Bushwick Townhouse Adventures

An Unexpected History Lesson

2009-12-29T18:15:00.002-05:00

It almost fills me with pity not to have taken photographs of the 150-gallon heating oil tank that stood in the basement near the front windows. That glorious Diesel-like essence that hung around the air down there, along with the dark, greasy stains on the tank and areas of the surrounding concrete were something to behold.

Pity not to have recorded it for posterity.

Soon after moving in, I watched the price of oil cross the $100-a-barrel threshold. Not having any faith in the idea we would be seeing irresponsibly cheap oil in the near future, I decided to switch to gas heat. Luckily for me, Keyspan, the local gas company, had decided to capitalize on the competition's soaring prices and was offering a financing deal I thought too good to pass up.

The big, bulky oil tank seemed too large to fit through the standard-sized basement door. I wondered how it would be moved. Maybe I could paint a fireplace on its side and hang Christmas stockings beside it. Or put a curtain around it.

As it turns out, I didn't have to worry about it. The gas company had arranged for a scrap metal dealer to take care of everything.

Like a modern-day traveling circus, Joe and his employees pull up in a truck loaded to the hilt with a staggering array of, well, metal. It was like the trash compactor scene in "Star Wars." The men descend upon the oil tank like locusts, proceeding to slice it in half across its equator. They cut that part into smaller pieces and carry it outside.

Joe looked as if he had just crawled out of a furnace. Soot covered his face. His hands were caked with dried oil, which I noticed when he looked for a lighter with which to light his cigarette. (I don't generally allow smoking in my house, but this character was too compelling not to watch with as little interference as possible.) Oh, and he spoke like a Hollywood version of a New York City cabbie.

In between barking orders sprinkled with insults at the few workers emptying the tank and scraping oil off the sides, Joe explains he grew up in Bushwick when it was predominantly inhabited by his German ancestors.

"Yeah, even one of the main streets through Bushwick was called Hamburg Avenue," he said. "Of course, after World War II broke out, all the Germans demonstrated in support of the Nazis and the mayor at the time had the street name changed to Wilson Avenue, after President Wilson."

Naturally, I went looking to read up on what Joe had said, and he was, essentially, correct.

You never know where your next history lesson will come from.

It's Been A While

2009-12-29T14:36:00.002-05:00

It seems amazing that it feels like just yesterday I was pointing out what a nightmare OneWest Bank was in dealing with my attempt to refinance my home — and the topic of this blog. Yet it was just a hair's breadth more than five months.

So much has happened with house and home since my last update, I hardly know where to begin.

Stay tuned.

Avoid OneWest Bank At All Costs

2009-07-28T13:51:00.005-04:00

I just finished writing letters to my mortgage bank, OneWest, and my representatives. Here is what I said:

OneWest Bank
Attn: Customer Service
888 East Walnut Street
Pasadena, CA 91101
800.669.2300

To Whom It May Concern:

I am writing to request the refund of my mortgage refinance application fee in the amount of $600 and to register my extreme displeasure with your organization’s handling of my account, as well as to point out what appears to amount to fiduciary dereliction of duty (or perhaps “predatory nonlending”).

Faced with a declining property value on my home, I first sought to refinance my home through IndyMac Bank in December 2008. After IndyMac was seized by federal regulators in the subprime mortgage meltdown, I was reassigned a variety of loan processors (Matt Goodwin and Joel Morrison) who failed to inform me in a timely manner of several documents necessary to close the refinance loan, thus causing me to miss the crucial deadlines. In early May, OneWest Bank loan representative Heather Howard informed me she was the new loan officer assigned to my case. Ms. Howard proceeded to keep “updating” me with increasingly longer time estimates as to a possible closing, and eventually stopped responding to my e-mail and telephone queries. The last I heard from her or anyone at OneWest Bank was an e-mail note she sent June 4, despite repeated e-mail attempts on June 11 and June 24 and several voice mail messages.

Meanwhile, OneWest Bank continues to reap the benefits of its inaction and failure to offer either loan modifications or straightforward FHA refinancing despite the fact that I have qualified for such a program. It raises the question of what OneWest, as well as the banking industry at large, is doing with taxpayer-supplied federal funds specifically earmarked for this purpose.

