THIS LAND IS MY LAND

THIS LAND IS MY LAND

By Mark Reed

My career in the real estate business has consisted almost exclusively of real estate acquisition. Reed Realty has not been, for the most part, a firm that listed, advertised and sold real estate, other than in the early days when dad first opened for business and sold houses during the 50’s. We have pretty much represented purchasers, doing site selection and site acquisition for them. That includes my representing different clients over the years acquiring fast food and other commercial sites, electrical transmission line right of way, pipeline right of way, cellular tower sites and zonings and permits for all sorts of commercial projects.

This story concerns a cross-country electrical transmission line right of way I acquired, which ran approximately parallel to GA 400 in the Cumming, Forsyth County, Georgia area. I recently wrote another story about this project titled “Are You Afraid?” After writing that one, this one popped into my head as worthy of sharing, and it even has a “moral to the story” aspect.

A little Cliff Notes information so you will better understand the process of such a project. The electric power company engineers will determine that there is a need for more electric power in an area. The Land Department real estate people will work with them fine tuning and identifying a preliminary route for the transmission line. The Land people will get survey permission from property owners. After some tweaking of the route, the surveyor and title attorney will work together identifying property ownership and specifically describing the route so that an acquisition guy, like myself, can then go out and contact the property owner. I would be given survey strip maps, usually on an aerial photograph blue line. This survey would show the boundaries of properties the right of way would cross, property line to property line, identifying the distance across the property, the width of the right of way easement and the amount of acreage involved in the easement for acquisition.

I remember being warned by the surveyor and attorney that the owner of a particular tract would be particularly difficult to deal with, based upon their experience and knowledge of said individual. I met with the owner, a farmer who owned a large tract of land. The transmission line right of way had been designed and located so as to impact his property as little as possible, running along property lines and across open pasture wherever possible. I laid out my big aerial survey and pointed out his land situated thereon. I showed him where we would enter his property on the south end and exit his property on the north end. He said not a word, but he did nod his head.

I told him that our 50’ wide easement across approximately 2,000 feet of his farm took up just over two acres of land. It was pretty standard that in most cases you would pay someone a percentage of the per acre value of the land, say 50% or so. That would vary depending on the impact on the land, and since it was a negotiation, could vary even more. Just so you know, the power company has the right of eminent domain, which meant that if you could not reach an agreement with a property owner, your last resort was condemnation through the courts. That was an expensive process, and was avoided if possible, even to the point of paying someone more than a court would likely award a property owner. So, I always tried to be more than fair with them.

I don’t remember the exact amount I offered the farmer for the easement. I seem to remember it being around $10,000.00. I do remember that he did not hesitate to agree right there on the spot. I was really impressed with myself for the marvelous job I did in my presentation and negotiation, if you can call it that. I wrote him a draft and he signed the easement. Done deal! I drove off, hardly able to contain myself with pride. The project manager was going to be very happy. I couldn’t wait to tell the surveyor and attorney how I “handled” the property owner who was supposed to be so difficult.

I had an appointment with the adjoining property owner a little later that afternoon. As I spread out my maps and showed him where we crossed his property, he said, “Fine, but what about the southern part of my land? Don’t you want an easement across it, too?” I pointed out to him that the land he was referring to belonged to the farmer I had just left and had already acquired an easement across, including the land now being pointed out to me as his. The farmer smiled at me and said, “Well, sonny, that there be my land you just paid someone else for.” My stomach sank.

I realized that the previous property owner I had such an easy time with saw right off that our survey was wrong in identifying what property was his. In fact, our survey incorrectly showed the previous owner’s land by more than double. Instead of about an acre of land, I had paid him for over two acres, of which he obviously knew he did not own. It was common practice for me to confirm with the property owner exactly where we crossed their land. I had done so with the previous guy, but I now remembered that he never opened his mouth when I pointed out where we crossed his land. He just nodded his head. No wonder he was so easy to deal with. I had just paid him twice what he should have gotten.

I immediately revisited the first farmer. He met me with a big smile. I guess so. Maybe he thought I was there to give him money for someone else’s property again. He knew exactly why I was back. Therefore the smile. When I explained that our map was incorrect and that I had paid him for land that was not his, he just smiled all the more. He informed me he had just returned from his bank where he had deposited my draft. He further told me that he had no intention of returning the money.

