On Becoming a Commercial Realtor: A Blind Person’s Pathway out of Poverty and Penury

by Charles Innes

From the Editor: I know from previous conversations that this article has been years in the making and has made it from thought to paper. Some of the phraseology reflects the age of its author, and unless we judged it difficult to understand, we left it.

Finding a blind realtor is not something one happens upon every day. Some of this story will be familiar to those of us who have tried to sell the rehabilitation system on a good idea and have refused to take no for an answer. Sometimes the simple truth is that if we want something badly enough, we just have to do it ourselves. When you finish this article, you will know a bit more about real estate and have traveled through some real emotional ups and downs with its author. Here is what Charles has to say:

This account was originally written as a "Thank you" to an inspiring president of the National Federation of the Blind, the late Kenneth Jernigan. In one of our conversations, I remember Ken telling me, out of the blue, "Saint Paul turns to Light at Baltimore." It was elementary local geography, since Light Street starts where Saint Paul Place ends, at Baltimore Street. But I got it; it was time for a personal revolution. Perhaps my experiences gaining real estate licensure will offer hope to other blind and low-vision people who are contemplating this type of livelihood.

My name is Charlie Innes. I am now in my seventies. I spent thirty-one years as a licensed commercial realtor in the state of Maryland, though totally blind. I was active as a sales agent from 1988 through 2018.

By 1986, I had been unemployed and receiving food stamps and welfare for a decade. It was embarrassing. Even with a college degree, no one would hire me to do anything, a blind man with dark glasses tapping his way around with a white cane. "What can a blind person do?"
After college, successive attempts to make a living on my own in several vocations failed. I worked for a time at a sheltered workshop called Blind Industries in the Baltimore outskirts. BISM was a non-profit facility which afforded employment for low-vision people of all genders. It offered specialized training in life-skills like white-cane mobility, the use of adaptive computers, and food preparation. Miraculously, it also housed a woodshop for blind clients which was supervised by a shop instructor from the Dominican Republic. Ramon Lugo, the instructor, was also a talented millwright and, I found out, had designed and fabricated a variety of original wooden toys. Ramon and I tried to figure a way to mass-produce the toys in partnership. So I had photos taken of the toys, rocking animals for toddlers and indestructible toy cars and trucks made from hardwoods. I publicized the gentleman and his work in an article submitted to Catholic Review. With a loan, I then purchased an industrial machine to make the toys, an Ekstrom Carlson plunge-router. Even with the participation of a friendly cabinetmaker and the use of an industrial bench saw and drill press, however, it eventually became apparent that this was not going to be a profit-making operation. Handmade wooden toys would have to be a work of love, not a livelihood.

When a doting grandmother died and left me two thousand dollars, I bought a pair of business suits from Joseph Banks Clothiers and had them custom tailored. Then I ordered a thousand embossed business cards advertising Innes Consulting, bearing the family crest, post office box address, and phone number. We didn't have emails in those days. At the time, I lived in a seedy tenement house in the blue-collar area of Hampden in Baltimore. The apartment building was infested with mice. I taught my fiancé how to set mousetraps, and we caught 110 mice in ninety days. She couldn't stand it and who could blame her? She finally left me.

One day I noticed a condescending tone in the grocer's voice when I put food stamps on the check-out counter. It registered in my brain. This stupidity has to stop.

The Hampden-Woodberry area where I lived happened to be the cabinet-making capital of the state. Now with some carpentry background, I'd become friends with business owners in the industrial parks. The neighborhood is called Woodberry, which is now well-known for its transplanted yuppie businesses and fashion.

One day an opportunity presented itself for me to be of service and earn a consulting fee. It looked and sounded like I'd get paid for helping someone. Old Mr. Geis had experienced heart failure, and his family's architectural millwork factory had to be sold off. It was a facility where workers use milling machines, shapers, sash-machines and planers to manufacture trim, wood windows and architectural molding, things like baseboard and windowsills. After meeting the gentleman, I agreed to help him sell the business and building, publicize the sale, and find him a prospective buyer, for a fee. Mr. Geis was grateful for the help and agreed. He then gave me a complete tour, explaining the hundred-year-old business and telling me how much money he wanted to get for the family business.