My refund check may be mailed to the above address.

I also sent a copy of the letter and the following to each of the following lawmakers: Sen. Chuck Schumer; Sen. Kirsten Gillibrand; Sen. Christopher Dodd; Rep. Barney Frank and Rep. Nydia Velazquez.

Dear [Lawmaker]:

I urge you to hold the banking industry responsible for its catastrophic failures in creating the recent subprime mortgage meltdown and demand accountability for the taxpayer funds that have been provided to a myriad of institutions, especially the newly profitable and federally subsidized Goldman Sachs.

To highlight how it affects an average voter — and homeowner — I am enclosing a letter to my mortgage holder, OneWest Bank (formerly IndyMac Bank, which was seized by federal regulators). OneWest Bank has benefited from its own inaction by failing to offer either loan modifications or straightforward FHA refinancing despite the fact that I have qualified for such a program.

It raises the question of what OneWest, as well as the banking industry at large, is doing with taxpayer-supplied federal funds specifically earmarked for this purpose. This, I believe, amounts to fiduciary dereliction of duty (or perhaps “predatory nonlending”).

Thank you for keeping the public interest — and NOT corporate America — a priority.

While I don't expect much to come from a single letter — especially after Marco sent me this — we'll see what kind of responses are forthcoming.

Welcome Back, Wood Floors

2009-04-30T15:57:00.004-04:00

I envisioned something close to this when I first stepped into the house, but actually seeing it come to fruition is quite another thing.

It was great to see that the linoleum I ripped up on Christmas Eve hid something worthwhile.

The bare wood floors made the room feel much airier, even though there wasn't much to define the space. They even tempted me to leave them bare, which I might've done if it were a more rustic space overall.

So pretty, I thought.

Still, I'm tempted to do something out of the ordinary, such as painting them white, as seen in this Door Sixteen post. Maybe I'll save that for the kitchen, which still has that awful blue-green linoleum tile.

Doorway Decisions

2009-04-27T15:04:00.005-04:00

Dinner plans didn't get in the way of more demolition I had planned.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes," I said. "I just have to take down a wall first."

Deciding to widen the opening between the front (living) room and the den was easy. I wasn't particularly crazy about the hexagonal shape it appears to have sported previously, but it's an improvement over this short, narrow doorway.

I could keep going and take it all down, but where does it end? Do I take down the entire wall?

Thankfully, I realized I'd have to give it some thought, postponed the decision and made it to dinner on time.

Goodbye, Domino

2009-01-28T13:49:00.005-05:00

Domino magazine, one of my favorite publications, announced its closure today.

Here, Apartment Therapy and Design*Sponge weigh in.

What a shame.

Although with the economy the way it is, I'd be surprised if we even remembered such a vestige of good times a year down the line.

The magazine was always an inspiration for me (along with the color feature at House Beautiful) and a source of comfort during some of the madness I've faced regarding my own renovations.

Surprises Underfoot

2009-01-13T14:22:00.004-05:00

What you don't know can hurt you.

While it was, at some level, tempting to leave the existing floor in place and deal with the squeaks and cracks in the ceramic tile, my vision for the place has largely been reductive. (That is, to remove elements, materials and structures that detract from the building's spirit, for lack of a better word.)

Stripping away all the green, faux marble-pattern ceramic tile would reveal relatively intact hardwood along with a wide array of minor flooring disasters. (Even ThisOldHouse.com cites "blue-green vinyl" as a no-no.) But there were still surprises.

The first was a strange, lead pipe with an attached container that looked like a car's muffler, but smaller. It was torn on one side and squashed — and it wasn't attached to anything.

The second unexpected finding was the absence of a few floorboards, which allowed the viewing of this metal bladder-like object. It appeared to be some sort of water or heating pipe, although no longer in use.

Sometimes I think the place is more suited to "Unsolved Mysteries" than "This Old House." Maybe I should call a TV producer.

Setting Free the Wood Floors

2008-12-24T11:41:00.004-05:00

Sometimes a burst of energy and some spare time can be a dangerous thing.

Take the first-floor hallway floor, which I had set upon with hammer and crowbar in order to liberate the wood floor underneath — as I did in the living room. A simple task to define, yet far more challenging in its execution.

