In the beginning, 1977, my first purchase agreement was memorable. I was working with a young couple my age buying their first home; baby boomers. They were insistent on finding a rambler, even though I had found a split entry that would meet their needs perfectly. The search continued until we found the one on Scandia Trail: mature trees, dark brown cedar siding and light green trim created the wrapping and bow for a first sale. The paperwork was easy enough; a page and a half. I felt somewhat relieved that the listing agent and I were from the same company, same office. The offer presentation, which I attended, went smoothly until the listing agent calculated the seller’s proceeds. He said, “Here’s your bottom line unless you have a mortgage prepayment penalty.” , “Is there a chance we have a prepayment penalty?” , “I don’t know. We’ll have to wait til Monday to call the bank.” The wait from Friday evening to Monday noon was an eternity. When I called my coworker for an update he said, “Scandia Trail? Oh, I sold that at the open house on Sunday.” Those first customers went on to buy the split entry I had told them about, from another agent. As I sat at my desk reflecting on the series of events, I was surrounded by stereo typical salespeople: loud, pushy, self- centered, greedy…and cut throat. At age 23 I had a decision to make; Could I survive in this environment? I decided there was room in the business for a “nice guy”. Six months later, I was promoted to manager.