In Daily's case, the time-share is a bonanza. Since she vacations as often as she does, including in the off-season, she takes advantage of the Endless Escape bonus program. She checks in and checks out without spending a dime. Overall, for the year, factoring in the maintenance fees, she spends less than $10 a night.
Even the old-timers, though, aren't spared a little sales pressure from Silverleaf. Daily says she's been urged to upgrade to the Presidential Suites.
Adam Pitluk
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Danny Evans is a retired Highland Park police officer, and he and his family are very satisfied customers--so satisfied that he bought two time-shares so he can have two weeks of vacation each year. "We wanted a place we could start going a lot on the weekends," he says. "After we went out and did the tour and stuff, well, we just decided that that was more or less what we were looking for, and we bought into it that weekend." He has red time--prime time--but also takes advantage of the off-season Endless Escape program when it's not too crowded. "During the summer, we just don't even try to go," he says.
December 15 was a particularly cold Texas day. On the drive out to Flint, the landscape was even drabber than usual. An ice storm had crippled East Texas, wiping out electricity in many locations, including the Villages. This was the third day the resort had gone without power, but that didn't stop the selling. Salespeople conducted tours by flashlight, lantern light, and candlelight. There was no escaping the chill.
On the far end of the Villages property, a Dallas-area time-share owner and former policeman was slumped over a cold steel railing in dire need of a coat of paint, with his fishing line in the water. The man, who did not want to be identified, fishes whenever he blows through town at Silverleaf's floating fishing dock, which has an enclosure for when it's really cold--like today. The fishing pavilion, though, is disgusting. The water inside it is filthy, with cigarette butts and beer bottles floating around. On the way to the pavilion, you pass a dead duck floating facedown in the muck, flies buzzing about. Needless to say, it stinks, too.
The former cop continues to fish here because, well, he paid dearly for the privilege. He shelled out $8,000 cash for his time-share, buying it on the spot in 1994 because, as he explains, "according to state law, you have to do it that day or they can't give you a good price. That's what they said." State law has no such provision. Even worse, he hardly gets any use out of his time-share. "If I could sell my time, I would in a heartbeat. But you can't. They're worthless." The only saving grace so far is that the Villages provides a trailer park where he can park his RV. He's an older guy, retired, and he now spends his days traipsing about the country in his mobile home with his wife. But rather than he and his wife snuggling up in their condo, enjoying Endless Escape bonus time and taking pleasure in their golden years, he sits here in this dirty fishing pavilion and curses the salespeople who sold him a vacation from hell.
