By Kent Carlson
The renovator:
still crazy after all these years
Some guys like to golf. Others
love working on cars. Many enjoy
hunting or fishing. And some people
do it all.
But there are those odd ducks
that enjoy the back-braking, laborious
task of fixing up old houses.
Be it a colorful Victorian, a
stately Colonial, a classic Tudor,
a homey Arts & Crafts, or
a clean mid-century ranch, the
common denominator is realizing
a dream of creating your own personal
environment. And with any luck,
you might gain some equity.
I was in my 20s when I bought
my first fixer-upper. It was an
old Foursquare repo in Highland
Park, built around 1915 that had
been carved into apartments during
the Depression. I spent about
four years converting it back
to a single-family home while
trying to restore some of its
original character. Then it burned
down one night. No, I didn’t burn
it down. Within a week my garage
was burglarized, my dog got ran
over, and I broke up with my girlfriend.
It’s a good thing I drank.
So, I bought a condo at the
Plaza and decided to take it easy.
Within a couple of years I was
chomping at the bit. The condo
was fun, but I needed a project.
After searching a 50-mile radius,
I found one behind Terrace Hill.
And by this time I had an accomplice.
While living at the Plaza I met
Sondra, who soon became my wife.
Sondra and I had a great time
converting another old house from
a three-plex back to a single-family
home. Sondra said she would have
to be hauled out of that house
feet first, but when her favorite
house in Des Moines came up for
sale seven years later, we bought
it and she never looked back.
Unfortunately, her dream house
was in great shape, therefore
I didn’t have much to do. So a
couple weeks later, we bought
a project house to keep me entertained.
Sondra was happy, and so was I.
But all good things come to an
end, and after I finished the
project and sold it, and did everything
I could think of to Sondra’s dream
house, I was bored again.
That’s when I found the next
house, a 100-year-old opera house
west of Des Moines. Inexplicably,
I convinced Sondra we should buy
the place. Even more inexplicably,
I convinced her we should move
there.
Nearly six years after Sondra
moved into her dream house, I
moved her into a makeshift apartment
with no windows I fashioned from
an old office on the first floor
of the opera house. [This is the
point in the story when wives
look at their husbands and make
Bobbit-like threats if they even
think about such craziness.] After
a lifetime of living in Des Moines,
and significant enhancements to
the city’s tax base, we hit the
road.
I promised my wife a palace,
but palaces aren’t built overnight.
So far, about a thousand nights
have passed, and we are just now
moving into her palace. But there
were a few steps in between. Like
stripping tons of plaster from
walls to expose the brick, carrying
7,000 pounds of marble and granite
up 23 steps, along with literally
tons of other building products,
hanging and finishing a couple
thousand feet of drywall, removing
a couple thousand square feet
of tin ceilings and replacing
others. There was the framing,
wiring, HVAC, new windows, refinishing
2,500 feet of maple flooring,
installing 700 feet of new maple
flooring on the stage, building
cabinets, walk-in showers, closets,
a bar back, installing 85 can
lights and dozens of other fixtures.
There were the nine days of standing
on a ladder with a quarter-inch
paintbrush detailing the proscenium
with copper paint. There were
weeks of staining, varnishing,
sanding, and then re-varnishing
hundreds of feet of new woodwork.
And then there were the bats.
Throughout the loft are pieces
of architectural salvage, all
with a story. My favorite is the
master bathroom mirror. It was
originally a cherry window opening
from a home razed near 31st Street
and Grand Avenue for a condo development.
The original house was home to
my parents when they were married
in 1946. The stair railing is
built from teller cages removed
from the old Station Casino in
Kansas City. The initials “SC”
located on the railing happen
to be the same as Sondra’s. I
have been carting some of the
salvage pieces around for years
and vowed to use them on this
project. Others, like the huge
wood columns used on the bar back
were from the front porch of a
house razed a decade ago in Warrensburg,
Mo. When purchased, the mailbox
was still attached with a forwarding
address inside.
It’s easy to become overwhelmed
by renovation projects. That’s
why it is so important to find
somebody even crazier that you
can use as a reference point.
I’m lucky to have my cousins Ron
and Joyce Brewster. While helping
their daughter renovate a 120-year-old
hotel in Yale, Iowa, they drove
past a huge Victorian home standing
idle. They ended up buying the
place and moving it nearly 30
miles. At 60-something, they now
have two massive projects. They
make me look sane and I love them
for that. And I love my wife for
knowing that I’m really not, but
loving me anyway.
By the way, you’re welcome to
use me as a reference point. CV
Comment
on this story | Return
to top | 
Guest
Commentary