First, there was a hideous green faux marble ceramic tile that was shaking loose due to shoddy installation. Under that, there was 3/4-inch plywood both screwed and nailed down. That was followed by the same blue-green linoleum tile inflicted throughout the house.

White linoleum was next. Checkerboard roll linoleum after that. A thin piece of plywood and then what was probably the original 1901 flooring with a paper backing.

Finally, relatively intact hardwood floors.

Although I had yet to scrape all the remaining paper backing off the wood, I was already planning what I would do next. I turned to Apartment Therapy for suggestions on how to proceed and received some great tips, although the most important one (for next time) was probably the advice to do all the floors throughout the house at once: More work up front, but more consistent results throughout.

I'll definitely keep that in mind for next time.

Recalling a Previous Abode

2008-12-17T16:32:00.002-05:00

I love Brooklyn.

I love New York.

While I was born and raised here and have always considered it home, it wasn't until I had an apartment of my own in Williamsburg that I really felt connected. The location — right at North 7th Street and Bedford Avenue — was the perfect hub to from which to head toward friends, family and work. Those "spokes," per se, comprised such places as Astoria, Park Slope, Bayside and Seacaucus, N.J. Best of all, it was right on the Bedford L, one subway stop from Manhattan and literally 7 minutes to Union Square.

It was immensely satisfying to round out my meager belongings with furniture to fit the space.

In that shoebox of an apartment, I managed to fit such beloved items as a Persian rug I'd bought at a Santa Fe, New Mexico, consignment store when I lived there; my Stearns & Foster queen size bed, an armless houndstooth chair from Crate & Barrel (a floor model and on sale!), Ikea adjustable halogen overhead lamps in the bedroom and living room — with dimmers — and an Ikea Pax Malm wardrobe to compensate for the dearth of closet space.

The entire apartment was repainted in Benjamin Moore Weathered Stone with two bedroom accent walls in a custom royal blue derived spontaneously from a roll of 3M painter's masking tape. My brother, Marco, and I selected it at a Home Depot color-picking machine in order to overcome my palette indecision.

I couldn't have been happier with those choices, made after several agonizing attempts to pick something.

My reason for going off-track for a moment derives at least in part from wanting to contrast my relatively painless apartment makeover sprint to the arduous home renovation marathon in which I was now enmeshed.

I knew my current project would be much, much more work than a tiny Williamsburg flat. Except that part of me figured I'd get to the fun stuff much more quickly: I'd change a few fixtures, refinish the floors, spackle some walls and pick colors for all of the rooms.

So far, it's been way more involved than that.

Would I do it all over again? Absolutely. Only differently.

Working on Christmas Eve

2008-12-16T17:08:00.003-05:00

Inspiration often strikes at the unlikeliest times.

Waking early on Christmas Eve because of I had become accustomed to my predawn workday schedule, I found myself with little do to and plenty of energy with which to do it. (Mind you, getting up at 8:30 in the morning was sleeping in.)

So, I took the floor scraper to the nasty blue-green linoleum tiles covering the original hardwood floors. Most of the wood seemed to be intact, which was a huge relief. The adhesive was more stubborn in certain sections, and some kind of wood filler apparently had been used.

Thankfully, I didn't have much trouble popping off the tiles, finishing the entire living room and most of the dining room by noon, after which I began my shopping.

The tedious part, as always, would be disposing of the debris. Nothing a good supply of contractor trash bags wouldn't take care of, though.

Why is demolition nearly always the fun part?

All's Well That Ends Well

2008-12-11T14:16:00.003-05:00

How do you define success?

The biggest and best birthday party / housewarming / music festival / photo exhibit I've ever hosted — 10 cases of free beer, five bands and nearly 200 guests! — went off without a hitch.

I slept 14 hours and then started the arduous task of cleaning up.

The one thing I wanted to find was the missing bottle of Dom Perignon, given to me by Oleg Cassini a few years ago. It had thoughtfully been placed in the living room recycling bin.

Empty, of course.

It was a small price to pay for such an amazing time. Not to mention it was my fault for leaving it in the refrigerator in the first place. Other than spilled drinks and a basement handrail that ripped out of the wall, the house is still standing. Thank goodness.

