Originally published in the Spring 2018 issue of 614 HOME
Buy cheap, do-it-yourself, and make more money in a few weeks than you’d otherwise make all year. There are entire networks of flippers and fixer-uppers pushing the premise like televangelists — the new prophets of profit.
Don’t let those episodes that finish everything in an hour fool you. Rehabbing a house isn’t quick, cheap, or easy — it’s slow, expensive, and painful. And yet, we decided to do it anyway.
We weren’t idealistic urban pioneers determined to reclaim a small square of the city. Suburbia had simply lost its allure amid busybodies, constant construction, and a well-heeled school district that suddenly hit the skids and started slashing programs affecting our kids.
After enumerable open houses that never panned out, we kept coming back to the same dilapidated home on a double lot that was clearly vacant, but never for sale. A real estate agent in the neighborhood tracked down the out-of-town owners and found the right person, on the right day, in the right mood to consider a cold offer.
We already knew it needed a lot of work. Here’s what we didn’t know about Rehab Hell:
Everything will cost more and take longer.
Unlike the typical flip, we actually planned to live there — maybe forever. So we didn’t mind spending a little more to make it what we wanted instead of what it was.
But moving a sink and knocking out a wall to connect your kitchen and living room is a lot less complicated on paper than it is once permits and engineers are involved. Add the AC unit, electrical wiring, and copper plumbing that had been pillaged before we bought it and it adds up fast.
What was supposed to be a 12-month rehab is approaching two years, which included months with two mortgages, plus rent and storage. We eventually had to realign the “fix list” to just the minimum number of projects to make the house habitable, then leave the rest for later. It’s a strategy that would have saved both time and money had we started there instead.
Referrals are important, but imperfect.
The place had been home to a fair number of felines during the two years it was empty. We literally bought a cathouse. Every window was broken or wouldn’t open. (Never mind the smell. If there were a fire, everyone would die.)
After combing through lots of online ratings, we selected a local window company we hoped would replace the fire hazard and foul odor with some fresh air. The sales guy was as slick as their receptionist was sweet. But that all changed once they had our money. Months of excuses turned to silence. Calls and emails were ignored. Only after threatening to come to their office and throw a rock through the front window just to see if anyone would show up to fix it did they finally schedule the installation. With the wisdom of hindsight, some of those swelling reviews now seem highly suspect.
It’s okay to be thrifty, just not foolish.
There are actually plenty of repairs the average homeowner can handle with the right tools and YouTube. I don’t mind admitting I’m slow and sloppy at just about every task I’ve taken on, or that I essentially learned to tile floors and shower walls by watching The Vanilla Ice Project.
But sometimes you bring in a pro just to keep your new home from blowing up or burning down. I can sweat pipes and swap light fixtures just fine, but when it comes to breaker boxes and things that go boom, better to be safe than dead.
We asked around and found a quasi-retired electrician to make sense of our mess, and a former plumber who still likes to get his hands wet and runs gas lines on the side. They were both willing to supervise my work or assist for far less than an ordinary contractor.
Always work from the inside out.
Every instinct suggests fixing ugly first, but resist the urge. We started down the wrong road by lining up exterior improvements, when we should have stayed focused on the less sexy projects inside. I should have pulled off the aluminum siding earlier to discover solid cedar underneath before wasting time shopping for new siding only to end up restoring what we had. We should have replaced the water heater and finished the bathroom first, not last.
Fortunately we found a guy who was able to repair and refinish the floors and feather in new wood so well a hummingbird couldn’t tell the difference. But it would have been much easier to tackle the plaster and painting first. Ideally it should have been windows, plaster and paint, then floors. Now we’re doing it in reverse, having to cover up the floors to keep from screwing them up.
Know your neighborhood and your neighbors.
I still joke that I went out for a beer and came back with a house, but that’s not far from the truth. We were already looking for a new place to live. But while writing a story about a group of Westgate homebrewers who get together every few months in someone’s backyard or living room to share and compare, I realized what I’d overlooked entirely in our search — genuine community.
That’s the real reason why after months of frustration with few prospects we decided to make an offer on a rare pre-war ranch, despite its many faults, even though it wasn’t for sale.
Since then, this gathering of former strangers has eagerly offered their tools, time, and talents to make this long-neglected house a home. The guy around the corner is redoing the roof, a dude on the other side of the park helped hang the kitchen cabinets, and those floors were saved by someone from down the block.
This is the most important advice, and probably the only thing we did right from the start. You’re not just buying a house, whether you’re flipping it or moving in. You’re buying a neighborhood and the people who live there are the real investment, and what ultimately determines whether it’s all worth it. ▩
