Double My Money: The Story Of Selling My House At 3016 6th St. N. (Photo One)

Photo By John Hoff

I've delayed telling this story for a while, because--for tedious reasons too technical to get into--I simply didn't have the photos handy. But now the images are finally in my hands, and though only a few months old, they're like a blast from the past.

And my promise to tell the story is a blast from the past, too. I'll try to be good to my word, here...

So the deal is I bought 3016 6th St. N. with the intention of fixing it up or demolishing it and--as I so blithely put it--"popping in a modular home."

A Deal With The Devil

The day before closing, I had the purchase agreement in my hand and I was out at the property dealing with an incredibly blatant case of electricity theft. A certain low-income rental property tycoon came by and chatted with me on my soon-to-be front yard. The affordable housing baron wanted to know if I owned the house and, if so, how much I had paid.

Well, I didn't want to say I merely had a PURCHASE AGREEMENT. Until the property actually changed hands, I figured somebody who came along and offered more money could get their hands on the house. So I avoided saying, explicitly, that I only had a purchase agreement. Maybe I used a nebulous phrase like "it's a done deal."

He pressed. He wanted to know what I had paid. I said I'd paid $9,500, which was the price I was getting set to pay--if memory serves me--the very next day.

When I named that price, he was BESIDE HIMSELF. Arg! How had he missed getting the property for such a price? He gestured toward 3020 6th St. N. and 3024 6th St. N., both of which he owned--more or less, there being mortgage issues--both of which he'd paid a lot for.

I assured him I'd been watching housing prices like a hawk, looking to snap up something with a low ball bid. I told him how I'd bid OVER AND OVER and had bids rejected, but finally I found a seller who was willing to play ball with me. I didn't want the poor guy to feel bad. This was way before I knew how much crack-dealing was taking place at his property, and how he either turned a blind eye to it or...or...

Well, at a minimum, he turned a blind eye.

What would I take for it? he demanded. Right here, right now, what would I sell it for?

I named the figure of $17,000 because it was the last price listed on the MLS before I bid on it, and managed to force a steep price drop. As I named my price, I was gesturing with my hand. The Devil grabbed my hand, shook it vigorously up and down, and told me I had myself a deal. He would pay $17,000, but no more.

The Accidental Flipper

Holy cats, I thought. I think I just flipped a house.

So I closed on the house. And right away, I was dealing with The Devil to resell it.

Of course, I knew The Devil's nature, but I figured I'd just sell the house and buy a better one. What did it matter, as long as I could find a better place to have visitation with my son? But right about this same time, I was becoming friends with Peter Teachout. I was trying to make my block more secure. I didn't think that nailing boards up over crackhouses to keep the crackheads out was so spectacular...it just seemed like the good sense of country boys and soldiers, both of which make up a big part of my persona. I figured if I did it, other people would take heart. In the middle of this, 612 Authentic arrived to make videos for MinnPost.

What a block. What a life. What exciting developments. I felt alive and part of things, and blogging about it the whole time.

I was told the City of Minneapolis wanted my house for their visionary "Eco Village" project. I'd moved smack dab into the middle of the Eco Village and not even known about it until after I was in the way of their backhoe. In the meantime, The Devil was taking his sweet time. He had a contractor over at the house to make some estimates. He kept negotiating terms, angling for a contract-for-deed.

A certain mover and shaker in the neighborhood--and it WAS NOT Jeff Skrenes--chatted with me on the sidewalk while a reporter for MinnPost interview some of us. We cut a deal of sorts. I said I'd sell the house to Minneapolis for what the slumlord(s) were willing to pay, which hovered near $17,000. I offered to provide an "option to buy" for $1.

"How long do you need?" I asked. "I mean, realistically?"

The answer was in months, not days or weeks. OK, I said, worrying that a backhoe would show up in my front yard before a check showed up in my hand, I'll work with you. I'll try to do the right thing, here, instead of the fast, easy and highly-profitable thing, which would have involved "closing" on the hood of a car in the parking lot of a bank, where a notary public might be found to notarize a "quit claim deed."

The Devil kept referring to such a document as a "quick" claim deed. I didn't bother correcting him. When your moral compromises are this deep, grammer be damned.

Moving At The Speed Of Government

This was when I first heard an amusing phrase: moving at the speed of government. So it took a while. It took a very long time. There was talk of having the Hawthorne Neighborhood Council cover the closing costs, since that was part of the deal: I wouldn't pay closing costs. After all, my "deal with the devil" involved no closing costs.

In our hellish little arrangment, it worked like this: The Devil would look over my closing paperwork in its attractive plastic folder, satisfied that I had just closed on the house and I owned it, outright. A quit claim deed would be sufficient, but he would be the one to have the document drawn up, not me.