I did a lot of research among cabinet-makers. The business and 90 percent of its machinery turned out to be obsolete, and the business couldn't be sold to anyone. The technology had changed. On the other hand, the building was a solid, four-story masonry structure with 20,000 square feet of space, tractor-trailer portal, loading dock, and a sixteen-foot freight elevator. Someone was going to have to re-purpose this building, which is to say, re-think the building's utility. Mr. Geis promised to pay for my time, but he wouldn't put anything in writing. I wrote up a detailed specification sheet for the property, accompanied by photographs, then advertised it in the newspaper at my own expense. Over a year and a half, I brought him eighteen prospects to whom we showed it. Using my sale flyer, Mr. Geis eventually sold the building for a whopping $450,000. I sent him a bill on my Innes Consulting letterhead for $2,200, charging him for eighty-eight hours of work at $25 per hour. It was much less time than I had actually spent. To my chagrin, Mr. Geis offered me $100 and a leather-top stand-up desk, in compensation. He said, "You don't have a real estate license," so I wouldn't be allowed to claim a fee. The old codger was going to try to turn me into a volunteer. A volunteer is defined, in real estate, as someone who doesn't get paid.

So I wrote to the attorney general of Maryland, J. J. Curran, enclosing my work product and log. I received a written reply from an assistant attorney general who had oversight of the Real Estate Commission. To my satisfaction, the AAG gave me permission to bill Mr. Geis for my work as a consultant. Old Mr. Geis and I met at our usual spot, a working-class breakfast nook amongst the mills. I renewed my request to be paid and he re-offered the $100. I handed him the Assistant Attorney General's letter, which he read, and then became agitated. Wish I could have seen his face at that time. He replied, "I have to make a phone call. He rose to use the payphone to consult with his lawyer, then returned, and wrote me a check for $2,200. It was the biggest paycheck I'd ever received. More importantly, his check validated my year's honest work.

The other lesson I gleaned from these events was that if I wanted to get some of the real money that was out there, it would be necessary to obtain a real estate salesperson's license. Sales commissions on big properties can be substantial. It all had to be street-legal.
At first, inevitably there were problems relating to getting licensed, because I am legally blind. Fortunately, Catonsville Community College had a real estate pre-licensing course and also provided limited numbers of readers for blind students. Getting the real estate textbook recorded so I could listen to it and fully participate in the classes was going to be a problem. There was no way to pass the course without reading this textbook, especially because our instructor had in fact personally authored it. There would not be any way to fake it. Recordings for the Blind (RFB) in Princeton, New Jersey, didn't have a recording of the book either. It would take a year after I sent two copies of the printed textbook for volunteers to record it for me on reel-to-reel audio tape. Other blind folks hadn't previously asked for this kind of recording.
Then there was the problem of a blind candidate taking the course's final examination and state certification test. They would have to be read aloud by impartial proctors. Readers employed by me would not be permitted to administer the tests. Fortunately, again, the college provided an impartial proctor to read me the questions. I passed the two tests and was awarded a sales person’s license.

Then there was the problem of finding a broker who would be willing to employ me. All agents must work under a broker, and the additional problem of using assistants and readers to take listings, show properties to prospective buyers, and prepare contracts of sale for signature created something more than the normal challenge. I would have to hire and train persons to do all those things.

There are a couple of things one should understand about what then took place. I am totally blind and use buses and a white cane for travel, Braille for writing, and talking software for computer access. For those who are not as familiar with blindness as readers of the Braille Monitor, Braille is tactile writing, paper with raised dots that allows fingers of a blind person to read words embossed on paper. Slate and stylus are used to write things down. A long cane, fifty-five inches in length, permits me to move quickly down sidewalks and cross streets.
At first, I applied to several companies. Two brokers refused to hire me at all because of my blindness. One brokerage CEO wrote me a letter saying, "I don't know how you would show properties. I can't employ you." Finally, a large firm in Towson permitted me to hang my license on their wall and use a cubicle on the commercial agents' floor. Suit and tie were required dress. With assistance, some paid and some voluntary, I listed seven properties during my first year as an agent and put four under contract.

