Still Not For Sale

 I've already written about this once ("Not For Sale," April 2014). It would quite literally never have occurred to me that I'd be talking about it 4 years later.

A recap: My father passed away in 1988; my mom passed away in 2012. Their home is not particularly desirable by today's real estate standards - only one bathroom, gasp! - but it sits on over an acre of land.

Everything my mom owned was held in a family trust, with a successor trustee, that dictated passing of her assets to her children without probate. Family agreement, not on paper, was that the house would go to my brother. He's the oldest, and he rents his home. So, even though the trust owns the house, we all referred to it as belonging to my brother.

The thing is, he didn't particularly want it. He lives in another state, and has absolutely zero desire to move back to his childhood home. So, the trust rented the house to one of Mom's grandkids. The money went straight into the trust account, to be used for taxes, repairs, etc. on the house while my brother mulled over what to do.

OK. So you're caught up.

Over half of Mom's property - not to ignore my dad, but she lived alone for 25 years, and we got used to calling it "Mom's" - is vacant land that used to be a horse pasture. It's not visible from the street, but the neighbors certainly know that it's there. In all, there's 10 lots that touch the property boundaries. Mom's is actually valued at less than any of her neighbor's properties, except for one vacant lot; the extra land in a long, awkward shape, actually knocks down the valuation, as it's "difficult to use."

After Mom died, several of the neighbors inquired, with varying degrees of intent, whether the property was going up for sale. All were told "no." OK, well, the least emphatic statement was this: "He (my husband) said, 'Probably not.' (He has an almost pathological aversion to uttering definitive declarative statements.)" ("Not For Sale")

So, they should have all been well aware that we were NOT selling it. And yet, at least three of them kept asking - and KEPT ASKING. In person, in notes, in phone calls - "Are you sure?" YES, we are SURE!

Not to sound too much like The Godfather about things, but this is a family decision. My brother had the final word on keeping or selling the house, but all of us weighed in. When I say, "we," I mean my mom's children and grandchildren - and our spouses, who are all in agreement.

Any of the inheriting siblings could, in theory, have taken the house as their share of the inheritance; none wanted to. The trust could have sold it, and split the proceeds, but that's not really what Mom wanted. She always talked about dividing the land and giving her children - or grandchildren - a piece to build a home on. (And we were informed by accessors and surveyors that a buyer would likely tear down the house, put a road straight through where the living room and kitchen used to be, and construct an apartment complex.) So, we decided to see if it was feasible to split up the land, and if any of the children or grandchildren would want a piece.

We consulted the city, and learned that yes, indeed, it was very possible, and not very expensive, to re-zone and divide the land. There is enough square footage for 8 separate lots, but making it into any more than 4 constituted "building a new subdivision," with lots of restrictions, environmental impact studies, etc. So, four pieces it would be, with the existing house on one of them, and with a short street (the old driveway into the pasture) and a cul-de-sac for access to the pasture; the city requires that a fire engine be able to turn around.

We talked with all the children and grandchildren, and there was enough interest that a decision was made: subdivide.

The inspections and paperwork went without a hitch. All the neighbors in about a half mile radius were informed of the zoning changes. The road, cul-de-sac and new property lines have been approved by the city. Grandkids made plans to build houses.

Now we've hit our first snag. When the neighbors had subdivided their property in the past - remember those 10 lots around Mom's house? - they had simply graded and put in a gravel road. That's what we intended to do. The city no longer allows that - a gravel road "isn't permanent." (We live in the American West - tell that to the still visible wagon trails from the Gold Rush.)

So, we're stuck in a holding pattern. We have to have the money to put in a paved street, sewers, and gutters, and THEN we can place the houses. The road has to come first - it's the law. We can't do houses first, paved road last.

And now, as an aside to the conversation, the only reason it's not done is money. We have to raise the money in cash, because banks will not loan us money for this - it's considered "too risky." The banks don't want to end up reposessing a hunk of land that it can't sell at a profit, and that's what they see here. We can't get loans to put in the homes until the road is in. The one local bank that will even finance "unimproved land" loans - most won't - won't touch us. We even tried to get a home equity loan - no dice. (I get the feeling that they'd go for the tear down and new apartments scenario more easily.) So, the land sits and waits, and the grandkids hoping to live there rent elsewhere. We have to try to come up with a ridiculous amount of money in cash - and THEN get another loan (or loans) for the houses. It's frustrating.

