Villere Realty Blog

I think about this all the time, but I sincerely doubt investors, homeowners, and others of the real estate ilk really, really do.  Your listing, as in the real estate offering you have hired your agent to “work” for you, is out there, in theory.  Mostly thanks to a sign in the yard and many autofed databases.  But is your agent answering their phone?  Returning calls?  Or my absolute favorite: do they work weekends and/or evenings?  The answers may surprise you, and this is why you should hire me – or someone just like me.

Don’t get me wrong.  If you want to see a lease listing at 730 on Friday evening, I’m probably not going to show it to you.  Why?  Because you’re not serious.  Really?  730’s all you got?  ‘Cause I got Sat morning, Thursday 530, whatever.  But you start talking about dinner and sleep, you are not a serious shopper.  Too, whatever I’m going to show you is likely occupied meaning we’ll have to interrupt bathtime or “Good Night Moon.”  But this is from the perspective of the lessee/buyer.  The real a-ha is seen from the lessor/seller.

Did you know New Orleans’ most successful (read: volumous) rental office is not open on Saturday or Sunday?  Not open!  And you can say, “Well, they don’t have to be.  They’re the most successful.  They can choose to work when they want.”  Uh-huh.  And how does their success and therefore choice of hours benefit their lessor clients?  It doesn’t.  Most people that can afford any rental: work.  And most people who work do so Monday through Friday 9 to 5.  So by Friday evening at 730 they’re likely more interested in Applebee’s and the multiplex – or – if you’re in New Orleans (and I hope you are) Reginelli’s and the Prytania.  But Saturday morning and/or Sunday afternoon rolls around and what have you?  An audience.  A-ha!  But wait.  If the office you’ve hired isn’t open, then what’s the point?  That lessee client will find what they’re looking for, but yours likely won’t be one of the candidates.

So, ask.  Ask your agent when their broker’s office is open.  I’m pretty sure you will be surprised and then hopefully begin to wonder why you haven’t hired me – or someone just like me.  And just for kicks also ask how often they lose their client’s showing keys.  Notice: I didn’t offer “if” they’ve ever lost the keys, but “how often.”  I can tell you from personal experience trying to show other broker’s listings, especially leases, the keys somehow vanish.  Now how the hell do you expect a prospective tenant to see your place now?

Bottom line:  Call me.  Email me.  Or someone just like me.  You will be glad you did.

We all know New Orleans isn’t for everyone.  To wit, New Orleans’ summers moreso.  And I’m not even talking about temperature.  Personally I rather like the bake that becomes you.  No, I’m talking about *the quiet.*  The absolute emptiness we annually embrace; when our city becomes our town, again. 

I was driving Magazine early this morning about 6, and it was all Omega Man.  No cars.  No people.  Sun creaking out through the outstretched oak branches.  I don’t think there was anything kinetic in my path save the traffic light.  A light haze hung the air with a muted graininess, almost chalky.  We have had little to no precip so this was totally understandable.  But I had forgotten.  And I suddenly remembered.  It’s summer.  And it’s oh so quiet.

I could’ve stopped the car dead in the street without a worry.  And left it there running.  While I grabbed a paper or a coffee or whatever.  No one’s about.  Almost like post storm no one.  But without all the leaves, debris, and (gasp!) rotting meat.  Note: if you evacuate this season and you clean out your fridge or freezer as you exit, give your perishables to your neighbors – no one picks up the trash during a hurricane evacuation.  But I digress.

I love this gift of absence.  All the college kids are away, old school New Orleanians are summering somewhere like Steamboat Springs, and what’s left is me – and maybe you.  And that’s okay.  I had my vacation late Spring.  Being here is vacation enough.  Watching everyone work themselves into an absolute frenzy over college baseball is amusing and likely accounts for some of the lack of people.  Baseball – - – but I again digress.

Relish it.  August will be here in a blink.  And LSU will have won.  Or lost.  But we still won’t have recycling.  And if I may borrow from Alex McMurray we will have a had a month of Sundays to call our own.  Our simmer season translates to whispers of population where you may catch every light, rarely wait to make groceries, and pause – - – live slow, die old.

