Mellowed with Age

In their day they were the sort of people that you did your best to avoid doing business with.

More than that you tried to avoid having any association, actual or implied, with them whatsoever because their bad reputations could tarnish you own.

You were also best advised not to walk with them for any distance down a public highway in case a disgruntled former employee, unhappy customer, ex-wife or a desperate creditor took it upon themselves to exact revenge using a vehicle intentionally mounting the pavement or by any other form of propelled missile.

What had these people done to produce such an adverse reaction in others?

Well, a good proportion of them were expert in some form of sharp business practice.

I must clarify that they were not involved in any illegal, criminal or nefarious activities but that they had little disregard, borne from a lack of moral compass or conscience for others. In some cases they were just slow to pay their monthly invoices. This may have been simply down to chaotic accounting practice, a befuddling of the books so that what was owed was not made clear but I suspect it was down to a sadistic pleasure in making others squirm and anxious for what was, after all ,rightly theirs for materials or services rendered.

Naturally, with roles reversed and money being outstanding to them they could be heavy handed, threatening, intimidating and downright unpleasant.

A few stories circulated amongst the commercial network in our City about specific individuals and their debt collection practices or business dealings. After a few Chinese whispers any truth in the tales was very difficult to ascertain but the reputations persisted and further episodes of somewhat wild speculation and credibility were added and embellished.

If the subjects of these urban myths were subsequently observed in the town there would be an exodus to the opposite pavement, a huddling together and furtive glances in their direction and a few, under-breath stock judgements. The recipients of such a reaction did not appear to notice that they invoked a fear amongst their peers or just did not care. To me, they always looked healthy, wealthy and happy. They were not obviously losing any sleep over what they were alleged to have done.

I did cross paths with a few of this select group of 'businessmen' but more from default than intention.
They were particularly active in the property sector and it was inevitable that, in my job , I would come across them.

One of them dealt in the buying and selling of houses for profit. A wreck of an old terraced house would be bought from a bankrupt estate, disinterested executors or an owner teetering on the fringes of being repossessed by a mortgage company. These distressed circumstances made for a very low outlay to buy. When vacant the house would be 'done-up', with I must stress the emphasis on 'done'. Even if in a state of advanced dereliction and decay the extent of the refurbishment would solely be a liberal application of woodchip paper throughout. That was it, the full scheme.

If I was engaged by a prospective buyer to inspect and report on what they had been informed was a 'fully modernised house' my subsequent damning report on a complete absence of any meaningful repairs or material improvements was quite a shock. My client would, understandably drop out of the running but the same property always sold within a short time frame. I dreaded having to collect a set of keys from the perpetrators' seedy office for subsequent jobs as he was obviously aware of the advice I was giving to my clients which served as the deal breaker. I developed an irrational hatred of any form of woodchip wallpaper and this persists to the present day.

I sometimes found myself in the employ of this select group on a default basis if instructed by a Bank or a Solicitor. This could be quite a menacing experience as I was duty bound to provide impartial and reasoned advice to the instructing Client but yet would be provided with information of dubious validity by their customer. It was a case of being ultra-professional in approach and behaviour in the face, often as not, of extreme pressure and coercion to gloss over any faults or shortcomings and provide an inflated opinion of the true value of the properties being offered up as collateral for a loan or additional financial facilities. I maintain that my reputation was upheld and the job done ethically and fairly.

Some thirty years on and these names from the past have attained the status of loveable rogues. Their halcyon days in business permitted a graceful retreat from the public eye and they were left to enjoy the fruits of their labours in retirement. Those who were terrified by their regime back then have either not lasted the course, moved into other spheres of business or out of the region. It has the impression of a period of no real victims.

To see the rogues now is quite sad as they are old, grey, unsure on their legs and a mere ghost of their former vigour, charm and persuasive powers. There may still be a flamboyant red silk handkerchief in a blazer pocket as a flash from the past . They may also be seen in the company of a bleached -blonde elderly lady who certainly will have been a looker in her time.

In recompense for their making a buck in business some have devoted their now ample free time to good causes being patrons of a Charity, the life and soul of fund raising at their local golf club or sponsoring a bout at the twice yearly Boys Boxing Club socials.

Just recently I received a request to act for one of the old characters in a family matter which involved me being driven round a few properties in his car. We had not ever met before which was unusual in three decades of working in the same City but soon established common links to others whom we knew.

I did however have some trepidation about sharing a car with him. This was because of an urban myth of indeterminate origin which had made quite an impression on me at the time and subsequently.

The story was that he was owed a considerable sum of money but the debtor was reluctant to meet his obligations. After exhausting conventional routes to collect without satisfaction the hapless debtor was bundled into the expansive boot of my hosts Mercedes and driven around the city for the best part of the day until a promise to pay was extracted from a distressed voice from somewhere behind the number plate.

This piece of information played on my mind as a passenger in, I realised, perhaps the very same vehicle ,now an aged, classic Mercedes saloon.

We had get on very amicably, chatty and with many humorous anecdotes given in turn but it was always going to happen that we just ran out of mutual conversation.

We sat in awkward silence. My inner voice toyed with the idea of introducing the subject of boot space on that model of car. I was in business myself and perhaps I could raise the matter of cash flow and how to resolve the periodic lack of it . There would be some benefit in tapping into the experiences of someone who had adopted the most practical of approaches in his time.

I glanced sideways at a wrinkled old man who was struggling to see the road ahead  through thick bi-focal lenses. His hands on the steering wheel shook uncontrollably and he muttered about having to find a place for a wee quite soon. A regular knocking sound came from deep in the car boot somewhere behind my seated position. In a sudden cold sweat I feared that I was an unwitting accomplice in another abduction. This time perhaps a pensioner who had not paid the annual subscription at the Bowls Club or had not acted on the promise of donating something as a tombola prize.

The old man cursed Mercedes Benz and the well known manufacturing deficiencies in the rear shock absorbers on his particular executive model which had proven to be a most persistent problem since he had bought it all those years ago. He would definitely think about buying Japanese next. I just kept quiet for the rest of the day, preferring to perpetuate the myth.