Page 54 - The Way to the Top

would-be customer in New York City still believed that if they waited,
they’d be able to buy any apartment for less the following day.

I returned to the office and called Mr. Mendik. “I’m afraid I have bad

news, Bernie,” I began. “There’s just no way your apartments can be sold
in this market. They’ve been listed for more than three years and there
aren’t any takers. I’m sure you’re aware that the apartments need a ton of
work and the maintenance charges are way out of line with the rest of the

market. I’m sorry, Bernie, I really wish I could help.”

“Barbara,” Bernie responded with his trademark enthusiasm, “you’re a
smart girl! You’ll figure it out.” And he hung up the phone.

SUMMER 1962, TOMS RIVER, NEW JERSEY

We were sitting outside on Grandpa’s screened porch after lunch when I
heard a lot of noise at the farm across the road. “Mom!” I yelled with my
hands cupped on the screen door. “There’s some fancy cars pulling up to

the farm. Can we go see what’s going on?”

“Just a minute,” she answered, “and we’ll all go together. Ellen, help me
finish the dishes, and, Denise, put away the cups. John, sit on Grandpa’s
lap there, and, Eddie, wipe your face. Barbara, stay right there, and keep

your eye on Tommy, Mary, Martin, and Jeanine.”

By the time my mother walked across the road with her six children
trailing behind, there was a line of fancy cars, and a line of fancy city folks
to go with them waiting by the gate.

“What’s going on today?” my mother asked a lady in a very shiny dress.

“What’s going on?” the lady repeated, flapping a fan in front of her face.

“What’s going on is that that farmer lady gave me an appointment at noon
and then let that woman there ahead of me.”

“I had an appointment at noon, too,” grumbled the bald-headed man
behind her.