A Blast From The Past

There was a Davy sighting earlier this week. Dave is the owner of the apartment building I used to live in, The Wilmont. I was driving down Sprague Ave. when I passed his pick up sitting at a red light, heading towards the building. I did a U turn and caught up to him as he was about to disappear down the basement steps and into the supply room. As I knocked on the door to get his attention, I wondered: how is he going to respond to me being there. Dave and I hadn't parted on the best terms.

My sister introduced me to him in the spring of 2005 when I found myself at a point where a literally had no idea on what I was going to do or how I was going to do it. I called Dana, she and I hadn't spoke for years. I explained to her the best I could about my situation. And for lack of any other alternative, I ended up moving to Tacoma and renting an apartment from Dave (I think to this day, we both are very unclear on how it exactly came to be. I just kind of ended up there). A few weeks after I moved in, he knocked on my door. Not having any idea on who it could be, I asked: who' s there? It's Dave. "It's Dave" is going to be a phase that will haunt me for the rest of my life. I don't remember the first conversation we had. He asked some from general questions about how I was doing and the apartment. I didn't have a whole lot to say. Later, he would tell me, he had never seen a more wounded person than I. A few weeks later, another knock, it's Dave. He was having a lot of transition in the building. People were changing apartments, people were moving out. Would I be willing to help by doing some cleaning?

Dave owned other buildings and a house in the neighbor and also worked as an apartment manger in Seattle. He was usually on the go and daily dealt with issues ranging from maintenance to city authority. He always tried to work with folks and gave them every opportunity when it came to paying rent, letting other people stay in the unit without being on the lease, or keeping a pet. It was mayhem. However, I was being successful at keeping myself behind close door attempting to ignore everything around me. I did start having conversations with Dave during this time. He was easy to talk to and had a quirky smile he liked to flash. We also seem to share this edge of cynicism which ultimately led to our downfall.

It was late in the summer, and again, other knock on my door. Dave came in, sat down in one of the two chairs I had acquired (most of my furnishings came from what was stored in my sister's attic), and confided in me. I need to get out of here... and had plans to travel to South America over the winter. Then asked, if I would be willing to help him out by collecting and depositing the rent from his apartment units in Tacoma? I would be working in conjunction with someone in Seattle who was filling in for him on that end, and another tenant at The Wilmont who was primarily taking the trash to the curb and watering the garden. I agreed and starting getting involved. By November, he handed me over his cell phone, told me to do the best I could, and I didn't see him again until March ( we did email). By then, everything looked great: all the back rent had been paid and was current, the house he bought with another investor had sold, and things seemed to be tapering off into a more consistent groove. It was the tide receding in preparation of the tsunami that was yet to come.