“Just call me Dick.”
– Richard Cutright, President, Century 21 of Michigan
In the Mail
One morning, just before Thanksgiving 1981, I opened my mail and found a thank you note.
An extraordinary one.
The most consequential letter I’ve ever gotten.
Dick Cutright was President of Century 21 of Michigan, one of the most respected and successful Regional Directors in the CENTURY 21 system. His handwritten note felt personal and special.
He began routinely, thanking me for visiting his Region’s annual broker conference the week before. I’d been the featured speaker, presenting about research and the outlook for the business. It was clear that as soon as mortgage rates in the news came down and sounded like “twelve percent”, activity would surge, as in fact it did a year later. Data show that the best opportunities to make money in real estate brokerage come during upswings in activity. “Be prepared!”
In the evening, I’d taught how to play blackjack and craps. Properly taught, the odds are not hard to understand. Brokers had time to chat while “practicing” games they liked.
A real-life application of statistics. LOL. And an approachable, humanizing, way to meet me.
It was Dick’s closing that stood out. Not your ordinary business “thank you.”
“Hal, you’re a valuable asset to the CENTURY 21 system. I hope you’ll stay with us a long time.
“P.S. Remember what we talked about.”
I was touched that he’d written a note, and that he’d written it by hand. But I didn’t consider it a big deal. I went back to work.
Wrong! It was a big deal.
Those were Dick Cutright’s last words to me; among his last words to anyone. He died the day after writing my letter. He’d known he was in bad health: he’d declined the Presidency of Century 21 worldwide and sold his business as our Michigan subfranchisor to ensure his family’s future.
I hadn’t known.
He was smart, ethical, and caring. He’d developed his territory by focusing on finding and developing quality people, contrary to the headquarters philosophy that “It’s all a numbers game.”
My kind of leader.
I framed his note and put it on my wall. I doubt I would have stayed at Century 21 without it. For years, whenever I felt aggrieved, it reminded me:
Hal, think of our people out there. So many good people. You’re here to help them. It matters.
Dick Cutright trusted you.
The next eight years showed how right Dick had been. Eventually, our gradual erosion in market share led to research that persuaded us to adopt policies like his nationwide. I dedicated our new CENTURY 21 Mission, Vision, and Values statements to him. He’d been right all along: bucking headquarters by emphasizing quality people, he’d built our best territory.
He was right in his personal advice, too.
Dick’s Advice
When I flew to Detroit, Dick went out of his way, driving to the airport to take me to my hotel. We talked in his car. He coached me about corporate life. About life, really:
“Hal. You’re smart and you care about reality and our people. You think first and then speak your mind, regardless of what people want to hear. Those are special gifts. We need that. You’re like Jim Mitchell, our original General Counsel. You’ll have to fight for your ideas. You won’t always win. That’s life.
“People are going to try to squelch you, sidetrack you, suppress you. They ‘won’t have time’ to discuss anything inconvenient, they’ll say you’re ‘being difficult,’ and ‘this isn’t the time to talk about that.’ They’ll tell you to be quiet ‘for your own good.’ And they’ll never apologize or admit error. Don’t give up, don’t believe them.
“They’ll tell you they’re your friends. They’re not. Actions speak louder than words. People like that are out for themselves, they don’t care about anyone else.”
That was advice I could follow – partially. I’ve always been willing to fight for ideas and ideals.
But my heart had grown accustomed to invisibility.
July 1990
Nine years later, that note started a chain of events that changed my life.
A woman, Susan, was in my office, interviewing for my a.a. job. Our President called, asking me to meet. I left Susan alone in my office for over half an hour.
It took her a year and a half to share how she’d felt.
At first, she was offended. “How thoughtless!” After a while, she looked around. I had Dick’s letter on my wall and a poster that intrigued her, making fun of “currently reputable methods” for forecasting. “How unusual,” she thought. “Who is this guy?”
When I returned, she asked me about the letter. I explained its background and what it meant. Susan had written in her application letter about her “lifelong quest.” An idealist, like me, she said that letter, and the fact that I cherished it, convinced her to “give Hal a chance.”
We fell in love [neither of us had wanted to], changing both our lives, very much for the better. My kids and my former sister-in-law agree that I became a much better person because of that experience. I saw Susan heal (partially); I hope I’ve kept improving.
Great and unforeseeable results from a simple Thank You note.
Fast Forward…
I’ve never forgotten Dick. In 2021, I wrote an appreciation for his fortieth yahrzeit and published it to the “Former CENTURY 21” group on Facebook. A posthumous Thank You note to him.
I know, I should have done it sooner. I had to struggle with my sense of “Who cares how I feel? Aren’t there better people to do this.”
Dick encouraged me, and many others, to believe and behave otherwise.
I can be such a slow learner.
October 2024
Last October, I was in Southfield, Michigan, Dick’s hometown, for a bridge tournament. Along with researching great great grandparents (two sides of my family) who’d lived there, I paid my respects at his grave.
I brought a rose, just one, a token.
His grave, like him, was nothing showy: a plain veteran’s marker commemorating his service in the Navy during the Korean War. Not a hint that he was a self-made millionaire. Just a man who’d done his part, at rest. His wife and daughter will rest beside him.
Exactly like the founder of the nonprofit cemetery I’m responsible for.
Just like Dad, just like his best friend, the man I’m named for.
I think I always sensed Dick was the same kind of man.
I cleared off his grave, just a little bit, and knelt in memory and contemplation. Closing my eyes, it suddenly felt like I was hearing him: “Hal, you’ve stayed true to your mind and conscience. You helped my CENTURY 21 friends. Thanks.
“You can do more. For yourself.
“Try applying my advice to your personal life, too, more than you’ve been willing to. Don’t be so scared. You’ve come so far. Expressing your heart and feelings won’t kill you.
“If people refuse to talk, refuse to listen, delay and evade ‘hard’ conversations, they’re not truly friends.”
I was finally willing to listen. Believe. And, hardest of all, do. At least a little.
It only took me 43 years.
Better late than never.
P.S.
All this reminds me: “Hal, get better at writing encouraging and Thank You notes…you can’t foresee who they can help, or when, or how.”
Thanks, Dick.