That’s my biggest a-ha in the last 9 months.  True, I haven’t blogged at all this year, but last night I was having dinner with some friends and we were talking about yes, real estate.  In the last 12 months my wife and I have done more deals of our own than we ever anticipated.  One transaction in particular was especially challenging.  I was asked if we at least made any money on the deal.  We had.  And did I learn anything, I was further asked.  Yes: it has to make sense from the beginning.

You can go with your gut all day, and really you should.  But if you are only going with your gut and aren’t balancing in pragmatism what sort of whimsical world are you left with?  And so with this one deal, I found my spirit to be further and further beaten by it.  The deal itself was great; it was the surrounding components that made it bumpy.  The bitchy neighbor and her trash-talking lawyer husband.  Unraveling and sorting rumor from fact regarding city code and plat.  The world markets rollercoastering to who knows where.  Things I couldn’t control.

Once I emerged from the other side, I exhaled.  I wasn’t discouraged.  Nor upset with anyone, including myself.  I felt good about what I had chosen to do.  But damn.  It has to make sense from the beginning.  Explore the what ifs.  Do your research more and better.  Gen Xers are labeled as the untrusting of the old guard, research-it-till-you-can’t group.  More of that.  Learn as much as you can about something before deciding on it.  And yeah, don’t trust the old guard.  Make’em earn it.  At the very least believe in yourself enough to know the difference between bark and bite.  The bastards rarely bite, so call’em on it.

Wow.  I haven’t posted in forever, not that I’m a prolific blogger to start with.  But let’s recap, shall we?

When last I wrote summer was ending.  Since then New Orleans experienced it’s first post-K full scale evacuation courtesy Gustav.  We chose to hunker down.  Weeks after that, realty paused.  Just as all were getting their bearings the lending industry lost its footing.  Then the world markets began spinning hither and yon.  Oh!  And there was a presidential election.  And, one last exhale: the holidays.  Somewhere in there, we welcomed our 3rd daughter, easily the most important piece to 08.  And now here we are in 09, financial bruises and all.

What can we expect this year realty-wise? 

Firstly, money will be made.  Do not mistake a recession for a time to see only doom and gloom.  There are those profiteering now and for the long haul.  Part of it is diversification but mostly I’d say it’s hustle.  If you don’t hustle, you don’t eat.  Even when times are good, those that don’t hustle only eat because those that do hustle aren’t organized enough to net all their efforts, so you have the sideliners picking up their tossaways.  In realty that happens very often in the “I don’t do leases, take this client” type agents.  I’ve gotten some great business from agents handing me their clients not because of geography but because leases aren’t worth their time supposedly.  Pssst!  (whisper) People that rent will one day buy.

Secondly, lenders are lending.  Granted qualifications are more restrictive.  But if you want credit it’s out there to be had.  Put that together with the inventory of pre and post foreclosure properties, and that spells opportunity.  Or yes, you can buy retail too.  Goodness knows there is no lack of $200+ sq ft homes selling for list and above in the Uptown and surrounding areas.  Desirability is still dictated by location, less so condition.  Almost everything can be fixed, right?

Lastly, values are stable.  Period.  If you buy now, you likely won’t lose money if you are in it for at least 3-5 years.  Let’s be clear.  Flipping can be done but again inventory is such that you really want to hold onto whatever it is you are investing in, whether it be a home, second home, or business. 

Stable values, the ability to attain a mortgage, and yes, hustle will make 2009 happen.  Ready to take part?

Despite our awesome heat, ever present humidity, and daily afternoon teeny rainstorms, it is otherwise the end of summer.  Lazy, lazy summer.  Sad, really.  So my kids will be back on a schedule and re-start their academic ascension.  Rentals and sales will receive more routine attention.  And traffic.  Woeful, ridiculous traffic.  Will everyone stop driving already?  New Orleans is a pedestrian town!