One guest reports: "I partied my ass off.

"Literally.

"When we were all dancing in your living room towards the end of the night the back right pocket of my jeans ripped right off. Now that's a party."

Thank again to everyone who helped make it a success — especially the bands and Lagunitas Brewing Company for its very generous sponsorship of the inaugural Bushwick Rocks!

Now, back to working on the house.

Planning a Celebration

2008-12-10T17:15:00.003-05:00

Nothing motivates like a party.

Although there was still plenty of work left to do, the stage (i.e., house) was set for the inaugural Bushwick Rocks! indie rock concert / combined birthday party / Fotophile.com photography show / housewarming party.

It was nice not to care about a mass of people possibly "ruining" the ugly green linoleum tile floor, but the walls had not been painted in who knows how long. So, with three days to go, I set upon a late-night painting marathon that took me into the wee hours of Thursday morning.

Breaking open the five-gallon container of Kilz Original primer, I soon gained a new understanding of the company's branding: It smelled like petrochemical death. Donning a respirator, I went on to apply two — in some cases, three — coats of primer, then promptly forgetting about the odor.

Until I was done.

The smell was akin to gasoline, but not quite as sweet. (I actually enjoy the scent of service stations.) Thankful to have closed the bedroom door, I was able to go to sleep without asphyxiating.

The following day, when friends Gillian, Ryan and Karen showed up to hang their photographs for the visual part of the Saturday-night celebration, the olfactory offender was absent. The good news was that the Kilz did a fine job of covering up the discoloration on a wall that was in rough shape.

At least now I realize why low-VOC paint exists.

A Close Call

2008-12-08T15:32:00.007-05:00

After being inundated with leaks from the second floor, PVC cement, grout, Thinset, sawdust and falling debris, my bathroom (on the first floor) finally received the attention it deserved.

For almost two months, I went without a bathroom, having demolished it and then having had to take care of one emergency or another — from electricity (going without for 2 weeks — more on that later) to hot water (none for 2 days that i knew of), from rotting joists to water seepage though the rear brick wall, from a leaking skylight to tardy contractors (seriously, better late than never).

I hunted down the non-standard toilet (with a 10-inch "rough-in" instead of one with the usual 12-inch space between the center of the drain and the wall) I needed (at Brooklyn Plumbing Supply — small, no-nonsense and really, really out of the way joint) and speed-installed it before dinner. It took maybe 20 minutes.

"How many toilets do you own?" my brother, Marco, asked.

"One for each day of the week," I texted back. "If you count the one I threw out."

Then, I rehung and framed the door (swapped with one from the hall closet) so that it swings inward instead of into the narrow hallway and chiseled in the new lock. I'll probably replace the door with one made of solid wood when I have the funds, but it works for now — and it was good practice.

I replaced a few 4-by-4 wall tiles and had hoped to install the sink, but I couldn't find that spare drain tube I had laying around. So instead I used that momentum to demolish the basement's acoustical tile drop ceiling for the plumbers to route new natural gas lines for the conversion from oil heat.

My efforts resulted in my being showered in several pounds of drywall, bits of concrete and other random debris in the ceiling space. In the process, one of several giant flourescent light fixtures — like the type in offices — came loose unexpectedly and swung by its metal (BX) cable before crashing to the floor. Thankfully, it missed me.

Shortly after that point, I called it a night and attempted to make enchiladas.

Taking Stock

2008-12-04T15:20:00.003-05:00

The novelty of living in a construction zone wears off more quickly than you might imagine.

But it helps a great deal to keep track of the accomplishments, however small, as well as to set goals, however tangential they might seem.

Looking at what I call the dining room during one sunny October weekend, I was satisfied with the work-in-progress look.

Already, the drop ceiling had been taken down in the living room, dining room and second bedroom of the first floor. (The only downside was the amount of trash it produced, which brought its own set of logistics.) The walls had been restored, taped and replastered — with a mixture of joint compound and plaster of paris — and the ceiling had been stripped of its cake-frosting-like texture.

Although I had little fondness for the green linoleum tile inflicted upon the first floor, I was also planning a large housewarming/birthday party/art opening/indie rock festival while the space was relatively raw. For the time being, I would be OK with guests putting out their cigarettes on the floor or writing on the walls.

