Research and References Bring Happy Ending

“It’s your first house--you’ll only live there for a few years. Don’t sink more money into it than you have to.”

That’s what friends told Vernon and me when we talked about remodeling. Besides, home improvement is a dicey business at best. If you do it yourself part time, you may be at it forever. As for the contractors out there, well, we’d heard the horror stories. Buyer beware: customer service is dead. Expect the job to cost double the estimate and take twice as long. And be prepared for fights and disappointments over the results.

We’d bought a house in Eagle Rock two years ago. Its 925-plus square feet is a two-bedroom cabin in the sky with privacy, several mature trees, a hot tub and fireplace. Since a low-key lifestyle is important to us, we had no problem trading off square footage for ambience.

However, one room was a problem: the tiny, UGH-ly bathroom. For the first year, we could only afford to live with it and make some small changes elsewhere. But that bathroom needed serious help. Were we crazy to consider going against our friends’ advice? Should we dare an expensive home improvement?

I began reading remodeling books and magazines, talking to do-it-yourselfers and visiting building supply stores. I took a UCLA Extension class and went to the architecture library to figure ballpark construction costs.

The research led me to believe it might be worthwhile--statistics showed that a good bathroom remodel returned 70% to 90% on resale and we weren’t planning on moving for a few years. That meant we could recoup our costs.

At the same time we’d have the pleasure of creating a space we actually liked from a cramped room we avoided. An equity loan would allow us to write off the interest on the whole thing. My husband slowly agreed, then shopped for a loan.

The selected bank gave us a conservative $18,000 credit limit. After paying off some bills, we had $16,000. I figured we’d need about $12,000 for a professional job. We’d replace and rearrange the fixtures, and add a big window, skylight, a fully mirrored wall, storage and tile. We measured everything and Vernon made a drawing of the imagined layout.

We’d use the remaining funds for “impact improvements”: small but highly visible changes that would enhance our house’s basic charm. Those optional improvements were: replacing the front and back doors, removing an unused air conditioner from the living room wall, restoring the front porch railings, replacing the front yard’s chain link fence with a wooden one, and painting the exterior.

Although these were modest changes we knew that there weren’t enough weekends to do them ourselves and keep our sanity. If we wanted the job done quickly and correctly, we’d need a good contractor. Referral was the magic for finding one. So was “What You Should Know Before You Hire a Contractor,” a free booklet from the Contractors’ State License Board.

Although good recommendations came from friends and neighbors, the best came from a local bath fixture store. After phone inquiries I chose two candidates. The first one was friendly, but when asked for suggestions, it was “anything you want, lady.” References? “Um, I’ll have to get back to you.” An estimate? Never did see one. Hire him? Nope.

Then came Larry. He spent his time listening, asking questions and checking out the house. When he talked, we heard some unexpected honesty: “Don’t overspend on this project. Choose middle-range fixtures, not top of the line . . . . Your changes should blend into--not overwhelm--the rest of your house.” He said the job would be done in three to six weeks, adding that we’d always have use of a toilet. His written estimate arrived a few days later. No bargain; his prices were at the top of our range.

His references were the clincher. Former clients rhapsodized about his integrity and his hard-working staff. The quality of the work was impressive. (Our job was small potatoes in comparison.) Too good to be true? Maybe not. The Contractors’ State License Board reported that his company had an updated license and no complaints or liens.

Based on the evidence and our own intuition, we hired him. In a second meeting we went over our contract and payment schedule. Then we talked again about the plan. Larry had to respect our tight budget. He did seem to on paper: the estimate itemized each labor and material cost; he even showed us his profit.

There was no room for us to change things once the job was under way. So, up front he wanted several firm decisions from us within specific costs. What color and model fixtures did we want? Which tile and grout? What medicine cabinet, faucets and lighting? How deep should the mirrored wall be? Should the fence be higher or lower? What style railings did we want? Which door should he order from the catalogue?

Our decision-making took almost as long as the job itself. During this process, we tweaked the budget to add some custom touches to the bathroom. By dropping the skylight (a $700 saving I still regret) and trading ceramic for vinyl floor tile, we were able to add a recessed, hand-built oak storage cabinet and a tiled front to the bathtub, to transform our basic skirted tub into an upscale, “drop in” model.

Work began on a Tuesday. We came home to find the bathroom gutted, its former contents heaped out front. A new plywood subfloor was in. The sewage pipe had cracked. The plumber worked past midnight, but he left a working toilet, as promised.

The job continued at a fever pace for three weeks. Problems stayed minor. “Uh-oh,” Larry said by phone one day. “We can’t leave the old chain-link gate to the back yard. It looks weird.” When I balked at the extra cost, he built it anyway--free.

On a Sunday afternoon, we returned from a short trip to find our new low-flush toilet in place, minus the plumbing. Larry came over immediately and, with his baby under one arm, hooked it up himself.

The job finished on budget a month later. We had the same little cabin, only better. The wooden fence and porch railings lent instant curb appeal. So did the new front door. The bathroom was filled with light and looked twice its former size, with a classic simplicity that harmonized with the rest of our house.

Our remodeling may seem to be a fairy-tale experience, but the hard work beforehand produced the happy ending. That and finding a real prince who rescued our bathroom from ugliness and restored our belief in American workmanship.

As for our friends’ advice: maybe they were right. We’d only break even if we sold the house today. The paint job we’ll do ourselves (no more debt, thank you). But while we pay down the loan and sweat some equity, we’ll be living here happily ever after. At least for a few more years.

Until we buy a house that Larry built.