Last week I wrote about selling our home and Judge Harold Kohlmeyer’s exquisite residence that Harold’s widow asked me to list. After she showed me the upstairs, we went down to the big, gloomy basement. I’d never seen anything like it. Stunned, I exclaimed, “Oh my goodness!” “Harold saved everything,” she moaned. The basement was crammed with leftover bricks from the driveway project, boards, bags of cement and plaster, buckets of paint, boxes of nails and screws, and unlabeled barrels, bags and boxes that only packrat Harold could have identified.
We went back upstairs to write the listing contract. She lamented, “I don’t know what to do with all the stuff in the basement. I’ll have to hire someone.” I said, “Don’t worry. I have a plan: You remove anything that you or his family want. We’ll stipulate that the buyers either take everything in the basement or get nothing from it.”
She set a date for putting the house on the market. Meanwhile, I had other Irvington clients whose home was listed with me. Afraid that they wouldn’t find anything, they kept looking at houses and making noises about writing an offer.
Early in my career I learned not to try to choose houses for my buyers. In this case, however, I was certain that the Ritter Ave. house would be perfect for this couple. I called them: “I can’t tell you the address or show it to you yet, because it won’t be on the market until next week, but you will love this house.” “What street’s it on?” “Ritter.” “Don’t want Ritter.” “Just trust me.”
I called. “Meet me at the house at — N. Ritter at 10 o’clock tomorrow morning.” Greg got there first, and I led him into the lovely living room. He said, “You’re right. Of course, we’ll want this house. Let’s wait until Caroline gets here so we can go through it together.”
I took them to the basement last. As stunned as I had been, he exclaimed, “Ohmygod!” “Here’s the deal,” I said. “The buyers either take everything in the basement, or they can’t have anything.” Wisely, he took the deal. There were treasures buried amidst the incredible conglomeration such as a lovely, expensive lavatory still in its crate that Harold had planned to install in another bathroom.
That was one of the easiest and most satisfying transactions that I ever put together. Realtors don’t sell houses. Love sells houses. Buyers who fall in love with a house will pay whatever they can afford and accept difficult conditions to have it.
Many houses are not as exquisite as Harold’s was. However, even a modest house will sell. We learned from selling our old home that owners don’t have to spend a huge amount of money to sell a house. Furbishing up the front to enhance that critical curb appeal that gets buyers’ attention, immaculate cleanliness, de-cluttering and neatness are key.
Above all, intelligent pricing by a professional Realtor is paramount. Owners are often unrealistic about the value of their homes, especially if they love them. They used to say to me, “Homes in our neighborhood are for sale for ‘X’ amount of money.” It isn’t what’s on the market that counts. People sometimes try to get $150,000 for a little two-bedroom, one-bath home. The only thing that counts is what homes actually sold for.
Love sells houses, but love makes selling hard for owners. A very good Realtor wrote, “The sale of my Victorian listing was hard because I liked my client, and it was hard on her emotionally to sell and move to assisted living. Sad.”
I never used this column to get business. However, the Realtor whom I quoted above is my daughter, Vicki Clarke Personette who is a Realtor in Monticello. Get in touch if you want a property on Lake Shafer where she lives or on Lake Freeman. wclarke@comcast.net