Dead Cats, Live Pit Bulls and Spanish-Speakers: The Gory Anecdotes of the Mortgage Meltdown
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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, ”Cash for Keys,” 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.

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