I sold the house last week where I married my wife, raised three kids and learned how to be a watchdog.
Twenty years I lived there. Lot 17 in Block 21, Phase II, Section 3 in Ross Perot Jr.’s very first subdivision. I called it the Yankee Cowboy Ranch, even though it’s only a quarter-acre.
You’d know it from the other 3,300 red brick houses in Perotville because the porch has a white column near the front door. I asked the builder to put it there. “I’m a columnist,” I explained.
Past that white column and into the house, I can see my beaming bride, Karen, coming down the stairs in 1995, escorted by her dear dad to stand before the fireplace where Judge Sharen Wilson, now Tarrant County district attorney, would bind us forever.
As I walked through for the last time, memories showed my oldest son, Jonathan, getting drafted by the New York Yankees while in high school. We were in my upstairs office when it happened and danced with joy.
My daughter, Desiree, standing in the kitchen announcing with all the certainty of a 16-year-old that she didn’t want to go to college. I pleaded otherwise, but she stuck to her guns. Until she finished college as a nurse.
Over there is the little guy, Austin, playing basketball with me in the garage for the first time at age 2, years before he’d set his high school record for most 3-pointers in a game.
I learned how to be a husband, father, columnist and consumer in that house. When I moved in 22 years ago, I didn’t know that every installer and repair person who walked through the door had a magical power to make things either better or worse. Human frailties translate to mistakes that cost homeowners time and money.
I certainly had no notion that I was going to morph into The Watchdog. The house with the white column on Lot 17, Block 21 made that happen.
At some point during two decades every piece of that house broke, from the roof to the foundation and everything in between. Sometimes I caused the breakage, like the time I fell through the attic and dangled over the garage floor like an astronaut floating in space.
Usually, I found people who knew how to fix things. Often enough, those fixin’s went well, like the oak tree Karen and I planted on our wedding day. Tree came with a lifetime guarantee and sure enough — unlike our marriage — it died the first year. Tree nursery made good on its promise.
The guest bathroom toilet never worked. I tried Liquid-Plumr, then an auger, then finally replaced it. Still didn’t work.
Then one day, I called the company that did the original install. Two plumbers — Ballcap and Sunglasses — came over. Ballcap stuck his arm down, way down and pulled out a broken piece of PVC pipe. That little sucker sat there clogging the toilet for a dozen years. Bad install. Human frailties.
The ones that haunted me, that changed me, are the men (always men) who work as air conditioning repair techs and roofers. A parade of AC techs marched through my house. That’s when I learned that air conditioning repair people are like used car salesmen and politicians. They will say anything to take your money.
I sued in small claims court. Beat a Dallas lawyer in a fancy suit. Judge gave me $800 I sought and said, “I would have given you more if you asked.” Lesson learned.
One AC company I hired sent a tech who made things worse, left his tools and beat it. He got fired that week.
When I asked the company owner for a refund, he told me to call back the next day. When I did, he said, “I prayed about it last night and Jesus told me not to give you a refund.” I was speechless.
The first roofer I hired after a hail storm roofed the wrong house. He got the address mixed up and replaced my neighbor’s roof instead.
The second roofer I hired stiffed most of his customers, filed bankruptcy and served time in prison for fraud. Oy yoy yoy.
It was then that I wised up and realized I must be an active consumer or everyone would walk all over me.
Eventually, I created a consumer movement, Watchdog Nation. First, I made it to protect me. When I saw that it worked, I began sharing with you.
That’s the genesis for my campaigns to fix the crooked electricity retail system in Texas. That’s how I began my quest to make it harder for terrible roofers and builders to do business in Texas. Those fights play out every two years in the state Legislature. Come the 2017 session, The Watchdog is ready to come out swinging again.
Goodbye to the house that taught me how to stand up for myself — and for others. That house gave me love, family, wisdom and a mission. Everything you’d ever want from a red brick house with a white column out front.
Check out The Watchdog on NBC5 at 11:20 a.m. Mondays, talking about matters important to you.
Twitter: @DaveLieber
