Mr A of Auckland

The first time I met Mr A, he pulled a sheet of white paper across the table and began to draw. A few streets appeared in quick lines: housing here, shops there, a development site over there. He drew circles, arrows and numbers as he talked. I looked down at the page and thought: this man does not look much like an estate agent. More like an engineer.

Two Rows of White Teeth

Mr A was tall enough to stand out in a room. His watch always caught the light. His hair was combed back and glossy. When he smiled, two very white rows of teeth appeared.

I had first gone to him because I was looking at land. The more I dealt with him, the more I noticed how quickly he could reduce a complicated thing to a few sentences and a sketch. I was interested in property at the time, and one day I asked, “If I wanted to get into this business, would you take me on?” He said, “Of course. Go and get your licence first.” He said it lightly. So I did.

The year I joined his team happened to be one of their best. They won a number of awards. After one celebration dinner, everyone moved on somewhere else to drink. Mr A could drink. By the time he was properly merry, he took a card from his pocket and pushed it into the hand of the colleague beside him. “Take it. Drink whatever you like tonight.”

Later I learned that the office always had plenty of alcohol in it. On Friday afternoons the bottles came out and work more or less stopped.

Suits and Cars

I was lucky at the beginning. I had been in business for years and knew quite a few people. Before long, one client bought two sections. Neither was cheap.

I had only just been licensed and knew very little about how credit and commission were divided. I had brought in the client and done the talking, but the sales were counted under Mr A. Mr A himself said to the person beside him, “Kevin didn’t sign the contracts, but he brought the client in. Give Kevin a share of the commission.”

I was pleased. Only later, after I had been in the industry for a while, did I understand that this was not quite how such a share would normally have been calculated. I should have received more. But that came later. At the time I was new, getting some commission was enough to make me happy. I smiled and did not ask.

After those early sales, Mr A seemed to take a liking to me. For a while there were four of us who often ate together: Mr A, two colleagues who had worked closely with him for years, and me.

Halfway through one dinner, he looked at me carefully. “Kevin, you need to buy two good suits.” I looked down at the one I was wearing. I had owned it for almost ten years. I still thought it was perfectly good. Mr A clearly did not. “And change your car,” he said.

I laughed. He did not seem to be joking. In property, he said, you had to look the part. Then he gestured around the table, meaning the four of us. From now on, we should move together. He had a way of saying things like that. By the end of dinner, you could almost believe that Auckland outside belonged to us.

Get Rich Together

Around that time Mr A became very interested in a new development. He bought into it himself and encouraged the team to do the same. “Follow me,” he liked to say. “We’ll all get rich together.” A team, in his view, should move in the same direction. If you saw an opportunity, everyone should act. Quite a few people in the office bought. He told me to buy as well.

I looked at my finances and shook my head. My own business still needed capital, and I already had enough things competing for my attention. “No,” I said. “I don’t have that much spare cash.”

A few days later, another colleague came over for a chat. We talked about this and that. Eventually, almost casually, he arrived at the same sections. “They really are good. You should think about it.” I knew at once what was happening. I smiled and said no.

Some time later, someone else tried. Same sections, much the same argument. By then I knew Mr A had not given up. I had originally been a little uncertain. After being persuaded from several directions, I became quite certain.

I would not buy.

Put Things in Writing

Mr A liked meetings. Every Monday he would sit us down and go through cases: contracts, disputes, responsibility. I learned a great deal from those sessions. There was one sentence he used more than any other:

Put things in writing.

What people said could change later. Important things should be written down.

Once, before signing up a property for sale, we discussed a marketing cost. Mr A said in front of everyone, “We’ll pay that.” The agreement was signed. Later I took the paperwork to him and said, “That marketing cost — you said we were paying it.”

He looked up. “When did I say that?” I paused. “The client pays it,” he said. For a moment I could hear Monday morning in my head.

Put things in writing.

I have to say, he taught that lesson well.

On another occasion I found something in a document that did not look quite right. I read it several times, then took it to him. “Shouldn’t we redo this?” He glanced at it. “It’s fine.” I started to explain. He handed the paper back. “You know. I know. Don’t fuss with it.”

I walked out with the document and thought again of Monday morning.

Fifty Dollars

There is another thing I remember about Mr A. My shop sold New Zealand honey. One day he asked me to get some for him. It was not much — about fifty dollars. I gave him the honey and the invoice and paid for it first myself. He did not pay me back.

The next time he saw me, he remembered. “Kevin, I still owe you fifty dollars.” I smiled and said yes. I did not say, Forget it. The next time he said it again: “Ah, Kevin. I still owe you fifty dollars.” I smiled again.

It was an odd little debt. This was a man who could open the office drinks cupboard on a Friday and let everyone help themselves, yet the fifty dollars stayed where it was. The curious thing was that I never had to remind him. He reminded me.

“Kevin, I still owe you fifty dollars.”

I smiled. I never said, Forget it.

The fifty dollars went on living.

What Time Are You Coming In?

Then the property market cooled. Houses became harder to sell. My own business needed more of my time, and I spent less of it in real estate. The office began to introduce more rules.

Then they started taking attendance. I found this strange. We agents had no salaries. We bought our own equipment, paid for our own training, and when a property sold the commission was divided several times before our share reached us. Now someone wanted to know what time we arrived at work.

I did not argue.

Eventually there was a disagreement and I left the team. Mr A was away at the time. When he returned, he asked me to meet him for coffee. “I didn’t know about this,” he said. I lifted my cup. He said it very seriously. I nodded very seriously.

Later in the conversation he remembered something. “By the way, I still owe you fifty dollars.” This time I laughed. “Forget it.”

I Still Won’t Buy

After that, everyone went their own way. Over the next year or two I occasionally ran into people from the old team. Some went to other companies. Some changed direction. Mr A changed companies too, and later moved into another kind of business. We still spoke from time to time.

This year he contacted me again. Before long he was talking about those same sections. “Kevin, I’m telling you, they’re still good.” I laughed. Years had passed. He had not forgotten. He told me the area still had potential and still thought I should buy.

“No,” I said. “I still won’t.”

This time he did not press very hard. There was a pause. Then he told me why he had really called. He was involved in a legal matter. I knew something about events from years before. Would I be willing to explain what I knew?

As he talked, I saw those Monday mornings again: who said what, who promised what, what the contract said, and why it later turned into a dispute. Mr A in front of the room, repeating the same instruction:

Put things in writing.

I listened until he had finished. “Send me the documents,” I said. “I’ll have a look.”

Later, he did.

This time he did not mention the fifty dollars.

Neither did I.