The American Spectator

Another Perspective

Real Estate Survival 2008

By Barron Thomas on 6.10.08 @ 12:07AM

SCOTTSDALE, Az. -- As many of you know, I get around and I like to bring you stories of how to make money.

Here's my best one that I hope you will tear out and keep for 30 years. Sooner or later, I promise, it will make you a lot of money. So in 2008, my best advice ever: It's OK to fail.

Recently, I was contacted about a hot deal in Buckeye (the fast-growth, west side of Phoenix) by a very bright, young Phoenix wheeler-dealer.

We'll call him Tony (not his real name). Tony was, and still is, one of the smartest guys I have ever met. I first met him as super-charged go-getter sitting in one of the thousands of real estate cubicles on Camelback Road. At that time, he brought me a deal that turned out very well, and he was pleasant and honest throughout the whole process. Over the years, as I predicted at the time, Tony would quickly move out of the cubicle and into something bigger and better. History proved me correct and by 2004, Tony had a fancy office on the Camelback Miracle Mile with a secretary that looked like she just stepped out of Vogue.

Sitting in his plush office, Tony was still Tony, going 1,000 miles per hour and talking up deals, but in a nice and pleasant way. He had picked up a few nice souvenirs of the ongoing boom, including a fancy spread in the 85253 zip code where he entertained lavishly, a sleek new private jet, and a very cool yacht in Marina Del Rey. At Tony's 2005 Christmas Party, I could have sworn that half the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders were there at Tony's Paradise Valley house.

Anyway, Tony was calling me after a long absence. I had missed the '06 and '07 Christmas parties, but I can only imagine their lavish scale. Tony was now on the phone saying he had a great deal that I should look at "right away...this one you're gonna love." I have heard that line a million times, but in Tony's case, I trusted his judgment and agreed to meet that day at my office. Tony arrived, pitched the deal (I was already fairly familiar with the location and the dynamics of the site), and indeed, it was a deal. It was exactly right for one of my clients in Houston who was trying to figure out how to spend his $120 per barrel profits. We wrote up a deal on the spot, and, as I generally do with everyone, I walked him to the door. I was also terrifically curious to see Tony's latest ride. I am a hopeless car-nut and Tony always drove something fast, sleek, and that got miserable gas mileage, but these cars got Tony a never ending string of beautiful lady friends.

"Tony, what's your latest hot rod? Do you have time to take me around the block?" Tony always liked to show off his newest car, and back in 2005, Tony actually gave me a quick, exhilarating ride up 24th Street (we hit 110 between Missouri Avenue and Lincoln Drive).

Tony looked absolutely ashen when I asked about his car. He stopped on the sidewalk in front of my building and set his briefcase down. Suddenly Tony wasn't Tony.

"I have to tell you something. I hope this doesn't change anything, or what you think of me."

"What? Did you join a cult or something?"

"No, I came here today in a cab."

From years of looking into the eyes of honest and dishonest men, I could tell that Tony was telling me the truth.

"I've lost everything.

"The Bank took the house in Paradise Valley, the cars are gone, the jet, everything. I'm living at my sister's house right now. My girlfriend moved back to L.A. The only thing I have left is my dog."

I WAS STUNNED, but not totally surprised. After all, nobody enjoyed the boom as much as Tony. I think he was single-handedly trying to raise the GNP of Arizona by his endless spending.

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