True, I drive more often than I should, but then you’ll see me pedaling on any old bicycle about town too.  Colleagues and acquaintances that spot me tend to do a doubletake.  “Is that Jean-Paul riding carelessly down Freret?”  Yes, it’s me.

Some question things may not be going so good for me; they say the same thing when they see my truck.  I say, things are great, couldn’t be better, etc and so on (and my truck rocks, by the way).  Truly, if I could take clients around the city via bike I would.  But we’d be big puddles of perspiration within minutes of our journey, not the first impression either of us would prefer.

But with the end of summer and the more mild Fall days afoot might I tempt buyers to bike our broken streets with me as their guide?  Possibly.  My truck has hosted few in that regard, and that’s okay.  I understand the desire not to be seen in an iridescent housepaint green, bottle cap encrusted, cork boasting, children scrawled Ford that starts with the flick of a flathead; I do.  Plus the mileage – oy.

So far I have imparted to only one of my daughters the feasibility of taking two wheels about town.  In the Spring my four year old began riding her training wheel enabled purple velo one mile each way to and from her daycare.  I can hear your scoff in disbelief as I type this.  But she totally did – totally.  There was no walking it, and she steadfastly tread forward as if she were Lance Armstrong’s long lost something.  The backstory is she’s ’spirited’ and needed some exercise to exorcise her energies.  The bicycle did the trick.

Suppose then summer’s end marks the beginning of more traffic, but then it also signals opportunity to not follow the herd – s-l-o-w-l-y - around town.  That’s what drives me craziest.  It isn’t the traffic per se; it’s the pace.  I guess I know where my 4 year old gets her ’spirited’ness from then.  I never could sit still.  And while I didn’t ride my bike to school at such a young age, by middle school I was criss-crossing suburban Southeast Texas on my Sears 12 speed. 

To the end of summer!  To more bike pedals!  And less accelerators ~

I have seen the future.  And it is laced with cold Abita, mint juleps and sazeracs as one stumbles down a reborn Freret corridor.  Okay, maybe not so stereotypical on the regional alternative beverages, but you get the idea.

This year will witness a third Freret bar open its doors, this one located on the corner of Upperline and Freret.  Rumor has it, it is called Cure, The Cure, or Cur – or some variation therein.  Taking over the old formerly white brick two story building that once advertised legal and/or notary services.  I think originally it may’ve been home to a fire dept, but I’ll have to confirm that.

Once this 3rd bar opens, Freret will offer a trinity of watering holes, the others being The Box Office and Friar Tuck’s.  Somehow I think each bar will be just fine insofar as catering to its certain clientele.  In other words, I don’t know that the frat and soro set will be taking in an evening at The Comedy Conservatory next to The Box Office; conversely, I don’t see the patrons of the latter lining up for Red Headed Slut shots at Friar Tuck’s either.  But I’ve been wrong before.

My point is another viable business will soon open its doors to what many would argue is ‘the’ corridor to watch and partake in.  The annual Freret Fest and now year old Freret Market among other ongoing interests certainly complement these positive elements.  And that one may decide to indeed initiate a Freret barhop this Fall is frankly delightful.

Viva rebirth!  Viva local, new businesses!  Viva Freret!

So, I’m a new broker.  No secret there.  But this week I welcomed my 2nd agent to the fold.  And I must say I am pretty excited.  Which is why I became my own broker – to build a new real estate business in post Katrina land.

Starting out this year it was never my goal to have ‘two agents by mid July.’  Just like the origin of a business deal, I try to manage my growth organically with respect to you never know where it may come from.

So let’s talk organic.  Two years ago I answered a ‘free post’ on craigslist.  Some one, turns out my neighbor around the corner that I didn’t know, was clearing her rear yard of gravel.  I needed gravel for a project I was working on.  Upon responding to the ad - and in the hot summer heat - I slowly shoveled truckload after truckload of gravel.  Shannon was the owner.  We traded ’storm stories,’ I thanked her, and we parted ways.  Shannon has since acquired her agent license and at the beginning of the summer became Villere Realty’s premiere agent.  If I hadn’t needed gravel . . .