But do you know what is MORE frustrating? That several of Mom's neighbors seem unwilling to part with their plans to own Mom's land themselves.

I understand asking, as either a matter of curiosity or as an offer to buy, once. Maybe twice, if you're pushy. Beyond that, it's just aggravating.

It's looking more and more as if people moved in next to my mother specifically because they wanted to buy her land. One informed us, in a bit of a huff, that he'd be moving if the land wasn't for sale. Well, dude, sorry, pack your bags. Others - at least three households have been insistent - have gone from asking to buy all of it to asking us to parcel it out. "You're not selling any of it? How about just a piece?" One wants the lip that extends to the street corner; one has taken to asking for "just a few feet" of the pasture. And they ask over and over and over, seeming astonished and disappointed every time someone says NO.

My son went by the house the other day to drop some things off, and in the amount of time he was there, one neighbor phoned three times, asking to buy part of the pasture. Three times! In one day! No, pardon me, in a few minutes.

Nobody has actually come out and said so to us, but it really looks as though they'd been counting on this for years. Mom was elderly, she lived alone, and with the last of the horses gone, the pasture isn't in use. So, they apparently reasoned, when she died, no one in the family would want the property - in fact, they'd be itching to get rid of it. I can picture them sitting around discussing it with their friends and family, and their friends and family agreeing - "Oh, I'm sure you're right. They'll jump at the chance to unload that." Now that they are actually speaking to the only people whose opinions matter, the people who own the property, they seem distressed and puzzled by our failure to follow their script. Apparently, we were supposed to be just giddy about greedy neighbors.

I can even understand a bit of what they're thinking. One house has a back yard that's all of five feet deep - they can practically stand in their doorway and touch the fence. One family has children, and a postage stamp yard that is meticulously landscaped. One is, unaccountably, terrified of the trees - Mom's property has more than a dozen mature trees - and keeps telling me how terrified they are that the trees will fall and squash them and their house; I think they want to own it just to cut the trees down. But my understanding only goes so far. The thing is - I did not buy any of those homes, and their owners shouldn't have bought them either, if the only reason they lived there was the hope that some day, they'd have our land, too. If you don't like your property, or if you hate being next to vacant land, or if you fear trees, don't buy homes with those conditions! I mean, that's pretty self explanatory, right?

What kind of self serving, opportunistic, vulture moves next door to an elderly person because they want the elderly person's land? And worse, what does it say about their character that they cannot take "NO" for an answer?

The fact that we're "not even doing anything" with the land seems to stoke the craziness. News flash: if we wanted to let it sit vacant for generations to come, that's our prerogative. And, as I noted, if we had bundles of cash, or a bank that would finance us, the road would be in now, and the houses going up or already lived in.

One neighbor who keeps asking us for "just a few feet" of the pasture is apparently ignoring the fact that they live in the bottleneck, so to speak, next to the narrowest part of the property, so giving them "just a few feet" would mean that we no longer had the required clearance for the road and cul-de-sac - selling those "few feet" would render almost an acre useless to us. Given a choice between making the neighboring yards bigger, or having our family use the land for their own residences, is it really any surprise that we chose family residences?

The current residents of Mom's home are tired of being badgered, and respond to all inquiries with, "We don't own it." That causes a near feeding frenzy - "Well, have you asked the owners? Can you just ask your landlord?" Yes and yes, and the answer is still "NO." But they seem just positive that the messages aren't getting through, because, well, why would anybody want to keep owning something when someone else wants to buy it?

I growled the other day, "I want to put up a big, two sided sign in the pasture that says, 'No, it's not for sale. No, not even part of it. No, not even a few feet. Back off, vultures.' I should print form letters that say the same thing, and hand them out every time someone asks."

My son replied, "Well, I think 'vultures' is going over the top a bit."

My reply: "My first choice was 'opportunistic jackals,' so 'vultures' is already toned down."

My sister says, "Tell them that if they continue this behavior, you'll file a harassment suit." That sounds better every time they ask the same questions again.

This really isn't tough, folks: if there's no "for sale" sign, it's not for sale. If you ask and are told no, it's not for sale. If it ever does go up for sale, it will be through an agent of the owner's choice, not negotiated through persistent notes and phone calls - and, at this point, even if it ever were to go up for sale, none of us want to reward bad behavior by selling to harassers, so we'd probably leave word for our grandchildren to avoid their grandchildren, and so on, indefinitely..