There were internal conflicts and some problems in their corporate office, and I determined to transfer within a year. I found another broker who hired me over the telephone without being aware of my blindness. My new boss was grateful enough later when I solved all problems related to my handicap and dropped commission checks on his desk, all with no special help from any of his staff.

Transportation was the most difficult challenge of all, since if you don't drive, there are only buses and impossibly expensive taxicabs. I met and became friends with a social worker who worked for a state agency and figured out how to purchase an old van for her. The van was inoperable, and I worked on it myself in the backyard, using mechanic's skills acquired before losing sight. I also employed other persons to assist me to repair the van, like a guy to fix the transmission and another to epoxy a cracked engine block. Later on, with some income earned from sales commissions, I eventually bought my social worker friend a used Toyota 4Runner, which she drove and loved.

I joined the statewide and national realtors' organizations and the local board, all of whom were helpful and remarkably supportive. Paid secretaries and drivers assisted me with realtor's chores. My customers generally appreciated my personal service.

I haven't made a huge living from the realty trade, of course, but have sold two or three listings every year since that time. In 1992, after receiving a relatively large commission check, I put down $2,500 to purchase a house from a friendly client. The gentleman was pleased to extend owner-financing to me, since I'd given him personal service and proven trustworthy. No bank would have lent me purchase money based upon my slim Social Security check, so this worked out very well. The house I bought was a huge, aging brick and mortar Victorian with wrap-around porch. It was in terrible condition and needed lots of work. It was going to be, however, all mine, my first home!

I kept the Social Security Administration apprised of qualifiable income all the while and paid taxes during years in which I earned a profit. I enrolled with SSA in a PASS Plan (a Plan for Achieving Self-Support) which permits disabled persons engaged in trial work to escrow and report business income for use in starting a business. When the income was sufficient, I surrendered the entitlement checks.

After I became owner of the huge old house, I repaired it with my own labor and employed skill-tradespersons, such as a drywall mechanic and painters. I learned roofing and household electricity. Then I rented rooms to students at a nearby college. A furnished bedroom with the use of common areas would bring in $350 to $450 per month. Presently home-share rent income is $500 to $600. Using rent income, I eventually fixed the place up, paid off the initial mortgage, and re-financed with a bank.

All the while, I juggled finances so as not to lose SSDI income during hard times and forewent monthly entitlements checks during times of profit. It is especially important to be fastidious in reporting income if one is a recipient of entitlements.

In general, for tax purposes, blind agents have higher expenses than sighted, non-handicapped persons. Extra expenses that would be listed on one's annual Form C, business profit and loss, and SE (self-employment income form), include readers, secretarial help, drivers and cabs—and especially adaptive equipment like OCR and screen-review software. These specialized apps were indispensable. Some proprietary programs used by real estate professionals were entirely inaccessible to blind people. Smartphones have now simplified some, though not all, of these problems.

In 1994, my first computer cost $2,200, which had to be paid in cash. VocalEyes software was about $400 and OpenBook cost $1,200 more, all of which I had to save and personally pay. The state Department of Vocational Rehabilitation, Services for the Blind had funds put aside to purchase reading devices and software for blind people, but I wasn't to receive any of it. I had satisfied the medical requirement for eligibility, that of being without light perception. However, an agency psychologist assessed me and concluded that I was "psychologically and educationally unsuited for a grant to receive an assistive device.” That was a remarkable finding, considering I already had, as a blind student, completed studies in behavioral science at a university. I hold a bachelor of arts degree and had passed the sixty-four-hour real estate education course and the state salesperson's exam.

Without assistive technologies, I would be completely dependent upon paid readers to make a living. The agency supervisors probably wished to allocate available public funds to administration, rather than direct assistance to blind clients. They might have been primarily interested in paying their own salaries. "Screw the blind, protect your paycheck."