And now Emily.  Emily and I have known each other for quite some time.  I first met Emily when I was 18 and serving coffee at PJ’s on Maple St.  Some times I feel as if all roads lead to craigslist – and the PJ’s on Maple St – at least in the years I worked there.  Over time Emily and I have kept tabs on each other, mostly through my having waited on her at the various cafes that were my employer.  Like Shannon, Emily just acquired her license too, and well, here we are.

The takeaway then is my little brokerage has two new agents; should I expect other nubile interests?  Possibly.  Should I expect a well seasoned, top producer from a larger firm to come on board?  I don’t know.  There’s nothing on the radar, but when has that ever been a definitive bead of where a business goes?

Again, it’s no secret I’m new.  But new doesn’t necessarily translate to naive.  I – and I think Shannon and Emily would agree too – prefer new conveying a sense of the entrepreneurial.  What I lack in experience I make up for in adaptability and interest.  Insomnia helps too ~

It’s high time for une revolution, n’est-ce pas? 

Obama promises hope, change.  McCain sticks to the good ol’ boy schtick.  Jindal backtracks to appease the headhunters.  And Nagin?  Well, Nagin abides.  Not unlike The Dude in ‘The Big Lebowski.’  And while cute and not necessarily undeserving of its own annual festival which, yes, ends today.  Abiding doesn’t rebuild cities, does it?  So, WTF?

Bastille Day celebrates an uprising.  New Orleans is being rebuilt despite all levels of government failure and inadequacies, a quiet but gaining momentum uprising of a sort. 

So I invite you, nay challenge you, to celebrate our own uprising!  “How?” you ask?  You’re still displaced in Seattle?  Boston?  Telequah?  Wherever, however, get involved.  Send an email.  Gut a house.  Donate blood.  Preferably, if you’re here, email your city council person about whatever.  Not interested in putting your two cents out there?  Okay, dine at a local restaurant.  Ride the streetcar.  Grab some chalk and draw a fleur de lis on the sidewalk.

Make July 14th a Neo-Bastille Day, as it were.  Rebuild America’s Seductress.  Not everyone’s first choice in ‘things to do today,’ but despite all the poilitcal shenanigans, tomfoolery and hoo-ha, it is happening.

Tulane University boasts it’s largest incoming freshmen class this year ever.  E-v-e-r.  More restaurants are open than before the storm.  Jim Carrey (”I Love You Phillip Morris”) just wrapped shooting a movie here.  And our mayor is going to Panama to complete his world vacation tour (this year China, South Africa were added to his passport), I mean, he’s going to Panama to further sell New Orleans in reference to the impending widening of the Canal – - – really!?  We need to be further sold!?  Like we’re some upstart or IPO.

In the overused words of John Stossel: “Give me a break!”  Even Nell Carter (RIP) knows our lameduck mayor is milking the perks.  But our city moves forward despite the neglect and suggested reimbursements of overstated personal dinings and such.  See: Ray and Seletha’s Lilette anniversary getaway, once a taxpayer’s burden, since rectified as theirs to cover.  But why?  Why can’t Hizzoner know better?  Doesn’t reimbursement spell error?       

Viva la revolution!  Stop putting up with it all.  Acknowledge the opportunity to expose the ridiculous.  Complain.  Bitch.  Raise your voice.  In lieu of the aforementioned at least enjoy a plate of red beans or an oyster po-boy this Bastille Day – a sazerac or mint julep or two couldn’t hurt either.  You love New Orleans, show her how.  In revolt or a toast ~

I moved to New Orleans for the first time in August 1992; I evacuated a week later because of Hurricane Andrew.  Unfazed I completed my freshman year but knew long before I became a resident that New Orleans, even before having lived here a full year, was my home.  I mean, I had spent many holidays and summers here; my grandparents lived on each shore, and we have relatives all over.  But I was raised in Texas which in and of itself really isn’t so bad, but when you feel you know where you belong, where just being you is effortless but moreso embraced even celebrated?  That’s your home.  New Orleans knew me long before I did.

