The House in Douglas Manor
Many years ago I was a realtor. I worked for a big national company. One day I got a referral from our relocation department. The house was in Douglas Manor, quite a lovely area on the Long Island Sound, in Queens.
I called and made an appointment. It was the end of summer, just before autumn arrived. In the air there was the feeling that the season was about to change, just like a woman at the height of her beauty as she stepped into the next stage of life. Her beauty is warm, radiating a subtle iridescence. Such was that day. It was a really beautifully magical day that one remembers years hence as being more than perfect. Do you know the kind of day I am talking about? The kind that makes you smile fondly just thinking about it years later? Well, that’s the kind of day it was.
As I drove through the winding streets of Douglas Manor under the shade of trees heavily laden with lush green leaves, I greedily took in all the gifts nature offered. I felt such a sense of well-being.
I arrived at my destination. The handsome Tudor sat on a well-manicured lawn. I smiled to myself. There was pride of ownership here. It presented well. It looked like a well-loved and pampered home. Definitely, with the right marketing, it would not be difficult to sell.
As I walked up the pathway, the lady of the house opened the door with a warm smile on her face. I immediately liked her. She was a well-dressed, well-spoken, elegant lady.
As she took me around her house, I noticed vases of flowers everywhere, the tasteful touches of a well-kept home were evident. She explained that her husband’s company was sending them to Europe for an indefinite assignment. They planned on it being a long stay. That is why they were selling their home.
We finished viewing the house. She suggested we sit in the garden in a shady spot under the trees to discuss marketing this property. There was a comfortable seating arrangement where we could sit and talk. The breeze rustled through the leaves. The birds warbled and twittered. The atmosphere was so relaxed, not like most presentations. Most people were impatient and slightly hostile. They wanted you to cut to the chase and tell them how much money you could sell their house for, would you cut your commission, and what period of time would you want the listing for. Also, would you advertise every week? Marketing a property is not as simple as that. Each property is different, therefore the method of selling each home needed to be styled to its needs, just like a hand-tailored suit needed to be adapted to the body of the person wearing it.
That was not the case with this lady. Before I made my presentation to her, we somehow got to talking about ourselves and our travels. She seemed to have traveled to similar places as me in Europe. We have shopped in similar shops and dined in the same kind of restaurants. We spoke of our favorite museums in different cities and which shows we had lately seen. Our interests seemed to be very similar. It felt as if we had been friends forever. We nibbled on strawberries and sipped wine as we chatted. It did not feel like a listing presentation but rather like a pleasant social visit.
I glanced at my watch and realized I had been there for quite some time. I began my presentation, and she listened attentively. She told me she liked what I offered. She wanted me to come back the next evening to speak to her husband and sign the contract. As I gathered my belongings and was getting ready to leave, she placed her hand on my arm. “One more thing,” she said. “I would appreciate it if you do not show our home to the undesirable elements. We would like to preserve the integrity of our neighborhood.”
Not knowing what she meant, I said, “People that do not feel welcome in an area are reluctant to go there.”
“You don’t seem to know them. They sneak into places they are not wanted! They take over!’’ she exclaimed.
‘’Whom do you mean? I do not understand?’’ I asked puzzled.
‘’The Jews of course! They have a way of creeping in where they are not wanted!’’
For a moment, I felt as if someone had slapped me hard. I was numb with shock. I had thought that living in New York I would no longer encounter antisemitism. I thought I had left all that behind me. After all, New York was a melting pot. People of all ethnicities lived side by side and in peace. But this was blatant antisemitism!
For a moment, I was silent. I needed to be in control of my emotions. “Don’t worry. I shall not,’’ I said as I left that house. I wanted to flee as if the devil was chasing me! Instead, I walked out of there with a calm demeanor and with all the dignity I could muster.
Shaking inwardly, I went to my office and called the relocation department. I asked for the person who had given me the referral. Very upset and with a quivering voice, I tried to control my emotions as I explained what had transpired. I ended up by saying that I had thought I had left antisemitism behind me in the Middle East. I did not think that it followed me to New York! She was embarrassed. She was dismayed. She apologized profusely over and over again. I told her that I could not pretend I am not Jewish just to get the listing and I would not take the listing even if it was offered to me now, knowing that she disliked my being Jewish. Because I knew that, I would not be able to service it honestly and wholeheartedly since I knew how they felt about people of my religion. How could I? I believed in the adage, ‘To thyself be true.’ I had thought we were kindred spirits. But my being Jewish put everything into a different perspective. I was dismayed and felt besmirched. I could not erase the uncomfortable feeling of somehow being tainted with something I did not like. All I could do was shrug it off, hold my head up high and move on. Next!
That was many years ago; close to thirty years ago. Today they spoke about antisemitism on the radio. I remembered that incident, and the same emotions rushed back! I felt hurt, I felt angry, and felt the same feeling I felt then as if something foul had attempted to contaminate me. I wondered if hatred and prejudice will ever die. Somehow I don’t think so.