Home for Sale; Owner Bankrupt

I have to sell my home. I will show photos of it on this page but to appreciate this historic home fully you will need to go to my Hub My Home is the oldest House in Orlando.

These are tough economic times. I have gone completely broke. Just one year ago I was truly blessed with material riches beyond what 99% of the people on this Earth have ever had. I am grateful that I have been able to enjoy this lovely home. I am thankful for the wonderful life I have been granted by God in His graciousness.

The home is located in a great, quiet, safe, old neighborhood just north of downtown Orlando that is undergoing gentrification. It is on a large lot with beautifully landscaped grounds, and has about 4,000 square feet of living space. Half of that space is well over 100 years old; half is nearly brand new. The house is very unusual.

I have a lot of Art for sale, which can be seen in my Hubs Art in my Home; Beauty is the Purpose of Art; Fine Arts; and Rembrandt is my Favorite Artist. I, of course, will keep my Georgia Armani suits and Ferragamo shoes at least. I have mountains of extraordinary books and music I might be able to liquidate.

Everything I have is for sale except my clothes. I have a 2001 S Type Jaguar V8, in excellent condition, with only 51,000 miles on it. I will try keep my Cadillac CTS-Sport since it is leased. I already sold my Jaguar XKR Coupe 100th Anniversary Model—only 71 made. The most beautiful thing I ever owned.

I have been poor before. In fact, most of my life I have been poor. I mention this because since I write about politics from a Conservative perspective, I have many times been accused in comments of not caring for the poor because I am rich. Now, I have never been materially rich, by American standards. I have been rich in loved ones and rich in life experiences.

I eked out a living as a professional musician for twenty years—and I was dirt poor the entire time. When I "retired" everything I owned fit into my car. I never owned a home until I was 41 years old. By the grace of God, I did really well in the automobile business; did really well in the auto parts business; did really well in the computer surplus business; and did really well in the aviation business.

I had an aviation company for 14 years that eventually had 144 employees and grossed $53M our best year—2006. We were in the business jet business. We sold them; maintained them; painted them; refurbished the interiors of them; trained pilots to fly them; sold fuel for them; and provided jet charter services for the rich and famous. Just a few of our clients included: John Travolta; Matt Damon; Van Halen; George Bush; Al Gore; Jesse Jackson; Alex Rodriguez; Orel Hershiser; Crosby, Stills & Nash; Jackson Browne; Willie Nelson; Whitney Houston; Britney Spears; Yanni; General Swartzkopf; NASA; Tommy Franks; Mel Martinez; Mark Martin; Rusty Wallace; Bill Elliot; and Payne Stewart.

I won't bore you with all the details but when jet fuel prices tripled in the summer of 2007 our charter and aircraft sales plummeted. 2008 brought the tightening of credit by banks, which in our case meant our $500,000 credit lines vanished—though we had never been late on a payment. So many flight schools went under that banks stopped issuing student loans for nascent pilots; and then several Florida home builders went under—that stuck us with nearly a million dollars of uncollectible accounts receivable.

We were slow to lay off workers, who were all like family to us and depended upon us for their incomes and health insurance. We were saddled with tens of millions of dollars of aircraft inventory that not only wasn't selling—but plummeted in value by 40% as the number of used jets for sale in the world exploded from 1,000 to 2,000. Every service we provided then suffered losses in revenue of about 40%. We were obligated to leases on buildings and charter aircraft of 20 or 25 year terms, from which we could not extricate ourselves. The company went under in February, 2009, and I have not worked since.

Into every life rain must fall.  About a year ago, my wife, who was earning quite a good living as a psychologist, matchmaker, and public speaker—was diagnosed with Parkinson's Disease.  She is now largely housebound, being too wobbly to walk in public.  Thankfully, she continued to bring in some revenue through matchmaking until a few months ago—when we were unable to raise $78 to continue her Google ads. 

To get by, I cashed in my IRA and my life insurance.  Those funds have now run out.  On faith, I set out to be a writer, something I had long yearned to do.  This was a good profession for me it seemed since I needed to be at home to help my wife with her daily needs.  A good friend recommended Hub Pages to me as a vehicle by which to establish myself as a writer of talent. 

