone to ring, but that phone call was the last I have heard about my friend Art.
