Beneath the dry data on mortgage defaults, I suspect you`d find exactly the kind of stuff unearthed by New Yorker writer Tad Friend as he accompanied a foreclosure realtor on his rounds in Southern California: Letter from California, â€?Cash for Keys,â€? The New Yorker,
April 6, 2009, p. 34
Non-English speakers, Nigerians squatters, and dwellers of any race who leave dried feces in toilets and other charming housewarming items. Not exactly the "blue-eyed bankers"
that world leaders want to pin blame on (though the realtor declares that stubborn "white rednecks"
are a problem for him, and I can see where he`s coming from there). Something tells me that the anecdotes in this New Yorker article are just scratching the surface—you`d find a lot more of the same if you kept digging.
It`s this kind of shoe-leather, knock-on-the-door journalism that rounds out the pictures of our world, and I commend Mr. Friend for leaving the good stuff in there. Too bad Barney Frank couldn`t go along.