Stories of Home - #3
How a for sale sign & a 1901 piano turned us into homeowners...
It was the fall of 1985 and I drove up the hill to our rented cabin in Mount Baldy, California, as I did every day after work in Pomona. We had been married about five months. The cabin sat on Mount Baldy Road, on the west side, just past The Lodge. A congested curve, I waited to hang a left onto the street that would lead me to the back entry and garage. As I sat there I noticed a large sign stuck to our front gate.
Turned out the owners, without notice, had put a “for sale” sign up.
That became the catalyst to owning a piece of the pie.
I mean, we sat there that evening and swore up and down we’d never rent again! At the time rent was more affordable. Frustrated we had no notice with strangers showing up to walk through our cabin while we were at work, including when we were home on the weekends. John said, “well, I’ve saved $5,000 dollars, so maybe we can buy a house with that?” he went on to say, “besides, I’m NEVER moving that stupid piano again!” I agreed. We were NEVER going to move that 1,000 pound piano ever again! Bad enough that our biggest vehicle was a 1978 Volkswagen Bus.
A few years before I met John he was looking through the newspaper adds for a piano. There was an upright 1901 Starr Piano for sale on the Camp Pendleton Marine Base for $250. John called and said he had $200 cash. The Marine took it. He never realized the ordeal it would take to get that thing back to his rental. It would continue to take at least 5 really strong people, on either end, to help move it.
I miss the dating days he would write music on it. In fact, he actually wrote me a song. I wonder what happened to that? It was fittingly called “Deborah” and I haven’t remembered this romantic gesture up until right now!!
Fact… that sweet old piano, who’s name brand turned to casket making shortly after it was built, was sold to the buyers of our last house. Prior, we had moved it two more times, had ivory keys replaced and an incredible blind piano tuner work on it over the years. Thankfully, the homebuyers were in love with it! We had a good cry and said goodbye.
Have you seen this chart from the last five decades of real estate interest rates? look closely at 1985!
That weekend we drove our V-dub bus down the hill to the first real estate office we could find, completely ignorant, annoyed at our landlords, yet fierce in our decision about that piano.
Barbara was the first (and last) overly excited real estate agent we encountered (I mean 12.43%?). After all these years I will never forget her name, because she forgot ours at every single home she took us to.. unannounced.
Hewitt was turned into, “Hello, I’ve brought The Helwits, The Hutwuts, you name it, to see your home!” Anything but THE HEWITTS! We kinda knew this random door knocking game, from our own sudden experience. By the third home she took us to, feeling rather awkward, the door was literally slammed in her face... us sheepishly grinning “Nitwits” in the background, shoulders up, waving. Byeeeee!
Perhaps those interest rates had a few realtors on a desperate high for business. We were so embarrassed John said to me, “we’re out of here. I’m just gonna drive around neighborhoods looking for houses and we can call the realtor on the sign and make an appointment.”
After an afternoon with Barbara, we spent the next several weekends driving up and down neighborhoods in a bright orange bus. We soon discovered exactly where our money would land us and concentrated our hunt a few blocks above the 10 Freeway in Upland, Ca., where my husband was born and raised.
On a sunny fall Sunday, at approximately 5 p.m., we puttered through Orchard Lane. Halfway down the block we saw a for sale sign and magical children running on the lawn next-door. The curbs were rolling, the homes quaint and well maintained, all like a scene out of Ozzie and Harriet. All.. except the home with the sign in front of it. Driving by, like a slo-mo movie, looking, as the realtor was locking up… me saying “nooooooo…….,” the realtor, noticing John leaning out the open window, waves us to stop…me saying “keeeep driiiiving,” as John waves back.
2 4 0 Orchard Lane was a very bright florescent lime green home, with a white rock roof (and that meant white chunky rocks thrown all over it) who’s backyard was unaccessible due to termite infestation. There were stains all over the carpet, which turned out to be dog pee from the 10 apparent dogs that lived there, a putrid smell to go with it, kitchen cabinets hanging by a thread, and so much more.
Smiling, exuberant, the realtor and John spoke of the potential. Me, still in that slow-mo movie, forcing a polite smile… “don’t you see? imagine…”
We loaded an old stake-bed truck, borrowed from my brother-in-law, and bounced down Baldy Road, with our worldly possessions, on December 5th, 1985. My birthday was December 2nd. What an incredible 25th birthday gift. A home of our own. With five thousand down, we got it for $79,000, closed at a brilliant 12.5% (it had risen a bit) and signed our life away over a few glasses of wine in a local Sambo’s booth.
My parents, another brother-in-law and some friends would meet us to help load and unload. I think there was a never ending conversation about how heavy that piano was and would the truck break going down the hill?
Every single evening, after work, we would discuss all the things we had to fix. We would dream. One evening John asked me, “what do you want to do first? paint the outside or start the inside?” Dah! without skipping a beat, I said, “of course the outside, because I’m ready to drive down the street with a bag over my head.” In case I didn’t mention it, we moved into a VERY bright florescent lime green house… with white rocks all over the roof. It was bright and slightly embarrassing.
Come to think of it, our first home in America had similar features. White rocks on the roof, with a sweet light yellow and white exterior. I was beginning to see...
John worked the overtime for an outside paint job. The rest was history, as overtime determined the next project.
We brought a few dogs, cats and three beautiful babies home to that house. John chose to keep the overtime going so that I could also stay home and raise them.
Gratitude is an understatement.
I will never forget preparing for our first Christmas as homeowners. I baked cookies and took them to our surrounding neighbors. One early evening after work, chatting in the middle of the street, with the neighbors directly across, Lynn asked me, very sweetly, with a little hesitation, “what color will you maybe, will you, might be, I mean .. um.. paint it?”
Knowing Jeff and Lynn had years of staring at our lime green house, and not knowing Jeff and Lynn, we answered in perfect stone-faced unison, “green.” The look on their faces will forever stay with us! We had been privately discussing a light greyish white base with forest green shutters. If anyone ever asked us that question, we agreed we’d say green… just for funsies!
For Christmas in 1985, we chose red lights to frame our house . Yes. It looked like a scene out of Who-ville, but we got the biggest kick out of it. We had explained our good intentions by that point… and chuckled every evening we plugged them in, imagining Jeff and Lynn’s last days forced to stare at that EXTREMELY BRIGHT FLUORESCENT LIME GREEN HOUSE, with the white rock roof, now paying homage to Christmas! Good thing they were great neighbors and sports!
Cue the renovation life and… never, ever moving that piano again.
or so we thought.
Orchard Lane completely renovated in 1998 prior to putting a For Sale sign out front. I so wish I could find the bad snaps of it in 1985! Notice the nice slightly pitched roof? I told John, for the 15 years we were there, that if we ever moved, “I bet you figure out a way to hire a company to pitch that flat rock roof and make a normal roof… just to sell it!” He did exactly that. lol.