Once again, for those in the back: No "for sale" sign means it's not for sale.

We've had almost three thousand days to think about it. The answer is still no.

Yes, the family members are all on the same page here.

What kind of self serving, opportunistic, vulture moves next door to an elderly person because they want the elderly person's land? And worse, what does it say about their character that they cannot take "NO" for an answer?

War Is Bad

I was scrolling through a social media site, and said out loud, "Oh, I'm not even gonna read that one."

"What?" my son asked.

"An article titled, '20 TV Character Deaths You Still Haven't Gotten Over.'"

My son knows me. "Henry?" he said.

"YES. Henry."

Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake was the first commanding officer on TV's "M*A*S*H." I loved Henry, in spite of himself. He wasn't really the kind of person I generally admired. He was bumbling, he was easily bulldozed over by those with stronger personalities, he cheated on his wife. But putting all that aside, he was well intentioned (one of my "musts" for people), he was a good surgeon, he was a loyal friend. The company clerk may have been the organizational brains of the outfit, but you couldn't really hold that against Henry; he may have been its heart. He cared about those under his command, and he cared about the wounded who came through their hospital. He could behave like a parent frequently, and like a commander when he had to, but he was always a good doctor.

My age was in single digits when "M*A*S*H" premiered, and I was only 10 when Henry got his orders to head home.

Home; they all wanted to go home. He'd miss the men, we'd miss him, but Henry was excited to go.

Maybe the story lines were kind of heavy for a kid in elementary school. My parents kept me - all of their kids - from things they were afraid would traumatize us or be over our heads, but "M*A*S*H" didn't fall into that category. We only had one TV, so whatever was on, we watched together, and we discussed it. It was one of my favorite shows. I understood the horror of war, the great lengths they went to in order to keep the horror at bay, the humor.

I understood that Henry was going home because the actor, McLean Stevenson, hadn't renewed his contract; that made me a bit sad, but it was OK. I'd watched the cast be shuffled on shows before. We'd have all summer to get used to the idea before the show returned.

I watched Henry say his goodbyes, watched him call his wife back home. He had a child he'd never met, born while he served in Korea. "Let's not tell anyone," he said to his wife. "Let's just show up for dinner at the club." He was so excited to think about the surprise his friends would experience.

He took off his uniform - he took off his ubiquitous fishing hat - and he put on a suit. He saluted Radar, his clerk, and he climbed on to the helicopter.

That's where the script they'd all been given ended. During filming, the producers told the cast, "We have one more scene. Gary (Burghoff, who played Radar) is the only one with any lines. Just react to Gary." They set up a scene in the ER - then they handed Burghoff the script.

We, the viewers, found out through interviews that Burghoff gave afterward that he looked at the lines and felt punched in the stomach. "You sons of b*****s," he says that he told them. "You're going to win an Emmy for this."

The reaction you see when Radar walks into the ER - that's the actor's reaction to the lines he was given only seconds earlier. He walks through the door, and Wayne Rogers, taking to the direction to "react to Gary," says, "Radar, put a mask on!"

Burghoff reads the lines. I know them by heart. "Lt. Col. Henry Blake's plane was shot down over the Sea of Japan. It spun in. There were no survivors."

OH. Oh. Oh.

It was so painful. I cried then. I cry now. I cry every time I see the episode, every time I talk about that moment.

The reactions you see from the other actors - those are their actual reactions. Loretta Swit weeps.

I was not prepared for the reaction of some fans, though. The producers got nasty letters - "How could you? There was no reason for that!" "How can you treat your fans this way? We've been so loyal, and you hurt us!" "This is entertainment! We watch this show to laugh, not to cry!"

Even as a 10 year old, I understood what they were doing. This is why war is bad. This is why it is a thing to be avoided. Because people you love, people with everything to live for, people with wives and children and babies they'd never met, with friends and relatives and jobs waiting for them at home, die. Many of them are still too young to have wives and children, and they die anyway. War is indiscriminate; it takes everyone. And yes, TV is entertainment, and the show is a comedy, but it would be remiss if it didn't show that war takes lives, and not just the lives of soldiers, and not just people you don't know.

So, yeah, they ripped my heart out. Yeah, it still hurts. That's how I know they did their job. Because if there was a single sentence, with words of one syllable, that summed up "M*A*S*H," it would be, "War is bad." Because too many people die.

So, thanks, 20th Century Fox - even though it hurts.

And oh, yes - that episode won an Emmy.