Chaos, Order, and Noble Corruption

by Geno Petro

Chicago Broker Owner Realtor | RE 2.0 Blogger

Author website

I’m pretty sure the simple fear of  ‘getting caught’ has kept me from doing a whole myriad of things other braver, but perhaps, less ethical men have done with impunity. Take the dirty cop trials going on in Chicago this week where 10 city policemen have decided to come forth to reveal their own bad behaviors–various unlawful acts performed at the arrest scene to ensure ‘the criminal’ doesn’t escape Justice–acts mostly surrounding issues of probable cause, search, seizure, and varying degrees of Miranda indiscretions (for the greater good of the community as a whole, they claim); little white lie kinds of cop acts like you see on Law and Order every night—bum-bum…  “These are their stories.” Northwestern University professor Jona Goldschmidt refers to this seemingly justified behavior as “Noble Corruption.”  I personally am too fearful to be nobly corrupt or even run-of-the mill corrupt for that matter.  And some days it’s the only redeeming thing I can say about myself…

“Hey guy,” as I look at myself in the bathroom mirror, “at least you’re not corrupt.”  Good thing I’m not a cop, I suppose. Too bad I’m a Realtor.

“Sorry Mrs Climbladder, but I’m fairly certain I’ve taken an NAR Oath of Ethics or at the very least, checked a box admitting to as much on my quarterly dues coupon. They always cash the check so I guess I’m in.  Anyway,  I couldn’t possibly recommend that you move forward on this Inspection Punchlist Nightmare the listing agent is calling an REO. You have the right to remain silent…”

I bring this up because for the third time in as many weeks, I’ve advised a client against moving forward on a property I felt was a dog; and not a Bloodhound dog either. A mutt. And not a lovable mutt either. A dirty old smelly mean three legged junkyard people killing mutt. A beast, actually. An upside down, sideways beast. With fleas.

I heard a self-proclaimed bottom feeding foreclosure poacher on NPR the other day state that he was actually doing a service to the neighborhood as a whole by preying on the misfortunes of the disamortized few.  And while I think I might even concur with him on some level, I’m way too afraid to sign on to that type of bedroom community disenfranchisement. I prefer dual income, 800+ FICO buyers with 30% down in non-declining markets. I like experienced, non HB 4050 purchasers with no illusions (delusions?) as to what is and is not a ‘fixer upper’ and who could care less about cash flow. Think primary residence or in-town second home on the lake.  I’m a gentleman and as many of you already know, I indeed prefer blondes (singular, not plural to be sure)…

…I like it when the sky rains pink marshmallows, and people on the sidewalk break out into song, as my clients and I skip to the Soda Shop to prepare clean contracts and eat ice cream until Jimmy Stewart declares “Last call!” in Bedford Falls.  And not Andrew Lloyd Weber type songs either.  I prefer the people in the background to sing Rodgers and Hammerstein type songs as I float with my buyers past the Main Street storefronts in search of good licorice and excellent schools, leaving no child or housing opportunity behind; good old fashion real estate selling songs.  None of that Phantom of the Opera crap. It’s too scary and like I’ve already admitted,  I’m a little fearful by nature.

You see, I am first, and foremost, a buyer’s agent here in Chicago. Of course I have my share of listings, too.  A realtor can’t swing a dead cat by the tail, as they say, and not hit a possible listing client these days but buy side advocacy has always been my bread and butter. Of course the lady at the checkout counter of Whole Foods doesn’t want to hear any of this. She would rather have the actual money in my wallet than the unrealized good intentions on my sleeve to pay for the actual bread and butter in my basket.

I’m standing here, well into in my eighth year of real estate sales, observing a profession that is nothing at all like what I signed up for back at the Millennium.  There is chaos where there was once order. I dare not even call it a profession on some days of the week.  Some days it’s just a hustle. Sadly, the daily ‘Art of the Short Sale Seminar’ has replaced all the ‘Viagra’ emails in my Junk Mail folder lately.  I think I preferred the latter. (I mean really, who can even get it up in this housing market?)

Of the three short sale contracts I’ve submitted so far this year, two were flat out denied by the lender and one is still awaiting word from the ubiquitous Committee.  I wrote that particular deal in February and have since helped my client, who doesn’t even want the deal anymore,  fill out about 25 extra pages of paperwork. “Where have you gone Joe Dimaggio? Our Nation turns its lonely eyes…”  Woo woo woo.

So I’m thinking about the dirty cops in the news (a mere degree or two separation apart from myself and us all, most likely) and pondering their oblique points of view. The cops maintain that it is, in fact, the little ‘indiscretion’ itself that keeps the real criminals in check; that the real criminals know the cops will play dirty to jam them up and thus, ensure more across the board ‘order’ than if everyone on the blue side of the thin line were simply playing by the King James rules. Professor Goldschmidt disagrees and contends the indiscretions, the noble corruptions, are  merely the by-products of lazy policework and white lies are not justified in any situation where law has been mandated.

I’m also thinking about the new kid in our office who has never done a deal other than a short sale or foreclosure. He knows all the jargon and the acronyms and the nomenclature for that corner of the real estate market. He’s slick and he’s quick and he’s an advocate for the Deal.  I listened to him on the phone the other day as he spoke to his client; a buyer who just wanted another piece of shitty property for his portfolio.

The Kid:  “Hey pal, in the beginning I work for my side of the deal and the listing agent works for his side of the deal. But then there comes a point where I’m just working for the deal. Period. That’s where we are now. Let me know what you want to do.” Click.

He put his feet up on the desk, leaned back in his swivel chair, and called his girlfriend for the fifth time that morning. They talked about a lot of stuff but none of it had to do with real estate. He was totally removed from the process. A few minutes later he called the listing agent.

“I got my guy to come up. Now it’s your turn. Call me back with some love, homey…”   Perhaps not corrupt, but certainly noble I would say. And at the very least, without fear.