The Plight of Mr. Jordan

I am saddened to see Mr. Jordan is loosing his homes.

A long time ago, Mr. Jordan was my client. Imagine if you will... Mr. Jordan described himself to me as an 6-foot 5, African American, former Marine, who referred to himself only in the third person and liked to rub elbows with (or at least name-drop) high-profile celebrities in Southern California, which happens to be where Mr. Jordan lives.

Mr. Jordan from my vantage is an eccentric. He makes eccentrics look pedestrian. I can only describe the client-agent relationship as "surreal." For example, one time he bawled at me because his latest wife (of six weeks--which is longer than the courtship lasted) left him. I wasn't anywhere near my Miss Manners Guide to Perfectly Behaved Real Estate Agents, so I wasn't exactly sure the best way to handle this particular situation. I listened as he told me his woes. Two days later he called me in the best of moods and asked if I knew someone I could introduce him to because he was (and these were his words) "ready for action."

During our tenure, I sold a piece of land he owned at a time where a home oozing with nuclear waste would have multiple offers in less than 10 minutes on the market. So, this wasn't much of a stretch. However, Mr. Jordan thought I was a rock star, even though I explained over and over it was just market factors. Nevertheless, he decided I was the agent for him. And let me know it. Often.

Before I came into the picture, Mr. Jordan was sitting on approximately eight rental homes that he had purchased over the course of the real estate boom (around 2004-2005). Apparently, he found the last home builder in the Phoenix metro area who was willing to sell to investors instead of homeowners. So, Mr. Jordan bought as many as he could. However, the homes he bought weren't in ideal locations. All of his homes were within a five-mile radius. They mostly backed major roads. And in one case, the home backed a Mexican flea market.

What I primarily did for Mr. Jordan was help him lease out his rental homes. His homes are in Avondale. I live in Mesa. That is a 40 minute drive when there is no traffic. Of course, I only had to do this a couple times a year, so it wasn't too bad.

The real issue is Mr. Jordan preferred to rent out to Section 8 tenants. Every section 8 tenant he rented to seriously trashed his homes on move-out. I wasn't willing to clean up the properties and get them ready to rent out again. Especially for free. That is what a property manager does. I wasn't willing to be his--no matter how much he pleaded.

Mr. Jordan and I parted ways a few years ago, leaving me lots of tales for my great American novel.

The other day I was in the office and noticed a story about rental homes in Avondale. That got me to look up a few of Mr. Jordan's properties. Which is when I found out they are all in various levels of foreclosure.

There are so many glaring similarities to Mr. Jordan's rentals and mine. The distance. The go-it-alone attitude. The desperation one feels when one has a vacant rental. I thought about his situation and wondered if this could be me if I wasn't careful. What was different?

To be continued...