If I somehow engaged in double dealing--say, by selling it to somebody else on the hood of ANOTHER car the previous night, but then selling it again to The Devil the next morning--that was quite alright. Such a betrayal would be dealt with through "the law of the streets," he said, with an evil grin.

I assured The Devil that "the law of the streets" would not be necessary. I owned the house, heaven help me. But this was certainly another good reason to sell the house to the City of Minneapolis instead of The Devil. The closing ceremony was so much nicer. I seem to recall there were mints and free soft drinks.

The Devil was NOT HAPPY about me making a better deal with the City of Minneapolis, I can tell you. At one point, he called me on the phone and said he'd been to a casino, and he was winning, and he'd pay me $17,000 in cash all up front. Forget what he'd said about a contract for deed. I assured The Devil that if my deal with the City of Minneapolis fell through, I'd come crawling back to him on hands and knees.

But it didn't happen like that. Minneapolis was slow, but true to its word.

"Quiet Enjoyment" Of My Property

On the appointed day and time, before the closing, some kind of inspector showed up from the City of Minneapolis to make sure all "debri" was removed from the house, to see what needed to be removed, salvaged, abated, and so forth. It was an easy process. On the day before closing, I cut the lawn, and at that time I took a picture of "my tree."

Yes, see it above. MY TREE. The tree is still there and, indeed, it might be there for many years to come even after the City of Minneapolis demolishes the house. But I wasn't going to own it any longer, and I wanted a picture of it. My tree. My lawn. My deck. My spacious back yard. My decrepit historical chimney revealing the true age of the house, despite the modern siding.

The person closing for the City of Minneapolis appeared...bored...on the other side of the huge polished conference table. She did closings all the time, she told me. For me, this was a big deal. For Minneapolis, it was just another property. I took my money and ran. I started looking for my next house.

What Do I Know From Taxes? :)

I understand the tax assessed value of the house at 3016 6th St. N. is quite high, despite the low sales prices. Well, first of all, foreclosure sales are not considered proof of value. I've heard that from somebody at the assessor's office who is forced to deal--quite often, it appears--with individuals appealing the value of their properties.

The fact the tax assessed value was 6 digits when I bought the house doesn't bother me. I didn't have an opportunity to appeal it, since I never owned the house in January or December, which is roughly the time when tax assessments need to be appealed. If not appealed, the tax assessments remain in place.

As for why the value may be so much more than the last sales price...the City of Minneapolis owns the property next door, so the lot for 3016 6th St. N. now has the potential to become part of a super-cali-fragilistic-ex-pee-el-oh-doe-shush back yard. So the fact the property value is now something like $47,000 makes perfect sense. At one time after the sale, the value may have been listed higher but I assume that was just some kind of bureaucratic adjustment made before some kind of final determination, blah blah blah.

WHY AM I GETTING INTO ALL THIS TEDIOUS DETAIL? Well, there is a certain T.J. Waconia-affiliated (expletive) hole who insists some kind of "dirty deal" was made with my house, as shown by my profit margin and the tax assessed value of my (former) house.

Uh huh. Well, the famous CitiMortgage house at 415 31st Ave. N. sold for $18,500, which is a very similar price. The taxable value for THAT property is ALSO currently six figures. I guess the problem with people who hang around T.J. Waconia is they assume EVERYBODY ELSE engaged in shady, dirty deals.

As They Say In Dixieland, "All Lived Out."

Part of me felt bad for the old house, but I considered 3016 6th St. N. was like a person at the end of their life whose best days are in the past.

Personally, I think houses should be lived in until they fall over from relentless catapult bombardment by radioactive mutant zombies, then the houses should be cut into pieces and burned for warmth in a Franklin stove, the malleable metals extracted first, of course, useful nails sifted from the ashes.

All of my close, personal friends know the depth of my convictions in regard to recycling, and I'm sure the anecdotes are passed along with rolled eyes and shakes of the head: how John Hoff said, "Fork 'em over" rather than allow a friend to waste a handful of French fries, or walked outside to throw his ice on the lawn, not in the trash, with a little sermon about making a "drink offering" to The Earth.

Recycle EVERYTHING, I say. Including cans, shoes, old houses. Including the mortgage fraudsters from T.J. Waconia, who might be more useful to the neighborhood under "house arrest" than sitting in a federal prison, click here.

But there is more than one way to waste resources. Allowing a neighborhood to fester into a slumlord paradise of rundown, low-value houses creates an environment where more will be spent yearly on 911 calls than can possibly be collected in property taxes. How is that "conserving resources?"

Thus I defer to the wisdom of the City of Minneapolis in regard to the need to relentlessly bulldoze my former house into kindling. And I like the idea of flowers growing on the spot once more.

I am easy. I go with the flow.