The National Federation of the Blind, an organization of blind people, helped me understand what I was up against and to push back. To be fair, the state agencies employ a number of dedicated and caring people. Nevertheless, it is always necessary to advocate for oneself. Motivated blind people can find help.

In the end, it was alright that I got turned down for the portable camera, or whatever it was. I was making enough from sales commissions to buy my own computer. That machine, of course, had to be custom built. Back in the day, computer operating systems were not particularly friendly for blind users. It was necessary to consult extensively about computer-design in order to obtain a machine that would support an external voice synthesizer. That device was called a Multi-Voice and plugged into a serial port on the back of the desktop and cost me $1,200 more. Today, it is used by people suffering from ALS who are losing the power of speech, since it generates a robotic voice.

In the later Nineties, after Microsoft DOS operating systems were superseded by Windows 3 and Windows 95, sound cards and voice synthesizer chips were routinely installed in desktop computers in “expansion slots.” Fortunately, for blind folks, the general public was interested in listening to music on computer speakers and downloading music from the internet. Towards the year 2000, most computers came with sound cards that were compatible with software and chip-based voice synthesizers.

Initially, the technological barriers were difficult, getting computers to talk to users. Plus software manufacturers like Microsoft showed little regard for their blind customers. That situation ended when the National Federation of the Blind sued Microsoft in United States courts and obtained a consent decree that obligated Microsoft to fashion its operating systems to be "actively accessible" to handicapped users.

That took some doing—blind attorneys suing a mega-corporation in US Court in 1996. When Microsoft released its Internet Explorer 4.0 browser in 1995, it was all graphics, all pictures, and few existing screen readers could read the screens. After imposition of the consent decree, which is still in effect, all Windows and Windows Logo programs must incorporate active accessibility, must label all links and graphics, and provide key-stroke equivalents for mouse movements. The Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA), signed under President Bush in 1991, enabled the United States government to decline to purchase inaccessible products, hence boycott Microsoft in the event of non-compliance. Microsoft didn't need to listen to the blind, but it needed to listen to its major customer, the government.

But that's enough of technology. The important things that need to be learned by anyone wishing to become a realtor include figuring out how to create and use listing agreements, releases, disclaimers, and contracts of sale. Nowadays the forms are downloadable digitally from such websites as the Maryland Real Estate Commission and Maryland Association of Realtors. Some forms may be filled out online, then printed or emailed to clients and customers.

Generally, all real property transactions must be in writing, and an agent must obtain physical signatures from buyers and sellers. For this, any blind agent is best served by having an assistant or cooperating fellow agent to guide the client or customer as to where to sign. It is necessary for someone to witness that the documents have been, as it is said, "fully executed." Without a signature, there isn't going to be a deal. There are electronic means of signing documents like e-sign, of course, but they don't apply to some essential documents and to property deeds. Following a millennium of custom in property law, actual signatures are necessary on documents that are to be filed in county land records offices.

So that's it. It helps if one has, in addition to fairly good social skills, some higher education. It is better if one has an AA or BA degree to prepare for the real-estate vocation, since the legalities can be complex. Some agents rely upon their broker or office staff for document preparation, but that's not very professional. It may be necessary, for instance, to explain the meaning of a contract’s provisos to a buyer as one reads through it with them. In Maryland, an ordinary residential contract of sale might comprise, with addenda, as many as nineteen pages.
Things are generally simpler in commercial real estate transactions than in residential ones. I chose to specialize in commercial transactions. Statutory consumer protections are fewer in commercial deals. The condition of a commercial or investment property is often negotiable, as are contingencies relating to inspection, verification of business income, and scheduling of settlement. A new owner may wish to build out the location to suit their own business needs. In residential sales, the state mandates legal protections for buyers, whereas in commercial transactions, almost anything goes. Also, commercial buyers and sellers are more likely to be fully aware of their objectives and the kind of properties or businesses they are seeking. Residential buyers, on the other hand, may want to go on a sightseeing tour with the hapless agent as a captive tour guide. One may use a sighted assistant to offer buyers a virtual preview in the office, but all of this will be at the agent's expense.