I have now published 110 articles on HubPages that have been viewed by well over 60,000 people; and commented on by over 10,000 people. But my earnings have been very little. I am told that a "blogger" needs 10,000 viewers per day to make a living at it. I am at about 800 per day. But my readership has been steadily growing during these eight months

I have run out of time. My home will be in foreclosure if I do not raise at least $4,000 by the 27th of December. My electricity will be shut off unless I raise $1,900 by Monday. My leased Cadillac will be repossessed unless I raise $1,100 by Monday. Some of this I mention because if I disappear from HubPages it will be because I no longer have juice for my computer—not because I have willingly neglected my readers. A month or so ago I had a gentleman who offered to pay me $1000 a week to write Conservative political columns but then he changed his mind.

Let me share with you what happens when you go broke. And this is not so you will weep for me. I am not deserving of any tears. I squandered so much money in the past ten years. I traveled the world; collected art; dressed in all sorts of finery; rented limousines; drank Dom Perignon at Club Paris—I was a big wheel. I am sure there is some schadenfreude in some circles.

Now all I did was not wasteful (in my weak defense). I also gave away 20% of my income to charity—great charities that further God's Kingdom and served the disadvantaged. And I gave my time—even more importantly—to many excellent causes. I never kept track of the 100s, 200s, 500s, and 1000s I gave to my family or friends who were in need. I am quite familiar with the sending procedures at Western Union. And I have no doubt that those poor folks—who some of my liberal critics think I don't know any of—would help me now if they could. But they can't.

My point is that when your grandparents told you to save for a rainy day; to live within your means; not to buy anything you didn't have the cash to buy: that is golden advice my friends.  My travails are my own fault.  I have been a fool with my resources.  Anyway, here is what happens when you go broke.

Some may have heard the Eric Clapton song "Nobody loves you when you're down and out."  Let me tell you my friends that this is a truism.  A year ago I had numerous "friends" who are mega-millionaires.  They used to call me several times a week just to chat or have lunch.  Since I have been out of work; gone broke; and caring for my very ill wife?  Not one of them has rang my number to see how I am doing or if I need anything.  These are guys who think nothing of spending $50,000 on a weekend in Vegas or donating $20,000 to dig wells in Africa.  My phone doesn't ring anymore.  I am not crying about it. I want people to hear what I am saying. 

Just a year ago, we were invited to the most posh parties in Orlando.  I had so many invitations I could not possibly accept them all.  Now, I am not invited anywhere by anybody.  Let this be a lesson to you my friends. 

Now, I am grateful that two of my old friends have sent me $1000 each—one whom I asked and more importantly one whom I didn't.  Those for whom I no longer serve any useful purpose have forgotten I exist. 

When you have money but then go broke here is what happens: You run out of food. My wife went out of the house last week, early in the morning and behind my back, for one of the few times in the past year (except for going to her doctors—she not only has Parkinson's but also extreme blood pressure problems; Osteoporosis; and now perhaps Alzheimer's) and came home with a trunk load of groceries from Catholic Charities. If you live in an old house as we do you get rats living with you and can't afford an exterminator. You get mold around your fascia that will ruin your house, which you can't raise $350 to remove. You face constant tension about the electricity, your phones, your computer access, your car and house insurance. You shop for the best deal per ounce of food such as Ramen Noodles. Your light bulbs start burning out and you can't replace them. You worry about feeding your dog. Your clothes cannot get dry-cleaned. You can't get your hair cut. You run out of soap and shampoo. Your car is out of gas. Last week I couldn't raise $10 for the co-pay for a prescription my wife needed and gave the pharmacist a 1921-S Silver Dollar encased in mint condition—worth hundreds of dollars—out of desperation.

My credit is ruined. Two years ago I could borrow $500,000 on a signature loan without collateral. Today? I cannot borrow a nickel. I will never be able to buy another house or even a car unless it is at a buy-here-pay-here lot.

I can hear some of my concerned friends ask: What can we do? Send guns and butter! My poor friends all I ask for is your prayers. My readers, all I can ask is this: I have 800 daily readers. If each of you could get 10 of your friends to start reading my Hubs I would have 8,000 readers a day, and might make it through writing.

I am not without any plans. I have a plan to start producing film documentaries with a friend who is an outstanding producer and director if we can get maybe $150,000 of funding for our first three projects. I am looking for a literary agent who might obtain for me a $25,000 retainer to finish my book about the ramifications of the Woodstock Generation on our society. Or I can go to work for someone. What can I do? I can do anything. In my life I have been a record-shattering salesman; I am an able administrator or manager; I can do public relations to beat the band; I am an excellent controller; I know marketing like the back of my hand.

I have faith that God will take me where He wants me to go. Like St. Peter, it may not be where I want to go. What will become of me? I do not know. I may become a vagabond upon the Earth.