Steve Abramowitz

WOULDA, COULDA, SHOULDA are part of every retiree’s investment vocabulary. I’ve certainly had my share of bloopers.
Too often, we writers stand up here and pontificate about our exploits, leaving readers feeling they couldn’t possibly do the same. With an eye toward leveling the playing field, I thought I’d divulge two of my biggest blunders.
Error of commission. Using the royalties from her husband’s high school Spanish textbooks, my mother-in-law Rose began to accumulate municipal bonds in the late 1970s.

WHEN I WAS ASSIGNED a high school essay on business morals, I asked my dad if he knew of any books on the topic.
“No, Stevie, I don’t. From what I’ve seen in New York real estate, it would be a very thin book.”
For more than 40 years, that cynical quip has haunted me, coloring my view of rental real estate. I’m not emotionally suited to being a landlord. But I wanted real estate as a stock market diversifier—and I was drawn to the benefits of combining rental income with stock market dividends.

WHEN WE’RE YOUNG, we simplistically view our family’s money journey as one long road with clear signs that tell us to “speed up,” “change lanes” or “get off.” It’s only later, as we gain wisdom, that we can discern how messy the journey is—and how each of us ended up turning onto a different street to pursue financial freedom in our own unique way.
By exploring the money stories of three family members, I have come to better understand my own financial journey.

IT WAS PROBABLY THE last time I would see my brother. I’m 78 and ravaged by a chronic but controlled cancer, a stroke warning and a stent. Rich is 74, with a health profile only a little less foreboding. Both of our parents died at 81.
Always cordial but not always close, we’ve worked through his resentment about how I abdicated my role as an older brother and my jealousy about his close relationship with our explosive father.

I’VE BEEN AN IMPOSTER all my life. In high school, I drove my silver Corvette Stingray into the teachers’ parking lot, revving the engine to announce my arrival. But once I came out from under my shades and joined the throng of students converging on the entrance, I reverted to the shy introvert walking tentatively with his head down.
From time to time, we all take on the role of great pretender to hide our fears of failure and humiliation,

YOU’VE PROBABLY HAD the same experience I’ve had when shopping for clothes. Spring’s in the air—a great time to take advantage of the local clothing store’s annual winter clearance sale. You buy that Ralph Lauren cashmere sweater at 20% off and jaunt home basking in glory. But the next day, while out for a walk, you peek at the store’s window display and see the same sweater, but now marked down 30%. You return home bemoaning your impulsivity.

YOU’VE PROBABLY never heard of Carolyn Lynch. Shopping for groceries, she noticed a new display of panty hose packaged in colorful plastic eggs. She bought a pair, tried them on and loved them. She told her husband, Peter Lynch, the celebrated manager of Fidelity Magellan Fund and vocal advocate of “investing in what you know.” He promptly bought the stock. L’eggs became one of the most successful women’s consumer products of the 1970s.
I recently had my own L’eggs moment.

THOSE OF US WHO GREW up in the 1950s watched Howdy Doody on that large, newfangled box with a picture tube and knobs. The show’s host was Buffalo Bob, who enthusiastically proclaimed Wonder Bread “helps build strong bodies eight ways.”
Subsequent nutritional research debunked that claim, and the government induced Continental Baking to add back the healthful ingredients that its processing methods were removing. The new wrapper proclaimed “enriched” Wonder Bread, even though the firm was simply replacing what had been there before.

EMBARRASSED BY YOUR impulse to try the “sell in May and go away” gambit? Don’t be. You’re in good company. Selling stocks in the spring and returning in autumn was a favorite pastime of London financiers and bankers, who abandoned the steamy city for cooler vacation destinations. They resumed stock trading around St. Leger’s, the day of the last leg of English horse racing’s Triple Crown.
The tendency of global stock markets to rise less in the six months from May to October,

PUBLIC SPEAKING WAS my nemesis throughout my academic career. Though I found it frightening, I’d always been able to tough my way through the lectures and avoid a full-blown anxiety attack. Then, during a theories of psychotherapy seminar for psychiatry residents, the panic broke through.
Though only my first diagnosable episode, it portended an affliction far more sinister. It was a premorbid symptom of an underlying depression that would topple my career, derail my investment ambitions,

RETIREMENT IS SAID to be a time for reviewing and reminiscing. We try to understand who we were and how we came to be who we are. But the health trials of the retirement years can also project us into the future. When couples enter their twilight years, they begin to contemplate how they’d cope if the other died first. I believe “survivor rehearsal” is one way our biology helps us to contain the fear of having to cope on our own.

“ARNIE, YOU JUST HAVE to watch this video,” offers the wife. “Jessie is so adorable.”
“Honey, I’ve been thinking,” hubby responds. “I know mortgage rates are high right now, but we really should get a place near the kids.”
If you can remember I Love Lucy, you’re old enough to have had this sort of conversation. The mortgage is paid off, the Roth has done well and you’ve got the cash for a down payment.

WHEN I STARTED winding down my psychology practice two years ago, I anticipated freeing up oodles of time for reflection and for hobbies long cast aside, such as collecting oldies albums and the coveted rookie cards of sports legends. But my patient hours were merely replaced by my own spiraling doctor visits.
I was disappointed and concerned about my declining medical status. Still, I was reassured by the reputation of my health insurance company and the comprehensiveness of my policy.

I WAS A RABID football fan as a kid. I would sweep across our front lawn, fantasizing about the many and varied ways I would run to daylight for Hewlett High School. But when I finally got the chance, I lasted only a few practices. I hadn’t counted on all the bruises that came with the program.
So, too, was it with my brief stint as an independent investment advisor affiliated with a large discount broker.

YOU’VE SOCKED AWAY some cash, waiting for the chance to snap up a small rental property. Property prices are down. Meanwhile, interest rates are up and many folks can’t qualify for a loan, but you’ve already been preapproved. It’s time to strike.
Now comes the hard part. Much literature is available on how to buy and sell residential income units. But there’s much less written on how to manage them. What follows is a primer for first-time landlords.