By José Dominguez, November 16, 2020 — If you do a stupid thing, don’t worry…..soon you will find someone worse than you.
There were times when the variables of my petit sinner life were aligned with my lucky star in an apparent way — at least that’s what I assumed. At the age of 38, I ingenuously believed everything I initiated had a high probability of success. Unfortunately for me, other people with more wickedness and expertise in human vulnerabilities were always around looking for suckers like me, just to make a living.
In November 1982, some friends invited me to participate in a business presentation of an investment plan in a pecan tree farm sold by acres in a location 80 miles far from Ciudad Juarez. The presentation was neat and included a future perspective of the trees in each lot. Given the normal growth, according to the realtor, in 3 or 4 years we were going to see the first fruits of the investment. For the rest of our lives, those magical pecan trees [would help] the buyers to have a comfortable senior life with no economical limitations — well, if the payments were in order.
To me, that lady explaining was like a fortune-teller who read my mind. That’s what I was waiting for — to have my own land full of my favorite trees. The dream came to me right at the precise moment when I was expecting it. All my family and I went with a large group of future buyers to see the preparation works. It was like a party. We were treated with care and enthusiasm. We enjoyed our visit. After confirming that I could invest some money, I decided to buy 14 acres. I didn’t think about the hardship of the payments, [I thought only about] the big amount of cash that was prospected to flow, almost forever, into my pockets.
The next year, after several monthly payments, in the month of April, I decided to see how my little trees were growing. I was hoping with all my heart to see some green spots in each of my beloved money producers. Arriving at the place was not the same as when we came for the first time. There was no music, no party, and no hosts received me smiling. It was a cold day in the desert that was present in all its magnitude and strength. It looked [less like] a tree plantation and [more] like a cemetery. For that visit, I had invited Tolin, a friend of mine who happened to be a very successful pecan producer in his own ranch south of the state of Chihuahua.
He had been very tactful with me and never gave any negative opinion about my decision. He immediately took his expert role very seriously. [He] inspected each one of the planted trees and calculated the level of growth and mortality. According to him, this kind of tree grows very slowly and the prospect of production depends on the quality of the surrounding variables. If the level of water is correct, if the soil is proper, and if the weather conditions are good…well, there’s no problem; but all those conditions were not present. Sadly, a high number of trees were dead, others were very weak, others hardly survived, and the rest, a very few, were in good status.
The only condition to continue with the business, according to him, was to get rid immediately of the affected trees and plant new ones. You can’t wait years to make the decision with the hope that one miracle will make your trees be productive. My business illusion had almost vanished. Nevertheless, I managed to ask for a meeting with the engineer in charge of the plantation. Several buyers went with me to the meeting and I exposed the results of my visit. The engineer was not impressed, the only thing that he said was that there was no problem with the trees, that they had “latent life” and added that it was only a matter of time, we had to give those trees the chance to react. Latent life! Latent life! The explanation sounded to me like a mirage or a fantasy, and most of all it was an insult to my intelligence.
Damn it! I have never been a saint, and less a Christian saint putting the other cheek to be abused again, so I decided to endorse my stupidity to another naïve person. Most of my neighbors were rich. Well, in reality, I was the less affluent person around. I took my time to catch any weak spot in the prosperous nearby residents’ solvent facades.
And I got it. It was an architect. According to my intuition, he was not a successful money-maker, but his wife was a respectful solvent dentist. I walked to his house and he recognized me because our suburb was very small in reality. I told him all the goodies that the salesperson told me, and dramatized my explanation thanks to my psychological skills. He was a person easy to communicate with. Obviously, his preference in life was his impeccable appearance. His nails were polished, his mustache meticulously done. [He wore] super elegant matched clothes and radiated an exquisite lavender fragrance from his immaculate presence.
After a few moments of my explanation I knew it, he was hooked! The same as I was several months ago. He had only one glimpse of conscience when with curiosity questioned me; “Well, Mister Dominguez, if your property is such a great asset why do you want to sell it?” The question invited me to display my theatrical skills and I said, “Just because I am obsessive-compulsive, everything that I own has to be under my daily control, I have to be near, doing personal supervision and I don’t have time to afford with this kind of property, even when it is a great investment. It hurts me a lot to get rid of it, but, it comforts me that it’s going to be in very good hands – in your hands.” He was convinced and that was it. No more payments, no more easy money dreams, for the moment.
Weeks later, I found the buyer and with a sad face he told me, “Now I know why you did sell your plantation.” And I thought for myself: “Well, too late.”