With so many elements of home renovation to tackle, I had yet to get to such basic tasks as moving my bed boxspring into the bedroom, which I believed to have been the original dining room.

The idea of putting out the closest fires first seemed a natural method of triage, though I would later learn it wasn't the best.

Getting a New Floor

2008-12-03T14:06:00.004-05:00

Thank goodness for knowing the right people.

After having panicked over the disastrous state of my second-floor bathroom, I called around to see who knew how to proceed. One of my phone calls went to Ireno, the local jack-of-all-trades who had helped strip the hardwood floors down to their original 1901 splendor. (More on that later.)

Ireno surveyed the damage and said the floor was fine as it was. Normally, I'm appreciative of the no pasa nada approach, but in this case my senses were screaming something entirely different.

It turns out my brother-in-law, Arturo, worked regularly on home renovations throughout Manhattan and Brooklyn. After determining that new joists were needed, he and a friend proceeded to replace the 3-by-8 sections of lumber.

Cutting into the masonry, they went on to shore up the framing that was already there and properly box off the plumbing for the toilet drain. Underneath all the soggy tiles and poured concrete, it looked like a plumber had simply cut the joists to accommodate the commode.

That reminds me of a story my very capable — and highly recommended — building inspector, Matthew Barnett at Accurate Building Inspectors, told me:

You learn two things in plumbing school. On the first day, they teach you how to throw away the instructions. On the second day, they teach you how to cut wood.

I laughed, not knowing how true I would learn that to be. Matthew was also the one who asked me a poignant question following his inspection of the six-unit building at 289 Harman Street that I had originally planned to buy.

"Are you a general contractor?"

"No," I said.

"Well, you're gonna be."

Unexpected Trouble

2008-12-02T18:38:00.005-05:00

One of the cardinal rules I learned soon after buying a 1901 limestone brick fixer-upper was: Expect the unexpected.

And how.

One Saturday morning, I awoke to find my bathroom flooded, its ceiling bowed and dripping water. Panic quickly took over and I ran upstairs to look for the source of the leak. No one was yet living there and we hadn't done any plumbing work yet other than installing a new pedestal sink, so I was bewildered.

The second-floor ceramic tile seemed a bit damp, but there was no geyser to deal with. That's when I decided to start chipping away at the tiles to discover wet subfloor concrete and joists — originally 3-by-8 — that had nearly rotted through to about an inch's thickness. What little wood remained there was spongy and unnaturally dark.

A call to my brother, Marco, led to us stripping it down to the bare joists.

Later, a visitor to the house to whom I had related this story remarked:

"Oh, you really have no bathroom floor. When you said that, I thought there was probably a hole in it at most."

These days, I'm not much for hyperbole.

Trouble From Above

2008-12-01T14:09:00.004-05:00

Looking for photos of the house after we took down the drop ceiling, I came across quite a few surprising images. I had almost forgotten what the dining room ceiling once looked like because the changes seem to be so incremental — and because I'm often focusing on what needs to be done next.

The dining room — and the living room — sported an old, crumbly faux-stucco texture overhead that was actually a relief to discover, though only because it meant that there was still a ceiling. Yet, it would have to go.

Even with the walls and ceiling in need of some TLC, the rooms already looked brighter and airier.

The plaster ceiling medallion was not in great shape, apparently having been "patched" with joint compound for some reason I couldn't possibly imagine. The other point of concern was the area around the steam riser that leads to the second floor. There seemed to be a bit of water damage to the plaster and signs of rust on the section of one-inch cast iron pipe that had been hidden above the Sheetrock.

I hadn't even turned on the boiler yet, thus had no idea whether there was an existing leak or whether it had been fixed. It was still warm outside in October and plenty of other stuff to get to before I would tackle this.

Tool Time

2008-11-26T13:45:00.003-05:00

There's nothing like the right tool for the right job. I learned this quickly while installing an Ikea sink in the second-floor apartment. After we had our helper, Luis, put in a 12-inch tile floor, diagonally set, I took on the task of building and connecting the Värde sink and Värde cabinet.

