If the name on the business card reads “George C. Parker,” run the other way.

Parker will be easy to spot because he’s 146 years old. Also, he’s dead. At least I think so.

It’s not a good idea to believe anything about Parker, even less about what he says. He not only holds the sales record for the Brooklyn Bridge, he was the first person to sell it.

Ever since, like mail couriers, neither wind nor rain nor sleet nor gloom of night has stayed generations of con men from following in his footsteps.

No one knows how many bills of sale are lying at the bottoms of safe deposit boxes, their owners too amused, or too embarrassed, to get rid of them.

What I wanted to know was why.

The George Washington Bridge is larger. The Golden Gate Bridge is more colorful. Why do people want a bridge to Brooklyn?

I was born in the Bronx, and as any Bronxite can tell you, the only thing that’s outstanding about Brooklyn is the Gowanus Canal, and only because it’s the most toxic body of liquid outside of a government weapons lab.

As it turns out, the story has more to do with where people were coming from rather than where they wanted to go.

Imagine a sparkling morning in 1883 (the year the bridge opened). The sun glints off the waters of Lower New York Bay. If you’re an immigrant on a ship steaming its way to Ellis Island, you see two symbols of your new life.

The Statue of Liberty and the Brooklyn Bridge.

Even if you can’t read a word of English you know both have “Land of Opportunity” written all over them. Parker took it upon himself to convince immigrants that their ship truly had come in.

The bridge was less policed and he posed as its engineer. He was, he told marks, searching for someone with business acumen and an unwavering belief in the future. Alas, he had the right to erect toll booths on his bridge, but knew little about business. While tolls would bring him untold riches he didn’t have time to deal with financial matters. He needed to be on his way. There were other bridges, as yet unbuilt, beckoning him.

If the mark showed any interest, Parker took him for a walk along the bridge. Its span was roomy, an ideal locale for engaging in friendly conversation without attracting attention. That was another reason Parker preferred selling the bridge over other pieces of New York real estate.

By the end of the walk, the talk had gone from a toll booth partnership to a deal for all 14,680 tons of steel and cement.

Over the years, Parker sold the bridge at least twice a week. He once got $50,000 for it. And, he once took $50. (Adjusted for inflation, that was probably the city’s best real estate deal since Peter Stuyvesant bought Manhattan for $24 worth of beads.)

Like a car dealer, Parker ran a full-service operation. If his mark was short of cash, Parker graciously loaned him the money—with interest, of course. I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that some of his bridge sales came with undercoating and anti-theft protection.

Although Parker’s real estate operation was a full-time job—he hung around the bridge all day looking for marks—he found it fun and, considering the cost of goods, remarkably profitable.

Yes, there was other real estate to sell: Madison Square Garden; Grant’s Tomb; the Metropolitan Museum of Art; and the Statue of Liberty.

Parker sold them all.

But the Brooklyn Bridge, with its symbolism and its proximity to a never-ending stream of marks, undoubtedly was his favorite.

Parker established selling the Brooklyn Bridge as an only-in-New-York tradition on a par with Sunday brunch at Schraft’s. And, like an inscription on a tombstone, he gave us a phrase to remember him by: …and if you believe that, I’ve got a bridge I’d like to sell you.

After more than 45 years in the business, Parker left real estate for a position in automotive after-market parts.

Specifically, manufacturing license plates in New York’s Sing Sing prison.

Parker died in 1936 while serving a life sentence for fraud. According to the prison grapevine, he was a jovial fellow, well-liked by the other prisoners, and never at a loss for a story about his adventures.

All things considered, I’m sure there were many inmates who, after serving their sentences, returned to Sing Sing to set up toll booths at the exits.