I love old houses—and I don’t throw the word love around lightly. I have bought and restored half a dozen over the years, and several were considered “tear downs.” As a former building contractor, I had (and still have) the skills and interest in keeping the past (and its practical, functional homes) around. These old houses serve both as places to live and as examples of what we need versus what we want—or have been convinced we want.
I purchased my first old home with a friend and a $1,000 loan from my girlfriend—now wife—for a total price of $10,000 in Humboldt County, California. The “foundation” consisted of two large rocks and two (completely sound) chunks of redwood. A little lifting and some floor repairs (my building partner fell through the kitchen floor during inspection) created a wonderful home that has served two families for 50 years.
In Eugene, a $75,000 tear down in the Washburne district taught me the difference between “fixing up” and “restoring.” The house had “good bones,” bad plumbing, and knob and tube wiring. Guided by a home restoration expert who became a good friend, I fixed areas of rot and cracked lathe and plaster, but also restored the house’s skeleton key locks, cleaned the half mortise hinges, and kept them attached with slotted screws, as they had in 1915. I rented the home to the same person for more than 20 years, and recently sold it to someone who appreciates the quality and craftsmanship that was often (but not always) found in older homes.
After retiring, I purchased what turned out to be the first home on West 13th. The family that had lived there raised chickens and cows as the city grew up around them, and the street was widened and paved. While working on that home, a woman in her 80s came by to tell me she was born there—and she brought me the bill of sale for the home. To build it in 1915 cost $569, and that included a “bed with headboard and footboard, Dutch oven—with lid, and 12” cast iron frying pan.” The woman told me how her father worked for the railroad, and maintained the local electric lines for EWEB, even after he was blinded in an industrial accident in the rail yard. She would verbally guide him up the poles and tell him which wire was broken so he could fix it by feel.
On a practical note, I learned how easy it is to lift a house and replace the foundation, and how restoring the look of old woodwork can be made easier by coloring indented paint areas with wood-tone sharpies. I have restored old weighted windows and replaced the rotted ones with new double pane units. It is satisfying, and empowering to realize that you can repair and restore something many people would give up on. You can fix anything—and it is easier in the days of YouTube.
Our home of 40 years was built in 1948, and was well north of town at the time. The 3/4-acre lot was overrun with blackberries, but time and clippers have largely reduced their grip. We even found an apple tree hidden in the spiny thicket. There are 40-plus fruit trees now, several dating back to the 1950’s—just like me.
I accept that I have been lucky to benefit from increasing real estate values, but I have also given some of those gains back to the community. For example, I sold one house I restored on a double lot to the family of a worker I had hired for the job—and though the sale price was under market value, I still made a profit. The extra lot was developed into a co-op housing project that is helping young people get a foothold in the overpriced local real estate market.
If you are in a similar situation, you could consider sharing your good fortune as well. Do you have a rental, or a primary residence you will be leaving, that could be passed on to the community? Not as a gift, but at less than “top dollar.” If a gain of 500% is possible, would 300% or 400% leave you in financial trouble? If not, maybe some boomer timing (or dumb luck) could be shared with the next generation.
