Buying My First House

I graduated in May of 1981 and started my career at 3M on June 1. I spent the next two years living with my brother Dave on Long Lake in New Brighton, paying what was essentially a token rent—about $200 a month—which mostly covered food. That simple arrangement turned out to be a huge gift. Not only did I learn how to slalom and waterski more than I could ever hope for, but it also allowed me to save a good portion of my salary for my retirement in a 401k and a down payment on a house. Dave was also a savvy investor and helped me along the way. He suggested a stockbroker he trusted, and that guidance changed everything. I began investing in the early ’80s, did surprisingly well, and slowly built enough for something I really wanted: my own home by the time I was 25 years old.

I was drawn to the northern suburbs of Minneapolis. Maybe it was the “The Mermaid” bar that we frequented on the weekends!!! New Brighton was just out of reach financially, but I found a split-level in Mounds View that felt right. 5249 Sunnyside Road. A 1828 sf split level home with a walkout lower level built in 1953. It had 4 bedrooms and 2 bedrooms with a nice front and backyard in a very quiet neighborhood. There was a backboard and rim mounted on the garage that I used frequently as I was playing basketball competitively in the 3M league. It still had gold shag carpeting throughout, harvest green appliances, and some nasty wallpaper on the dining room wall but those were all things that could be changed fairly easily. I felt it had good bones and the was the important thing. I can’t remember the exact price tag but I think $60-70K sounds about right.

Interest rates were high back then—north of 10% at about 13%—and unlike today, rates were not locked in. It floated until closing. So during the 2-3 months it took to close, for each rate increase I received a phone call from the lender asking for more money down. I kept peeling funds away from what I had saved for furniture just to keep the deal alive. By the time I finally closed, most of my furnishing budget was gone.

Spartan Accommodations

So I moved in with very little. In true bachelor fashion, I bought a good mattress—but it sat on the floor. I picked up a director’s chair that I carried from room to room depending on where I wanted to sit, and a big console TV that felt massive at the time. Compared to the 15-inch black-and-white TV my brother and I had shared to watch Magnum PI every Thursday night while eating dinner, it felt like luxury. My stereo from college went into the basement, but otherwise the house echoed. It was mine, but it was sparse—and honestly, a little lonely. I wasn’t seeing anyone at the time and Sue Ann and I had broken up about a year ago after an 8 year relationship.

After several months of living in these Spartan accommodations, I caved. Dayton’s Furniture Store was running a sale, and the store credit card promised “no money down” and “no payments for months.” I bought about $3,000 worth of beautiful brown leather furniture, pictures, lamps—so very bachelor—and suddenly the living room came alive. What I didn’t fully appreciate was the fine print: miss the payoff date, and all the interest from day one hits at once. I missed it. That became my first real lesson in credit cards—the difference between wants and needs can be expensive.

Turning a House into a Home

I remember there was a small garden in the backyard that was about 20’x40’. My parents had a garden in Aurora and I was pleasantly surprised how much fun I had growing my own vegetables. It had tomatoes, carrots, radishes, lettuce, and beans, beans, beans. The more you pick the more they grow. Home grown always tastes better and I had to give a good portion away to friends and family because I could not eat it all myself. I also did some minor landscaping to give it some curb appeal.

At the same time, the house sparked something else. I tore off wallpaper. I painted walls. I remodeled the bathroom complete with a landline phone by the toilet and a recessed medicine cabinet. I added a ceiling fan in the master bedroom. I added a beautiful bronze arched door on the fireplace downstairs. I tore down the old 2nd level deck and built a new one. I started buying tools as projects demanded them—and some of those tools are still with me today. That house marked the beginning of my DIY journey and my love for making a place truly my own. After living under someone else’s roof, having full responsibility—and full freedom—was a breath of fresh air.

My love for DIY probably began when I was a teenager, helping my dad with projects around the house, but it truly caught fire when I bought my first home. That’s when I dove into project after project and discovered how much I enjoyed improving a place with my own hands. That passion followed me into every home I’ve owned since—about twelve in total—and in each one, I made it a point to leave it better than I found it. By the time each house was ready to sell, I took pride in how well it was maintained and improved, and I believe the people who bought them could see and appreciate that care. The more I worked on my homes, the more confident and capable I became, and DIY turned from a necessity into something I genuinely loved.

My most famous—or perhaps infamous—DIY project involved what I considered at the time a stroke of engineering brilliance: installing a limit switch on my garage door so the outdoor lights would turn on when the door went up and off when it went down. I salvaged a rocker limit switch from an old 3M project, wired it in series with the lights on either side of the garage, and—miracle of miracles—it worked perfectly. But perfection wasn’t enough. I decided the lights should only work at night, which led me to the even brighter idea of adding a timer. Naturally, instead of buying the right part, I took apart a plug-in timer and attempted to creatively “engineer” it into the system.

Things went smoothly right up until they didn’t. I had the whole setup jerry rigged on the garage floor to test my idea. When something wouldn’t work, I yanked the extension cord out—and one of the metal prongs stayed behind in the cord, still very much alive with 120 volts. Without a single rational thought, I grabbed that prong between my thumb and forefinger. Instantly, my hand locked up like it had joined a weight-lifting competition I hadn’t trained for, and I couldn’t let go. After what felt like an eternity—it was probably three seconds of full-body regret—I smacked my own hand with the other one to break free. Lesson learned: sometimes the most dangerous tool in the garage isn’t electricity—it’s an overconfident engineer.

Reflection

Looking back, that first home taught me far more than I ever expected. It taught me patience—because nothing moves quickly when you’re learning as you go. It taught me discipline—because saving, budgeting, and living with what I had were not optional. It taught me humility—because some lessons, especially financial ones, arrive the hard way and stay with you for life. But alongside those lessons came something just as important: confidence.

That house showed me I was capable of figuring things out. I could solve problems, learn new skills, recover from mistakes, and make something better than it was before. Each project, each improvement, and even each misstep reinforced the idea that progress doesn’t require perfection—just persistence. I learned that building equity wasn’t only about money; it was also about building character, self-reliance, and a sense of ownership over my choices.

That first home became a proving ground. It was where I learned the difference between wants and needs, between shortcuts and craftsmanship, and between impulsive decisions and thoughtful ones. It gave me the freedom to experiment, the responsibility to fix what broke, and the satisfaction of standing back and saying, “I did that.”

In the end, it wasn’t just about owning a house. It was about discovering who I was becoming. That experience laid the foundation for every home that followed and, in many ways, for the life I’ve continued to build ever since.