Some People Just Want To Play Your Ass. So Be Careful Buying a House...

In 1987, my wife Susan and I lived in a townhouse apartment in Easton called Easton Meadows. Those of us who lived there referred to it as the Easton Ghettos. Jokingly, of course. It was well maintained.

There were small blocks of townhouse apartments in the large complex, some two-story. There were eight in ours, and everyone was friends. When you rent and don't have a lot of money, you tend to be less judgmental and more accepting of others. We all had lots of fun partying together. 

Besides being built on cold concrete slabs with inefficient electric baseboard heat and having to wear winter coats in the apartment when the outside temperature dipped below 20 degrees, it was a great place to live. It was affordable, and your beer never got warm watching football in the winter.

Pets were allowed, and every unit got two parking spaces, with plenty of extra spaces for guests.

I was on the verge of getting my Journeyman Plumber's license when my wife and I decided to look for a house and consider starting a family. We'd been married nine years and just added a Chinese Shar-Pei/Lab mix named Ruggles to the family. 

After a long day in the trenches, Ruggles and I caught some Z's on the kitchen floor. My wife said she put the newspapers down for me. Very funny!

We wanted to live in Easton, but after looking at some houses, we realized we couldn't afford to. The one house in our price range had a river running just beneath the foundation, and even with a French drain and two sump pumps that ran continuously, the water was still a problem and a deal-breaker. No, thank you!

When Sharon, Foxboro, and Mansfield proved too expensive, we looked into Norton. We frequented Norton because of their large outdoor flea market, which had been there for years. 

Susan would jump on the back of my 650 Yamaha, and we'd head to the flea market, walk around for a couple hours, and then grab lunch somewhere. 

It was a great introduction to Norton. Beyond that, Norton's home to Wheaton College and Great Woods (now Xfinity Center), which is on the Norton/Mansfield line. Other popular landmarks at the time were Wendell's Pub, famous for its wings, and Anne's Place on Lake Winnecunnet, which served up a great clam plate. Norton had other hidden treasures we'd find out about later.

We went to see a small split-entry ranch with a young realtor on his very first day on the job. When we pulled up to the house behind him, we saw what amounted to the polar opposite of curb appeal, whatever that is. The beat-up black Pontiac Grand Prix on the lawn between the driveway and the side yard had at least one flat tire, and the yard hadn't been mowed in months. You could've baled hay.

Once we walked up the stairs, we met the family's oldest son, the only person still living in the house. He was slumped in an older cushioned chair between the living and dining rooms, facing the front of the house. He was wearing dark sunglasses and was extremely hungover. Getting him out of that chair would've taken a three-alarm fire. He looked like he was gonna puke at any minute. We were cordial but kept ourselves at a safe distance…

The Harvest Gold refrigerator was frozen open, and the pots and pans left on the stove were full of old, burnt food. The Formica countertop was worn and delaminating.

The screen porch was rotted and unsafe. It would have to be demoed.

There was a speed bump midway in the bathroom, just in front of where the tub leaked for years. The plumbing fixtures were filthy, and you could hear the toilet running nonstop.

We walked downstairs to the partially finished basement only to find silly string all over the wood paneling. Someone had written Led Zeppelin with it, and being a Led Zeppelin fan, I was somewhat impressed by the basement graffiti.

There were fist holes everywhere. It appeared to have been a violent home. I could sense it the minute I walked in.

The hot air furnace blew ashes out of the ducts. I suspected the kids were holed up in their rooms, smoking cigarettes, blowing smoke out the windows, and using the hard metal ducts as ashtrays.

The owner was asking $130,00, but the house was a condemnable, fucking mess. I wanted no part of it.

I was walking towards the door when the rookie realtor asked, "Do you want to make an offer?"

I didn't, but my wife blurted out, "$93,000…"

I was shocked! The realtor, wanting to make a sale, asked excitedly, "Is that an official offer?"

I interrupted, "No! That's not an official offer!"

Then I looked at my wife and told her I didn't want the house. The realtor put the offer through anyway. We were his first clients, and he desperately wanted to sell his first house.

The realtor called the next morning and told us the owner was pissed and said he was gonna "Spend the entire weekend cleaning the place," and then he'd "easily get $125,000 for it."

I was a plumber. Been in many houses. Who the fuck was he kidding? There was no way a little Spic 'n' Span and some Windex was gonna increase the value of that home. He was blowin' smoke up our asses, and we knew it.

The realtor mentioned that NEWPRO, one of the first window replacement companies in the area, had recently replaced all the windows and doors. The realtor said if we wanted to meet him to take another look, he could show us the receipt, which totaled $12,500. He said the kid wasn't gonna be home.

We went back and looked more closely at the windows and the receipt. I knew I could demo the porch, remodel the kitchen and bath, and replace the heating system. There were hardwood floors under the filthy carpet I could refinish, and after a few mows, I knew the lawn would come back. Although I may have been young and a bit naive, I was strong, energetic, and knew I could make this fixer-upper work for us.

My wife and I submitted a second offer of $110,000,  making it clear that was our final offer. It was time to play hardball and call his bluff.

A day later, the owner accepted our offer. He never intended to clean anything; he was trying to play us.

Next, we had to find a mortgage company to lend us the money…

We found an affordable funding company, and the mortgage specialist assigned to us was a guy named Moy Lopez. He told us we should look at him as a movie director, and we would be his cast. He explained that he would create a script in which we didn't look like financial risks. He was very confident, telling us he was one of the best at what he does and not to worry, he'd get us a mortgage. We had no choice but to put it in his hands…

As promised, Moy got us the mortgage. The bank required both home and septic inspections.

The septic system just turned 20 years old, and it was fine, but the home inspector took pictures of the speed bump in the bathroom and the rotted porch and documented the small section of rotted sill plate he found by poking it with an awl, potentially the work of termites. The bank had issues with all three problems, but my wife set 'em straight: "My husband's a licensed plumber. He's gonna gut the bathroom down to studs, demo the porch, and replace that section of sill plate before we move in…"

Once they heard that, we got a 30-year fixed mortgage at a low rate of 2.9%.

Here I am on an apple break. I think I was sanding the wood floors. Susan and Ruggles were still living in the apartment. I quit my job and spent 16 hours a day working on the house. I was a lean, mean, fightin' machine!

It's gonna take me a few blogs to compare the home-buying experience my wife and I had in 1987 to the experience my son and daughter-in-law recently had buying their first home in 2024.

To be continued…

We Bought a House! Buying our first and only house was one of the happiest days of our lives. It's where we raised our family…