You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

THE INSIDE TRACK

I answered the phone. It was John, my friend since childhood, and my attorney. After salutations, he asked, “Are you interested in investing in real estate in North Portland? I’ve got connections. I met an influential minister at a retreat.” “Yes! Tell me more.” I answered, as two thoughts came to mind. First, I had been wondering why the run-down central northeast part of Portland was being ignored by developers while the urban growth boundary, around the metropolitan area, was creating a shortage of suitable home sites. It seemed like a good opportunity for investments in this central, yet economically depressed part of the city. The second thought that came to mind was the common belief that it is not what you do that leads to success, it is who you know. And now, here is John, calling with connections, an’inside-track’ to a successful real estate investment.

John explained that he had become acquainted with Reverend Jefferson during a weekend retreat of Portland Civic Leaders. The retreat was an elegant affair that had taken place at a mountain resort near the town of Hood River. After this conference, John figured that his connection with Reverend Jefferson was going to help us find and purchase a house in the North Portland neighborhood where the good reverend had his church. He probably could even recommend reliable renters, we surmised.

We arranged a meeting with the reverend at his imposing church in North Portland. He greeted us at a side entrance and led us to his office, a small room in the basement with a large oak desk occupying most of the space. The four walls were covered with religious certificates, photographs of ministers, and a variety of crucifixes with Jesus nailed to them. The reverend sat at his desk. John and I sat against the opposite wall in straight-backed wooden chairs with our knees against the desk. Behind the reverend were two high windows, the sills of which just cleared the outside grade. Through them, we looked under shrubs, that surrounded the church. We could see the ankles of people passing on the sidewalk.

The meeting was cordial. We explained our interest in improving the neighborhood by renovating houses and asked if he could help us identify properties in need of remodeling. He asked how much money we were willing to invest. We gave him a ballpark figure. Then, rather than responding to our questions about investments prospects, he launched into a request for a loan to help his aging mother. We had to sit there and listen to his hard sell for a painfully long time. Finally, we excused ourselves, having learned nothing about investment in North Portland. We left and drove around, looking at block after forlorn block of rundown houses. After that day, although John and I spoke occasionally, there was never another mention of investing in North Portland real estate.

Three months after our visit with the good reverend Jefferson, the Oregonian ran a third-page story about a prominent local minister who had been caught having sex with a teenage acolyte. The article told of Reverend Jefferson’s removal from the ministry and his upcoming trial.