After my freshman year I landed what at the time, and I quote, was ‘working class cool, one of the most coveted service industry positions in the city.’  I became a counterserver at PJ’s on Maple St.  This was 1993.   Green aprons weren’t even on the radar.  PJ’s was really the only game in town.  Locally roasted beans, delivered fresh iced coffee daily, gathering some of the city’s finest pastry vendors under one roof, so on and so forth.  It was awesome!  And ideal for a scrappy sophomore such as myself.  And it was here that I met Rene.  Not to be confused with Renee. 

Renee was ‘the bookstore girl’ from campus I had taken a drawing class with and yes, had a mild crush on; not why I took the drawing class but it didn’t hurt either.  I had no idea of course that Renee and I would marry a few years later, start a family, the whole nine.  Especially since we never even dated in college.   And Rene was the office administrator at PJ’s that greeted me when I went in to interview for the PJ’s position.   Rene and I had a kinship for caffeine that grew into friendship.  Months into my blooming coffee career Rene asked me to sit in on small group of tea tasters.  I of course accepted and loved it.  There were five of us altogether, only one of which I’ve since lost track of.  The others, well, we don’t sit around and drink tea together anymore, but I do see each of them periodically.  Josh is studying to be an RN in Seattle, Walter works for the DoD just north of St Louis, and Rene lives on four acres in Tangipahoa.

Before Katrina Rene’s house was greatly damaged by a fire, and she was living in an apartment not too far away sorting through another of life’s bumps.  The storm hit, mandatory evacuation (and subsequent relocation), and Rene’s fire damaged home does not flood.  So now Rene can’t go home for, pick your favorite reason.  Her job (which she did return to) was placed on hiatus, her apartment (I think) evicted all non immediate returnees, and remember the fire damaged (but dry) home?

In the aftermath of what became by all accounts a fronteirtown, if you were back in New Orleans, and the likelihood was you weren’t, you sought out the familiar as often as you were able.  Days upon weeks upon months spent cleaning, wrangling vendors, gathering food, really just fighting to figuratively stand again.  All you wanted to do was hug your long lost friends and neighbors.  Tell them how much you love them.  What they mean to you.  Some times it was as little as going to their house or work and finding them.  Rare, but it happened.  Mostly, it was chance meetings.  Too many meetings never took place. 

Some time in ‘06 I found Rene back at her old post at the diner where she worked at the time of the storm.  We hugged, we kissed, we held.  Rene was always like a mother to me.  She never had a son.  She does have three daughters, the oldest of which is a couple of years younger than me.  We recounted our post K tales and generally reconnected.  I had become a realtor since last we had seen one another, and she asked me to list her still unrepaired fire damaged home.  I, of course, did, and it sold a few months after listing it.  Upon the sale Rene exhaled and began planning her future.

I never go to Tangipahoa.  I rarely even leave Orleans Parish.  If I can’t walk or bike there, it’s seldom on my to do list.  Rene had always talked about buying some land and moving just outside of the city, living the rest of her life in the country, as it were.  She and her boyfriend Gary, they’d been together for years, asked me assist them in their search.  So I did.  One day I loaded up my daughters, and we went land/house hunting with ‘Ms Rene.’  She and Gary on his Harley, us in our little Honda, zipping around the old farm roads of Tangipahoa Parish.  It was fun.  The girls got out of the city and even got up close and personal with a lonely and overly friendly old horse – and that was the one.  The ‘horse house’ Rene and Gary purchased earlier this year, sans horse mind you.

One Saturday a few weeks ago my wife Renee had a prior obligation at my oldest’s school that included my oldest daughter; my youngest and I made our way back to Tangipahoa.  Rene and Gary were wed in an outdoor ceremony on their land, their four acres.  Standing there witnessing the event (I actually did sign as witness on the certificate), I paused.  Little does one ever realize the paths we are on, the relationships we forge and where they take us.  Given the chance I’m sure Josh and Walter would’ve found themselves in Tangipahoa along with us.  I am hopeful however that we may all one day gather together again for tea on Maple St.