By S. Sponte, Esq.
Whenever I feel the need to slow things down a bit, to escape from an irate client, or worse, an irate secretary, I sometimes grab a file usually reserved for a young associate and head for the Recorder's Office to examine a title, there to lose myself among fee simples, quitclaims, life estates, and other such denizens of the deeds. This menagerie has long since lost the spell it cast upon me in law school when first it appeared along with reversionary interests and fee tales and took up residence in the lectures of the professor who would endlessly intone "to A for life, remainder to the heirs of A's, and 'to B for life, remainder to the heirs of C.” The little A’s and B’s would dance about my head like the witches in MacBeth until I was sure I was facing certain extinction, the Rule against Perpetuities notwithstanding.
Now however, with much of that mystique dispelled by time, experience, and the reassuring knowledge that no one in the profession really understands it all, those estates of old are reminders, or perhaps remainders, of two earlier but separate times, one when the entire civilized world was deeply rooted in land, and the other when I was young, hungry and eager to dig for grubs at those roots for twenty-five bucks a crack.
A colleague of mine has earned a respectable living in his DBV’s, and has, more than anyone I know, become seasoned with the salt of his craft. Those musty old Deed Book Volumes that only weigh me down are all his friends and, unlike most of us who heave those books around with reckless disregard for their memories, he treats each one with a tenderness due the family album. Peculiar patterns of speech have crept into his vocabulary, rendering fractured tribute to his calling. He never gives his consent, only his joinder, and he always refers to his wife as “the little ux.”
I first met him when I still thought a cloud on the title was a coffee stain on a deed. He taught me much about real estate including a healthy respect for that ever-impending phone call from a former client that begins with an inquiry about a title examination of fifteen years ago. He taught me about non-joinders and missing links, and he also taught me about immortality. He is of the opinion that the sale of a piece of property is as close as most people ever get to immortality, and that, for quietly desperate lives, the humble closing is a high order life-cycle event.
In a way, I think he’s right. Who among us would not be pleased to have our achievements perpetually recorded in a gallery for all to see, search and examine? It is quite unlikely that I or any of my colleagues will ever be sought after so eagerly, despite our collective acumen or hourly rate. It is just as unlikely that our oratory will elevate us to the lofty heights attained by the person given signature to that immortal snapshot of time and title.
Clarence Darrow one time said that no one could ever produce a single fact or reason to support the belief in God or personal immortality. As to a belief in God, support for that is best left to other professional disciplines. As to a belief in personal immortality, I surmise that Mr. Darrow did not spend much time in the Recorder's Office, or he may have known that we can all achieve some small measure of immortality by virtue of our deeds, and that those deeds will be Recorded.
Copyright 1978 S. Sponte, Esq.