The mortgage meltdown is making everybody nervous about home values, even in the more desirable neighborhoods of Westchester.
I was certainly anxious when we put my mother’s Larchmont house up for sale earlier this summer. It was a good house with a nice yard, but modest when held up to the Larchmont stereotype.
Built in the 1920s with a small, state-of-the-artless kitchen, the house cost about $16,000 when my parents bought it just after the close of the Second World War. It’s strong selling points, however, included being in the Murray Avenue Elementary School district and its proximity to the Larchmont train station.
Over the years, its value sky-rocketed as did houses everywhere. The real estate gravy train looked like it would never run out of steam. At the height of the real estate bubble, I was astonished to learn that a house down the block sold for a little more than a million dollars.
I knew we wouldn’t get anything near that amount, but by the summer of 2007, I feared that our timing was unfortunate. The market was beginning to tank. I wondered: Would we get a good price and how long would we have to wait before we got it?
Consulting with the real estate at Coldwell Banker, we decided to ask $729,000. A couple of years earlier when home-sale prices were really going crazy, I would have pegged it at $800,000 or more.
Still, $729,000 was nothing to sneeze at. Well, it turned out the people actually bid on the house and we ultimately sold it for $765,000, much to my relief.
I think we were lucky. We got good advice from savvy real estate people, who remained confident through the process, despite the unrelenting news of a falling real estate values, failing financial institutions and tightening credit.
Larchmont was a different story, they said reassuringly. This isn’t like the messes in Florida, Arizona or Nevad.
But I think even they were relieved over how well things turned out. That’s because a few weeks ago, I got an advertisement in the mail from Coldwell-Banker. On the front of it was a picture of my mother’s house with a caption on top saying, “Gone in 23 Days!”
Like it was a miracle of biblical proportions. And maybe it was.