In this business, one doesn't get paid unless a meeting of the minds between buyer and seller has taken place and put in writing, and until the transaction and all of its sub-parts and financing arrangements, if any, have been approved. Verbal agreements are problematic and difficult to enforce. Sometimes loan officers and bank appraisers like to run the transactions, so cash customers who weren't using bank finance were my favorites. One must be patient. One may wait three to nine months for a so-called “done deal” to go through, and for the settlement officer to write your broker's commission check.

Back in the day, the "nut" or break-even total commission was about $17,500 for the year. With that amount of gross income, an agent might cover the unavoidable expenses of maintaining licensure and operating as an agent. Brokers and agents need to pay professional dues, errors and omissions insurance, and computer access fees on an annual basis. At 4 percent and 5 percent commission, split two or four ways, do the math: one might earn as little as 1 or 1.25 percent of a multi-broker sale and have to sell $1,300,000 worth of property each year to break even. Lots of people do this easily, and some are selling three to ten million per year.
The realtors’ social events are fun. It’s a great job. One gets to meet lots of people and serve the public while doing so. There aren't many of us who are blind realtors, of course. Many of my customers and clients are delighted with the service I provide. Because so much of the work is by phone and computer, many of my clients don't even know that I am blind and don't find out till we meet at a property or at a settlement table in an office. I don't tell them unless I have to.

If you're blind, you should be better than average at the same tasks performed by other agents. It doesn't hurt to acquire extra skills. In my case, I taught myself commercial appraisal, which is a little complicated. I wanted to be better able to advise clients about the value and marketability of their property. Auditing a course in civil procedure at law school was useful. I obtained a CD-based crisscross telephone directory to identify specific businesses using the Standard Industrial Classification Code (SICC) within a particular zip code. This enables me to assess the level of competition and predict the likelihood of their business's success. I purchased a talking tape-measure from the Federation's store to take the dimensions of offered properties. One can't always rely upon the reports of others or upon aging official records. If it's smaller than they thought it was, an agent might find themselves compensating a buyer's disappointment.

It is good to be able to do a title search on a given property by visiting land records offices. The records clerks are generally happy to assist a citizen. If, for example, a parcel to be sold has too many recorded liens, it might not be saleable, and one might attend what is called a dry settlement. That means you get no paycheck, and you just wasted a whole lot of your time.
It’s always necessary for an agent to be honest and trustworthy. Often, there's a lot of money involved in a real estate transaction, and you can't touch any of it. Large deposits you receive don't belong to you, at least till your client writes your broker and you a check out of it. Customers’ deposits, for example, remain in your company's escrow accounts and are not touched until the time of transaction or refund to a buyer.

It got better later. After improving and refinancing my first home, I borrowed $20,000 from equity to purchase a shell, a vacant property in the city. With cash, a partner and I obtained a considerable bargain. As they say, sometimes "Cash is king." That property was a complete wreck and a lot of work to fix. To accomplish that gut-rehab, I had to find craftsmen, such as a plumber and carpenter, to do the things that I as a blind person couldn't do by myself, plus one guy whose only job was to watch the sub-contractors. In order to obtain an occupancy permit for this formerly vacant property, we had to comply with stringent building codes. If an inspector had a hand out, we would just approach the agency director and let them know. Everything eventually worked out.

The happy ending to this was that I graduated from being an agent to becoming an owner and landlord. The better part of the happy ending was that the social worker and I hooked up and got married. I kept the cars fixed, and she drove me around and we loved each other a lot. Kathleen Swords, my partner, passed in 2008. Rest in peace, dear lady.

I owe thanks to many individuals and no thanks to a few others. Real estate is sometimes a rough business. The support and encouragement of the organized blind, including the late Kenneth Jernigan and members of the Federation, were key elements that put me on a path to dignity and independence. Thank you all.