In the Trenches

The Caravan Circa 1963

A retired broker remembers his prankster brother and a listing that he will never forget.

BY HERBERT I. ROSENKRANTZ

On a misty Monday morning in 1963 in Redondo Beach, Calif., the Rosenkrantz, REALTORS’ caravan of five or six cars made its weekly excursion to inspect homes that had been listed with the company in the previous week.

The Champaign-colored Cadillac convertible usually driven by my younger brother, David, was absent. David, who, as big as a house himself at 300 pounds or more, was often seen tooling around town, top down, with an unlit cigar stuffed in his smiling face. He was a wanna-be stand-up comedian who, like many dreamers, experienced disorienting stage freight and mind-numbing fear of failure when he tried to perform. So, for as long as his dream went unfulfilled, he made our real estate business his stage.

On this particular Monday morning, the caravan pulled up to inspect a modest home in a blue-collar neighborhood. The team entered the three-bedroom, one-bath home, and began to look around. When the group got to the bathroom, the lead salesman pushed the door open to witness David squatting on the toilet—having stuffed all of his 300 pounds into the too-small housewife’s blue terrycloth bathrobe and hot pink plastic shower cap, which made him look like 20 pounds of potatoes in a 10-pound sack. He shrieked in his best falsetto, “No! No! No! Don’t come in here.” The salesman, hearing what he thought was the voice of the housewife and glimpsing a huge pink and blue apparition, panicked and slammed the bathroom door shut as he bolted from the hallway. The other men headed for the front door, reacting in shock as though they had been punched. They tumbled confusedly over each other as they scrambled to get out of the house.

As they gathered on the lawn, David exploded out the front door, roaring with laughter as tears streamed down his bright red face. When we realized we had been tricked, pandemonium broke loose; the men doubled over laughing until their sides ached. Exhausted, they gradually gathered their composure and went on to the next house, while David jumped into his Cadillac, floored it, and sped recklessly away and disappeared into the morning mist.

Herbert I. Rosenkrantz, a retired broker who owned Rosenkrantz, REALTORS®, in Redondo Beach, Calif., from 1959 to 1968, subsequently became a lawyer and practiced law until his retirement in 1998. He currently lives in Calabasas, Calif.

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