1.
Get me to the
bank and the
church on time
By Brian M.B. Keaney
I was late to my sister’s wedding.
I made it in time for all the important parts, but I had spent
most of the day running around, jumping through yet another
hoop in my quest to buy a house in foreclosure. That day, and of
course it had to be that day, some form had to be delivered right
away, or the whole thing was going to fall through.
And so, with less than an hour to go before my father walked her
down the aisle, I forwent the limo ride with my family and took off in a brother­in­law’s
car. Daunted by the prospect of missing the wedding ​and​ losing the house, I forgot to
take the emergency brake off until I was a mile from the bank. (Sorry, Ryan. I didn’t
mean for you to find out this way.) Running across the lobby in a sweat­drenched
tuxedo prompted more than a few people to stare that hot July afternoon, and, whether
out of pity or fear, everyone stood aside when I announced that I needed to cut the line.
I first viewed the house only hours after it went on the market. It was a small two­family
on a postage stamp lot about a mile from where I grew up in Dedham, but the rent I
collected would cover my mortgage. It seemed like a great deal, and I put in my offer the
next day. That was the last time anything went smoothly.

2. The day after the inspection, the last day I could back out without forfeiting the deposit,
I lost my job. My uncle quickly hired me so I would have a job listed on my mortgage
application. When the bank came out to do the appraisal, it dropped another bombshell:
I wouldn’t get a loan unless I made repairs to the foundation and siding. I had to ask my
uncle for a day off to fix a house I didn’t yet own.
Two days after the wedding, I turned 30 — probably the least fun birthday ever. A week
after that, my Jeep exploded while I was driving on the beach. My little cousin and I got
out safely, but my beloved Jeep spent the night, ​Luca Brasi​ style, at the bottom of Cape
Cod Bay.
Delay after delay pushed back the closing until after the lease on my apartment expired,
forcing me to move back in with my parents. My first task at closing was to sign and fax
the mortgage to the bank. Before the paperwork was completed, however, a question
arose about whether I was buying one duplex or two condos. No one had the answer.
Frustrated, I left — only to realize later that I had a mortgage but no house to show for
it. The lawyers eventually figured things out.
It was not until after the deed was finally in my hands that I discovered that the tenants
I was counting on to pay the mortgage had moved out. Their apartment was empty, save
for their trash, furniture, and junk.
But for all of the headaches I endured while buying this house, everything worked out in
the end. It really did. After three years of living there with a great new tenant as a
next­door neighbor, I used the equity I built up as a down payment on a bigger house
down the street, enlarging my real estate empire to three units and 0.1 acre.
When people ask why I moved just four houses down the street, I smile and tell them I
wanted to be closer to my family. All the easier, I say, to be with the nephew my happily
married sister has given me.

3. Brian M.B. Keaney, an uncle, writer, and aspiring land baron, lives in Dedham.
http://www.bostonglobe.com/lifestyle/real­estate/2015/01/25/get­bank­and­church­time/RD9S9KVBj
z0a6Z1DQl5GvO/story.html