Thinking Like Beatina

By Barbara Leiding

I understand realtors. I know what makes them tick. They are bold enough to venture into the high stakes game of real estate and wise enough to know how to play it.

Now, don't misunderstand me. My respect for realtors runs deep. My mother, Beatina, was a top agent for over 40 years.

Her last sale was to her doctor, a transaction that began in the examination room, when she quickly learned her new physician was in the market for a house. Paper gown or not, nothing stopped Beatina from reaching for her cell phone if it meant making a commission by referral.

She referred out all her leads during her final years. She had little choice. After a lifetime of healthy eating and a body toned by Jack LaLanne, she became slowly paralyzed by ALS. That rare and incurable disease might have landed her in a wheelchair, preventing her from showing houses, but not from making deals.

I am convinced deal-making was responsible for my mother's long life. Real estate wasn't only her bread and butter, but also her joy—six days a week and countless evenings. To her, work was life affirming, raising the spirit and getting her through good times and bad. ALS might have attacked her muscles, but real estate was still in her blood.

When she was the picture of health and business was at a high, so was Beatina. She’d calculate commissions with pencil and paper, never needing a calculator, then socked away the dollars like a squirrel stores nuts.

When business slowed down, she'd work the phones, reaching out to all her former clients and finding at least one who would secure her reputation for listing and selling the same house more than once. They'd buy. Then sell. Then wanted to buy again—always with loyalty to the real estate agent they had come to trust.

She wore her name tag on every suit she owned--or "borrowed" from her sister Louise. Considering her success, I asked why she didn't go shopping herself. She replied, "Why should I when I have a generous sister with good taste, not to mention a well-stocked closet."

As a native New Englander, she never outgrew her tendency to be cheap, which she was fond of calling frugal. Despite her thrift, she was generous with others, always thinking more of them than herself.

She could juggle multiple deals at the same time with amazing agility--and without ever letting go of her clients' hands. No one other than Beatina could better ease a buyer's nerves and sooth an anxious seller who was determined to get an outrageous asking price. (Are any of them realistic?)

I have no doubt she would qualify for an honorary degree in counseling. Her clients knew they could count on hearing all the right words at exactly the right time. It was part of her service as a realtor she called, "tender loving care."

Her phone rang off the hook, day and night.

Only once do I remember her requesting service for herself. It was in a hospital emergency room after she had taken a fall. The nurse asked on a scale from one to ten how she would rate her pain.

“Oh, I’d say about an eight or a nine,” Beatina said.

I was frantic. I broke into a cold sweat, while she remained calm. “Mom,” I cried out. “You didn’t tell me you were in that much pain!”

“Would you relax, Barbara” she said, pronouncing my name with broad vowels characteristic of her Bostonian accent. “I’m not in that much pain. I just want to be first on their list. And I want to make sure I get good service.”

No one deserved better service than Beatina, a top agent who navigated the ins and outs of real estate, along with the maze the rest of us call life.

I am not a realtor, but a real estate writer. I originally launched Open House Journal with the vision of creating a magazine. But those pages need time to grow. For now, Open House Journal is a writing service designed exclusively for top agents.

Just like Beatina, I'll give you tender loving care. You can call me during the day, but hold off at night. After all, as a top realtor--if you want to keep up with Beatina's track record--you'll need your rest. Treat yourself to a full night's sleep.

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