Northwood News ♦ February 2004

My Scary House and Superhero Neighbor

By Brigitte Greenberg

I moved to Northwood Park on May 31 and almost immediately came to the realization that this house was in worse shape than I had originally thought.  Yes, I knew it was a fixer-upper.  But coming from a 14-year-old condominium where I plunked down my $161 a month to have someone else worry about the maintenance details, this was a bit of a shock.  What I didn’t figure on was that the place had been used as a rental property for years and that it had been abused as such, that owners had come and gone without doing a darn thing to improve it, and that I had been left with a circa-1936 house that really looked the part inside and out.  I didn’t figure that I would be spending entire weekends working on it, literally hanging off the side of the house for my dear life while attempting to paint its badly worn exterior.

I also didn’t figure on THE NEIGHBOR.  His name is John Murray and God Bless America, he’s a CONTRACTOR.  Yippee!  Now, I can’t afford to hire him, mind you.  He apparently costs quite a bit, and I’ve just put my life savings into this very scary little house.  But for whatever reason, probably because he fears I may accidentally harm myself (which is entirely possible given my abysmal skill level), he has acted as my trusted advisor in all things Old House.

And we’re talking about even the ridiculous things.  Like the time I came knocking on his door because I heard this weird, high-pitched noise that I swore was coming from the attic.  He didn’t even laugh at me when we found it was only an old alarm clock that gone haywire inside a drawer.  In the first weeks after I moved in, I swear I had to be knocking on John’s door several times a day, asking probably some of the dumbest questions he’s ever had the misfortune of hearing.  But John never laughed at me.  Rather, he most patiently explained the inner and outer workings of my house to me, a house I still don’t claim to entirely understand.

When he saw me struggling to build a new walkway (because I was under the impression I had to dig through gravel to China), he told me to STOP and handed me the proper tools.  He helped me put in the walk after I had managed to make the project a lot more work than it had to be.  When Hurricane Isabel was coming, he took it upon himself to check my downspouts when it didn’t even occur to me to do so.  He has offered his tools freely for a variety of projects, so many tools that I’m sure he must be losing track.  (Note to John:  If tools are missing, check Brigitte’s garage.)

Most importantly, John has given me his advice and friendship.  I don’t know how I got so lucky as to move next door to someone who not only knows all about fixing houses, but also doesn’t mind sharing his time and expertise with me simply because I need it.  John is one of those rare birds who seems to make friends with everyone.  He hangs with the mailman and it’s not unusual to run into the guy who drives the ice cream truck over at John’s house.  (Secret:  John sometimes hides in his garage as Ice Cream Man drives by because he’s afraid he’ll be offended if he doesn’t buy a cone!)

In the weeks after I moved in, I regretted moving to Northwood Park.  I thought I probably should have bought a modern townhouse that would require little maintenance.  There were reasons the previous owners had dropped the price on this house, and I have become very familiar with them — doors that jam constantly, cabinets rotted on the inside but appearing OK from the outside, etc.  My realtor said I could always rent the house and find someplace else for me and the dogs.  But I’ve never quit and don’t plan to now.  I have energy and sheer force of will, if nothing else.  Friends had told me to buy the worst house in the best neighborhood, and I think I’ve succeeding magnificently on both counts.  I’m still scared of my house, but as long as I have a neighbor like John Murray, at least I’ll have the advice I need to try to tame this, my small, frightening claim to the Earth, right here in Northwood Park.

Thank you, John.

[Greenberg lives on Edgewood Avenue.]   ■