First of all, my first mistake was using a non-variable speed drill made by Skil. When a screw became stuck, the drill nearly wrenched off my arm. Being too lazy to go and find my DeWalt drill, I made do for the duration of this job but was never comfortable. My suggestion: Avoid power tools by Skil. I've yet to go wrong with DeWalt purchases. (My latest purchase: A DeWalt D26441K Heavy-Duty 2.4 Amp Orbital 1/4 Sheet Sander with Cloth Dust Bag; so far, so good. It even came with a carrying case.)

The next piece of information I discovered about the house was that the supply and drain pipes ran sideways into the pantry instead of toward the back wall. Either it was due to a poorly done renovation, different building codes when the townhouse was built in 1901 or some combination of the two. Not having the wherewithal to reroute water lines at that moment, I drilled holes into the side of the cabinet. (Besides, I had already paid a plumber to vent the pipes pointed out in my pre-purchase building inspection.) Not an ideal solution, I admit, but it would allow the job to get done.

More than a year after having installed the sink, I'd have to say it has held up relatively well in the rental unit, which has been inhabited by at least three tenants most of that time. There are scratches across the stainless steel sink surface, but that's to be expected. But surprisingly, the doors and hinges still work flawlessly, a testament to some fine Swedish design and engineering. I selected the single-lever Bågvik faucet for its looks and its convenience — although the sink required drilling in order to mount it — yet it has proved to be durable, as well. Go figure!

Looking Up

2008-11-24T17:39:00.004-05:00

Upon taking possession of the house in September, I was so excited I hardly knew where to start or how to go about it all. Among the first orders of business I planned on tackling were redoing the electrical and the floors. My building inspection flagged some plumbing work that was needed; it didn't seem like much, despite the fact that I didn't even know what it meant to "vent" plumbing.

My mom said her friend's nephew was an electrician and would likely save me a bundle. When his estimate came in at one-third of what one of the top shops said they'd charge me, I didn't hesitate. A week or two of work to rewire the entire two floors seemed reasonable.

As my on-the-cheap electricians routed through the walls to install new Romex Electrical Wire — you know, that yellow, plastic-shielded cable — I poked a hole through the drywall above to see what I'd have to contend with.

There was nothing wrong with the ceilings, as far as I could tell. Except that they had been dropped about a foot with drywall. Perfectly respectable at a 9 feet high, they weren't original and I thought there was more potential in restoring the entire place as it was built back in 1901.

My heart soared when I saw the original 10-foot ceilings largely intact. Sure, there were a few holes and the entire surface had been covered in a horrid, faux stucco texture. This was a good start, I thought!

A First Look

2008-11-22T14:31:00.003-05:00

I've often described my first encounter with the Cornelia Street house as being like one of the opening scenes of "Titanic," where the remote-controlled submersible camera first enters the wreckage of the mighty ship. Deteriorated and corroded when it first appears on screen, the once-luxurious interiors soon dissolve back into their original splendor.

Similarly, when I stepped into the house, I could almost see through the drop ceilings, the linoleum tile, the cinder-block "patio," the crumbly, unvented bathrooms and the awfully partitioned basement.

The view from the upstairs kitchen window held so much promise as to what could be.

Home, Sweet Home

2008-11-21T16:29:00.005-05:00

More than a year ago, while looking at buildings — and apartments — for sale all over Manhattan, Queens and Brooklyn, I drove up this street and was immediately hopeful.

The light, the foliage, the gorgeous day and the stateliness of these turn-of-the-century limestone brick townhouses in Bushwick created a great sense of excitement for what might lie ahead.

Driving up Cornelia Street for the first time, I was ecstatic to see the building for sale was a two-family, corner unit with three sides exposed and a full "finished" basement. (More on that later.)

It would be the second place on which I would make an offer that was accepted. The first one, a six-unit building at 289 Harman Street off the Knickerbocker M train with one vacancy, five rent-stabilized apartments and numerous code violations that turned up during our inspection, was sold out from under the Prudential Douglas Elliman Real Estate broker contracted to represent the seller. (I imagine that ended up in a lawsuit.)

While friends and family offered their condolences, I thought it would likely be better in the long run. The right place would show up, I kept saying.

If it's meant to be, it's meant to be.