As a member of an industry that’s in flux, I regularly think about reinventing myself.
I recently passed up the chance to participate in a buyout. But I’m only 56, and I want to work several more years in print journalism.
Reminds me of a line from “Heat,” a 1995 crime drama and one of my favorite films:
“I don’t know how to do anything else,” Los Angeles police Lt. Vincent Hanna (Al Pacino) tells burglar Neil McCauley (Robert De Niro) on why he is always chasing bad guys. “I don’t much want to, either.”
As I contemplate the future, I am inspired by Walter Music, 54, who was a member of the “1 percent” club during the housing heyday a few years back, but who reinvented himself after he was laid off from his six-figure job during the recession.
He now runs a commercial and residential painting business in Loudoun County: CertaPro Painters of Loudoun.
He earns a fraction of the $600,000 in salary, bonus and stock options that he collected in his best years as a vice president for Toll Brothers. But he runs his own business, has paid off his home and sees a lot of upside in painting if the economy continues to improve.
In short, he didn’t fall apart, due in part to smart moves that he made while the cash flowed in during the sunny years. (More about that later.)
After he was laid off in 2009, “there was nothing happening in home building for me,” said the Oregon native, who studied civil engineering at Oregon State University and construction management at Penn State. “I didn’t see a future in it.”
Dealmaker
Music wore many hats for Toll Brothers, but his specialty was master-planned communities. That evolved into buying up various parcels and assembling them into a big tract. He spent a lot of time knocking on doors, drinking coffee at kitchen tables and taking people to lunches and dinners as he tried to persuade them to sell their property.
“It’s a lot of chess-playing,” he says of those days. “You try to soft-shoe it. You try not to come on hard. It’s listening to what their needs are, what their issues are, what they’re after.”
He once took a property owner who was holding out for a bigger price to a restaurant and, without saying a word, placed a check for $250,000 on the table. The two sat and ate without a word being said about the check.
Finally, after the gentleman kept staring at it, Music said “all you have to do is sign this paper,” and the check would be his.
The man took the check.
Music worked all over the Mid-Atlantic region, including developments in the Carolinas, the District and Pennsylvania.
Even the lean years were good, bringing him just under $200,000 annually. But he lived fairly modestly. He saved like mad. He drove used vehicles. His six-figure bonuses would fly into the college savings account for his kids. He ended up funding college for all three.
“I didn’t live beyond my means,” he said.
His net worth reached more than $1 million at one time, although that has been reduced significantly due to the downturn.
After his layoff, when he couldn’t find work anywhere in housing, Music was approached by a franchise broker who put him through tests to determine what kind of franchise business would best suit him. To this day, Music isn’t sure how the franchise broker, a woman from Virginia Beach, found him.
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