@halle-eavelyn @negeen-dargahi

I grew up on the hill. The right side of the tracks, so too speak.

From the east, was a roof top view of the flats. That’s what we called the areas for the folks who didn’t live on the hill. At night, you could see and hear the helicopters circling around the dark skies while helping those on foot patrol or police car catch the bad guys.

And from the west, which was our backyard, you there was nothing to see but the blue sea.

We had a 180 degree view that spanned from the Palos Verdes where Shamu the orca whale once lived at SeaWorld and to the Palisades where other famous personalities in the entertainment industry called home.

Life was good on the hill IF your name…..Dawn whose daddy was an tax attorney for the IRS who made sure she and her sister stayed dressed in the latest clothes and went out to dinner every Friday night. Even if they weren’t celebrating a birthday or graduation. They also had a swimming pool!

Or Kathleen who’s mom was a widow and taught piano. She always made sure to give Kathlee $5 to buy tacos after we went to Sunday school. Kathleen would always share her tacos with me.

Oh! and if your name was Tracy your mom and dad were spending their weekends running around town trying to find their only child the best deal on a brand new 1981 Subaru. It was all black with tan interior. Sweet!

We lived on the hill not because my parents were rich. Or should I say parent. My parents broke up and my mom sold our little house where we were like the other kids…working poor, latchkey, one parent in the home. On the hill was quite the opposite. The moms didn’t work and it felt like we were the only poor kids.

What we did have was super smart and ambitious mother who wanted her kids to have the same opportunities as the rich kids on the hill so she bought what was equivalent to a barn.

A barn on the hill and it smelled like a barn whenever someone took a bath or washed clothes in our home.

The septic tank needed replacing and it was not a very well kept malodorous secret. The neighbors and anyone caught in the downwind direction knew it!

At night, my mother would drive the neighborhood to leave notes for the owners sharing her plight of being a divorced mom with two kids who desired to live in a community of doctors, lawyers and Indian chiefs. My mom was a secretary with a high school education who wanted more for her kids.

What she could not give us (other than the basic necessities: food, shelter and covering) we had to get on our own. So my brother worked for a drive-thru dairy gently placing milk, cheese, eggs and bread into the neighbors’ fine cars.

And, I being the product of a secretary’s daughter who at 13 could type 110 words per minutes, take short-hand, and answer the phone while speaking the Queen’s English.

I decided to get a job like my mom!

So, I walked right into H.M. Clark Realty and standing before me was a woman who would change my life.

Beverly was her name. Beverly Ann Clark. A tall woman, mid 40’s and who was alternating between chewing on the bit of her pipe and a poor soul on the other end of the phone.

She hung up the phone and turned her attention to me. She asked what I wanted. I told her a job. And she told me to sit down and there I sat for the next three years.

My responsibilities were to answer the phone, open escrow, pay bills, put out signs, collect rent, issue 3 day notices to quit, start eviction proceedings, go to the courthouse and pull deeds, get lunch, and take care of Koury.

I hear you barking big dog. You’re saying “Wait? I thought you were a girl Friday, when did you start taking care of kids?”

Cute little, button nose, inquisitive Koury became “mine” at 3:00pm every day when I picked him up from kindergarten in his mom’s beat up yellow 1971 Javeline that sat in the office parking lot until she figured it still cranked, and I could drive it. Yep, driving dirty at age 14.

Things weren’t so good at the house on the hill that I lived on so I spent a lot of time with Beverly.

Beverly had three other children. All a little younger than me. I was more Beverly’s peer than a kid who worked for. I was mature and she needed a friend.

I would often times spend weekends at her home. When I went off to college she made sure I had money for my books. I learned a lot from sitting in Beverly’s office. I learned a lot about being a woman listening to Beverly and her girl friends lament about problems with the world, their husbands, children, and, of course, real estate.

I saw the victory (first time home buyers) and oftentimes pain (loss of parents resulting in selling of family home) when dealing with real estate transactions. I learned from Beverly to fight for your clients while always remaining the calming force. She taught me to know my craft and whatever she didn’t know she had a network of people to help her figure it out.

Beverly passed in December of 2021. During that month she put three homes into escrow. She was a young, vibrant woman of 82 years.

I walked into Beverly’s life thinking I would work a few hours after school and have money on the weekends to buy my own tacos, give Tracy $5 gas money in her new car to help with my rides to school and be able to go to the mall with Dawn knowing I had money for a cheap pair of earrings.

What I did not know how grateful Beverly was to have me. A few years ago, she shared the had it not been for me she could not have run her business as efficiently and she could slay thee real estate dragoons knowing I was caring for Koury.

Little did I know, my sitting at that front desk looking out the window dreaming of my own future was taking shape in that office. The love and kindness she showed me lives with me today.

So if you need someone who is smart, hardworking and really understands her craft like my beloved Beverly then you will want to consider me as your realtor of life. Give me a call to see how I can help. 916-530-7337.

And I’ll bring Beverly along….she lives in my heart.