As I park the car in the lot, I notice quite a few empty spots. The building itself is new and the parking lot has freshly painted lines. A placard on the front door instructs visitors to sign in. As I open the door and step inside my nose is greeted with the smells of new carpet and paint while my eyes are drawn to a group of 6 men gathered near a large fireplace. They are engaged in a conversation and using their hands as they speak. I notice each one of them is wearing a hat with an insignia on it. I make a mental note to get a closer look. I approach the visitors’ desk and give them the name of the residents I am there to meet. The woman behind the desk picks up a two way radio and I hear her ask if they are finished with lunch yet. The answer comes back that they should be back in their apartment and I am given the number. I am in an assisted living facility. I am here to find out WHY.
I catch myself thinking “Wow, this is a nice place. I could see living here”. The elevator is taking a long time to come down and there is a line of folks waiting ahead of me. However, the stairs are empty. I climb the stairs to the third floor and begin looking for my door. As I pass each door, I see personal items and pictures on display outside of each apartment. There are pictures of children, men in uniform and wedding day photos. There are bowling trophies, crayon drawings, elementary school awards from grandchildren and birthday cards. I am being treated to a snapshot of what is important to these residents… of what they CARE about. I reach my door and knock. As I am told to come in, I notice a yellowed wedding photo hanging next to the door. The bride is holding a bouquet of yellow roses.
I enter a one bedroom apartment and see an older version of the groom sitting in a wheel chair in front of me. He is on a cell phone call and waives me over to have a seat on a flowered love seat. He is wearing a hat with an insignia on it. It reads, VIETNAM VETERAN, USMC. An older version of the bride in the photo comes around the corner in an electric wheel chair. She offers me something to drink and I accept a glass of water. She introduces herself and apologizes for her husband being on the phone. I speak to her about the many personal items I see hanging on the walls. She tells me about a recent surgery she has had on her legs that has left her unable to walk. I listen as she tells me her husband is receiving disability payments from the VA as a result of Agent Orange poisoning. She excuses herself and I am alone with her husband. I find myself listening to his end of the conversation. He is trying to cancel his home phone service at the house he has moved out of a month earlier. He is getting frustrated. The person on the other end of the phone has asked him what his home phone number is. He cannot remember and says, “I don’t know I never called myself… I had the same number for 22 years don’t YOU know what it is?!” I listen as he declines the offer to move his number to his new residence by saying “I’m in the old folks’ home now I don’t need a home phone number.” I can see the tears in his eyes and hear the tremor in his voice as he thanks the other person and closes the cell phone.
As he turns to face me I am able to get a better look at my host. He is wearing a blue work shirt with the word “Chick” embroidered on the left breast pocket. He has bandages on what is left of his legs. He sees me looking at his legs and says, “Diabetes finally got my legs, it’s hell to get old.” I explain that my wife has been struggling with type 1 Diabetes since she was a child and I know some of the challenges that go along with it. I point to his hat and thank him for his service during Vietnam. I remark that both my Dad and my uncle served in the Air Force and Army during the war. Chick tells me that he was part of a recoilless rifle company with the Marine Corps. He says there were days when the planes would fly directly over them spraying Agent Orange to “defoliate” the jungles they were operating in because their commanding officers said there was NO DANGER to humans from it. Chick worked as the manager of a Sears automotive franchise for the last 25 years. He began losing feeling in his hands a year ago and was diagnosed with nerve damage attributed to Agent Orange exposure. He could no longer work and had to retire from his job. The VA doctor then found out he has prostate cancer again determined to be from the poison. Chick borrowed money from his free and clear house to help make the ends meet. After a yearlong battle with the Veterans Administration and the insurance company they had approved them both for residency in the assisted living facility. Chick could not afford the $6,000 monthly expense on what he was taking home. Now, he had a vacant house with a payment that he didn’t want to make and in a market that he didn’t understand. The house wasn’t worth what he owed and he didn’t see a way out. Chick and his wife, Carol, then listened as I told them I was there to help them find a solution.
I feel I had earned the right for MY solutions to be heard. For my business plan to succeed it is imperative that I find out the WHY for each seller. I try to accomplish this by paying close attention to my surroundings and those of others. I prefer face to face meetings with the owners of the properties that I am interested in acquiring. I believe I have to reach the PEOPLE that control the houses in order to ensure success. I find that after I have developed a rapport with owners then we are on the same side of the table instead of across the table.
