“Goodness me! Here comes the ambassador now,” and he made a great to-do about hailing the reserved diplomat: “Sir, these good people from Indiana are inspecting our establishment, and I wonder if you’d care to tell them how congenial you find the place.”
The Hoosiers proved to be such interesting citizens that after a few moments St. Près actually drew up a chair. When Senator Raborn happened to come looking for the diplomat, he too joined the conversation, and forty minutes later Andy Zorn had sold his first two apartments. In finalizing the deal the four visitors told Zorn: “You were so helpful. You had so many answers to the very questions that troubled us. Lucky for us you came along, because if you’re the manager—”
Andy accepted the compliments, for they verified what he had promised Mr. Taggart: “The skills that enabled me to calm anxious mothers and frightened children will work equally well with older people.” As for Andy’s second success, it began as a disaster on the day after the Hoosier sale when Krenek and Miss Foxworth rushed into his office with terrible news: “The Mallorys are moving out again. There goes our biggest suite.”
It was true. The millionaire couple had hired professional movers to report at their apartment at eight in the morning and transport everything to a new condominium on an island in the St. Petersburg district. By the time Andy reached the apartment he found it half empty and the dancing Mallorys unconcerned as they supervised the removal of the remainder.
“My dear friends!” Zorn pleaded, “how can you possibly do this? Haven’t you enjoyed yourselves here?”
“We find we’re really not ready for a retirement center,” Mr. Mallory said. “We need a house of our own—city amenities—beauty like what the new place has. Your lawyers can decide with ours how muchyou owe us back.” And with that they vanished, leaving the top Gateway apartment vacant.
At four that afternoon, Zorn assembled his war cabinet and asked: “What did we do wrong, to lose a great couple like the Mallorys? They were so kind to me on my first day. I really liked them and this failure makes me sick.”
As he spoke, Krenek and Miss Foxworth looked at each other and suppressed giggles, but Nurse Varney was willing to give her new boss the truth: “Dr. Andy, the Mallorys have been in and out of this place three times. They’re here, they love it. They see an attractive private house somewhere, and off they go. Six weeks later they’re back here, and the following spring out they go again.” Krenek and Foxworth nodded in agreement.
“Then why do we fool with them? If they give us that kind of irrational trouble?”
Again Nurse Varney became the reporter: “When they apply to come back in, Mr. Krenek says “To hell with them” but Miss Foxworth sees the buy-in money and the big monthly fees.”
“And what do you say, if you’re closest to them?” he asked the nurse.
“I say that about six weeks from now Mr. and Mrs. Chris Mallory will be in this room, begging you to take them back.” She was a wise prophet, because five weeks later the Mallorys came swinging into the parking lot in their Cadillac to inform Dr. Zorn that life on the island had proved to them that they were happiest at the Palms, and could he make arrangements immediately to let them have their customary apartment: “The big one at the peninsula end of floor seven would be just right,” and with smiles that could have warmed the entire west coast of Florida, they reminded Zorn that it was in that apartment, with them, that he had begun his tenure at the Palms. And then they uttered a heart-winning line that would become famous throughout the center: “We’re really back because of you, Dr. Zorn. You know how to manage this place from A to Z.” Mrs. Mallory paused, poked Krenek in the ribs and asked playfully: “Don’t you get it—Andy to Zorn.” Krenek looked away in amused disgust, but
The Hoosiers proved to be such interesting citizens that after a few moments St. Près actually drew up a chair. When Senator Raborn happened to come looking for the diplomat, he too joined the conversation, and forty minutes later Andy Zorn had sold his first two apartments. In finalizing the deal the four visitors told Zorn: “You were so helpful. You had so many answers to the very questions that troubled us. Lucky for us you came along, because if you’re the manager—”
Andy accepted the compliments, for they verified what he had promised Mr. Taggart: “The skills that enabled me to calm anxious mothers and frightened children will work equally well with older people.” As for Andy’s second success, it began as a disaster on the day after the Hoosier sale when Krenek and Miss Foxworth rushed into his office with terrible news: “The Mallorys are moving out again. There goes our biggest suite.”
It was true. The millionaire couple had hired professional movers to report at their apartment at eight in the morning and transport everything to a new condominium on an island in the St. Petersburg district. By the time Andy reached the apartment he found it half empty and the dancing Mallorys unconcerned as they supervised the removal of the remainder.
“My dear friends!” Zorn pleaded, “how can you possibly do this? Haven’t you enjoyed yourselves here?”
“We find we’re really not ready for a retirement center,” Mr. Mallory said. “We need a house of our own—city amenities—beauty like what the new place has. Your lawyers can decide with ours how muchyou owe us back.” And with that they vanished, leaving the top Gateway apartment vacant.
At four that afternoon, Zorn assembled his war cabinet and asked: “What did we do wrong, to lose a great couple like the Mallorys? They were so kind to me on my first day. I really liked them and this failure makes me sick.”
As he spoke, Krenek and Miss Foxworth looked at each other and suppressed giggles, but Nurse Varney was willing to give her new boss the truth: “Dr. Andy, the Mallorys have been in and out of this place three times. They’re here, they love it. They see an attractive private house somewhere, and off they go. Six weeks later they’re back here, and the following spring out they go again.” Krenek and Foxworth nodded in agreement.
“Then why do we fool with them? If they give us that kind of irrational trouble?”
Again Nurse Varney became the reporter: “When they apply to come back in, Mr. Krenek says “To hell with them” but Miss Foxworth sees the buy-in money and the big monthly fees.”
“And what do you say, if you’re closest to them?” he asked the nurse.
“I say that about six weeks from now Mr. and Mrs. Chris Mallory will be in this room, begging you to take them back.” She was a wise prophet, because five weeks later the Mallorys came swinging into the parking lot in their Cadillac to inform Dr. Zorn that life on the island had proved to them that they were happiest at the Palms, and could he make arrangements immediately to let them have their customary apartment: “The big one at the peninsula end of floor seven would be just right,” and with smiles that could have warmed the entire west coast of Florida, they reminded Zorn that it was in that apartment, with them, that he had begun his tenure at the Palms. And then they uttered a heart-winning line that would become famous throughout the center: “We’re really back because of you, Dr. Zorn. You know how to manage this place from A to Z.” Mrs. Mallory paused, poked Krenek in the ribs and asked playfully: “Don’t you get it—Andy to Zorn.” Krenek looked away in amused disgust, but
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