His story ends at the beginning of mine.
The man who owned the trailer I'd like to buy for as little as it's worth died last August. He was 87. The old trailer, from 1968, has been subject to the slow grind of probate court since then. He didn't leave a will or footprints to follow. I speculate he didn't have close relatives. Just the standard list of former addresses that are available on the internet and probate documents from the county. The fact is he lived in filth. It was shocking to walk inside with the real estate agent. She arrived in a white luxury car. An odd fit for the commission. She left me with a cartoon of her on a card, happy face and twiggy thin. She must have gained weight since then. I saved it.
The toilet's water valve was rusted and I couldn't untwist it to test the flush. She told me not to try, afraid something would break. I want her to estimate how much it will cost to repair and she doesn't want me counting problems. We're not getting along. The old man never cleaned his feces off the bowl so ebony brownie is caked up an inch like frosting. After a desert summer in temperatures over 120 degrees it's petrified. An archaeologist could make a calendar and reconstruct his menus. It's the most personal relic of him 8 months after his death as I look inside his trailer casket. The tub and bathroom sink are too worn to keep, same for mirrors and anything on hinges. What's not unhinged will be. The bathroom was bad but so were the fixtures in kitchen and bedroom. The faucet was loose in kitchen sink. All electrical outlets were loose. The carpet was stinky and soiled. The plastic air conditioner was brittle and wouldn't start.
Perhaps he was unable to care for himself. Legally, the agent had to reveal he died in the trailer. So he must have been able to get to the grocery store and had enough sense to remain independent. I'm guessing the heir is a niece who didn't know him well. He was intestate so no one was close. His past addresses correspond to what one would expect for a gay man who spent life in Southern California: Hillcrest in San Diego; North Hollywood and Studio City in LA; Palm Springs in the desert. There were a couple of others places in the San Fernando Valley.
According to the public records in Riverside County he wasn't poor. There is $250,000 dollars in the estate. So he could have made renovations to the trailer but chose not to. Maybe he was a pig or too cheap to hire someone. Perhaps he expected to live another 10 years and told himself he'd need every dime for the unforeseen.
I've spoken with the neighbor a few times. The neighbor has lived in his double wide trailer for 3 years. It's in much better shape on a bigger lot. It's typical of all others in the park, except the one I'm interested in which is the smallest on the smallest lot. He paid 35k three years ago. The Estate wants 20k for "mine" but they haven't gotten it yet. First I made a lowball bid and the agent ignored me. I contacted her again and instead of making a counteroffer she wrote get lost! I don't like her style.
A few times I've driven by and the neighbor is outside smoking next to "my" trailer. I questioned whether that would be a problem, but dismissed it as I would relax outside on the opposite side out of smoke range. He seems like a friendly older gay man but did say something that didn't fit. It was the last time I ran into him and mentioned the lock down in place order that had just gone into effect in Palm Springs due to the Corona Virus pandemic. He said he didn't care because he was under house arrest. That was unexpected. He's at least 70 and seems gentle and easy going. I considered he might be joking. Or perhaps he got a drunk driving charge and can't leave his property. It's never too late until it is.
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