My triumphant return to the office was not exactly how I had imagined it would be. I explained what had happened, and sure enough, we were able to determine that the surveyor and attorney, who had proofed and approved the final plans, had both made a mistake. It was really the attorney who had the last word in confirming the property ownership, as depicted by the surveyor. He goofed. The fail-safe, which was my confirming with the property owner that our survey was correct, also failed.

I learned a valuable lesson. Nodding of the head does not necessarily mean agreement. Believe me, thereafter I always made sure I got an owner to verbally confirm his ownership was correctly depicted. We could have probably won the case if we had decided to go to court against the property owner. It was decided, from a public relations standpoint, to not pursue that route. The title attorney had screwed up and the company went to him for restitution because of his mistake. His insurance paid. The surveyor was probably culpable, too, but it was the attorney’s responsibility to make sure his survey was correct.

No one blamed me for what happened, although I beat myself up pretty good for being snookered by the wily old farmer. I did not like the smile he gave me. Oh well, maybe there was some karma for him down the road. The moral of the story? Always get verbal confirmation.

One last note. The easement document was amended and thereafter had language included that the Grantor (the property owner) affirmed that the property survey and description was correct.

ALPHABET SOUP

ALPHABET SOUP

By Mark Reed

In 1966, maybe 1967, I had a blind date with the Sweetheart of Nu Tau (Not Telling) Fraternity at Georgia State University in Atlanta. I am not telling what fraternity she was sweetheart of, because I do not want her to be identified and perhaps be embarrassed. I did not go on many blind dates because experience taught me that they never met expectations based upon the descriptions given of what they looked like or how sharp they were. Needless to say, I usually came away disappointed, as I guess they may have, too.

In this case, I was pleasantly surprised. She was drop dead gorgeous and on top of that she could put together a full sentence that was both witty and funny. I hit the blind date lottery. And she had bodacious ta-ta’s.

I picked her up in my ’65 GTO Convertible with the top down and we zoomed off to the party, she with her lovely long black hair blowing behind her. Most of the remainder of the night has faded into the oblivion of lost memories, probably because of dead brain cells and old age. But I sure remember the ending.

After the consumption of vast quantities of PBR, at parties end I drove her back to her place, hoping I might get lucky with her inviting me in. She was very affectionate. On the drive back she leaned across the center console and placed her head on my shoulder. At least I think she was being affectionate. She may have been passed out.

Anyway, when we arrived at her place, I said in my most suave and debonier Ricky Ricardo accent, “Honey, we’re home.” She lifted her head from my shoulder and gave me a lovely smile. Be still my beating heart. As I opened my door to get out, and put my left leg and foot out onto the ground, she leaned across my lap and something remarkable happened. Remarkable is the only word I can come up with.

She proceeded to hurl seven or eight PBR’s and her dinner onto my left leg, which thankfully was outside the car. While being vomited on is not to be desired, I must tell you that I was thankful she did not deposit the contents of her stomach inside my car. I appreciate this still.

No, that was not the remarkable thing that happened. There on my thigh was displayed a good bit of her dinner. I know what you are saying…”Ewww, gross.” Well, maybe so, but it was what she had for dinner that even makes this story worth telling. She had consumed a can of Alphabet Soup before I picked her up. There on my thigh, glistening in the pale light from my interior car light, were the unmistakable and instantly recognizable little white letters of the alphabet.

No, not even that is the remarkable part of the story. It is what she did next that is remarkable and forever imprinted on my brain. She sweetly said, as she reached out with a finger and placed it into the jumble of letters on my thigh, “Look, I can write my name.” And she proceeded to arrange the three letters of her name, which I will not disclose here, not wishing for anyone to be able to identify her. Now you can say what you will, but I must tell you that her comment was about the coolest recovery in history, or at least in my experience, from someone who has just done something highly embarrassing. She was one cool gal, and her wit and humor shown through in a moment that could have been ugly. We both sat there and laughed our butts off.

I did get invited into her place, but not for the purposes I had hoped for. She let me use her bathroom to wash off my pants leg. I left with a soaked left leg of my khaki pants, air drying as I drove away with the top down. I laughed the whole way home.

The only downside to this event is my inability to eat Alphabet Soup for the rest of my life. My sons, Bill and Lew, used to ask me what I was laughing about every time I served them Alphabet Soup when they were young children. I never told them. Until now. Boney Appetite.

By the way, just in case inquiring minds want to know, we never went out again.