Today's MOZEN: Camelot Lost

Words and photo by F LoBuono

Camelot Lost

3/22/2015

When I first saw the house and property, to a man with such humble beginnings, it appeared as paradise. It was like Camelot – our Camelot. The culmination of a lifetime of hard work would be rewarded with a shining house on a hill with sweeping vistas of the Hudson River. There were gardens, too, filled with wonderful flowers and plants. Nearly four-thousand square feet, the center hall Dutch colonial house that would become our home sat on two acres of prime Hudson Valley real estate. The granite face of the Palisades provided a most unique and magnificent back fence. I wanted it to be a center for family and friends - a place of both merriment and reflection.  And, for a time, it was. But, in the end, it proved merely an illusion. Now, it hangs around my neck like an albatross.

In the late 1950’s, my family moved from an apartment in Cliffside Park, NJ to a modest home in Fort Lee, the adjacent town. Fort Lee was booming at the time with an influx of families, mostly from New York City. Real estate was still cheap and people who could not afford to own a home in one of New York’s boroughs found that they could there. Besides, they desired a different style of living. Families would be out of their City apartments and into “The ‘Burbs” and homes. It became the goal of every upwardly mobile family to own property. Success was measured by it. My parents were no different and became proud homeowners for the very first time. They instilled the same ethos within me.

Compared to most of the families around us, we lived very modestly. My folks were not people of means. My father worked in law enforcement and my mother was a secretary at the local high school, both earning modest salaries. My father also suffered with severe asthma that, at times, could be so debilitating that it required extended stays in the hospital. Health care for him, even with insurance, still proved to be very costly for the family. The medical bills were staggering. So, even though they both worked full-time, as a family, we struggled financially.

Now, it must be clearly understood that my brother, sister, and I never went hungry. We never went without decent clothes, etc. We were not “poor”. However, we often went without the things most people would associate with the solid middle class neighborhood that we resided in. We lived within our means. We seldom took family vacations. In fact, I can only recall two – to the Catskills. Hot summer days at Coney Island would have to do for rest and recreation. The carpeting in our house used to lie in my aunts before she had it replaced and we “inherited” it. The only AC unit for the entire house was located in my parent’s bedroom. So, on hot summer nights, we pulled the mattresses off our beds and lugged them in their room where we “camped out” for a little relief from the heat. We loved it. Our family life always reminded me of the book “Everything But Money” by the great humorist, Sam Levinson. We had our challenges, but I wouldn’t swap my childhood memories with anyone!

This instilled in me a strong work ethic and sense of value. Everything that I was going to get I was going to have to earn. No one gave me anything except a chance. And, I wouldn’t have it any other way. I’ve been working virtually non-stop since I was thirteen. I put myself through college and I have earned everything that I own. It has filled me with a fierce sense of independence. And that independence was manifested in owning my own place.

Finding a niche in the television/news business, I worked my way up through the ranks to the highest levels of that profession. Eventually, this gave me the economic security that would allow me to buy my own home. To my parents, and most of their generation, owning your own home gave one the security and confidence to say to the world, “yes, I’ve made it”. So, in the mid-90’s, I purchased a modest three bedroom house in South Nyack, NY. I was living as a bachelor with a good job and money in my pocket. Now, I also had a roof over my over my head that I could truly call my own. In a sense, I was living the American dream, my parents dream: work hard, build on the success of those before you, and continually move up.

I lived blissfully alone for a few years in my little house until I met the woman who would become my wife. At that time, she was a single mom with three kids living in a less than ideal rental in central New Jersey. It didn’t make any sense to give up my home in Nyack to move in with them in Jersey. So, instead, they all came to live in my tiny home in Nyack. It all worked in the beginning. But, with that many grown, and growing, people in the house (two of the boys were there all of the time and the third on occasion) the situation just became impractical. We were bursting at the seams! It was time to step-up, again.

Both my wife and I were working, so the money was flowing in. Plus, we had the equity that I had accrued from the purchase of my first home. In one of the smarter business decisions I have ever made, I bought that original place at a low price and it looked like we would be able to sell it at a much higher one. Our ascension was assured. Now, we just had to find the right place.

We began the search for our new home. Then, one day, by serendipity, there it was, Camelot. My wife was going through a bunch of print-outs of potential homes to purchase when one of the sheets fell out of the stack and onto the floor. As I picked it up, I glanced at it and noticed that is was of a beautiful, white house located on a hill, high above the Hudson River in Haverstraw, NY. I looked more closely. It seemed to have everything we were looking for: stately character, close proximity to the village and the river, and plenty of room to grow. Although relatively expensive, we could still afford it.

I thought that if we could purchase and live in that spectacular house, I would have truly “made it”. All the trappings of success would be mine. It would be the culmination of my life’s work. We purchased the house and made it our home.

In the beginning, it was everything we hoped it would be. We both loved to entertain, and the house made all of that possible. There was plenty of room inside and out to host family and friends. And, we did on a regular basis. The house became a home. Barbecues, holidays, birthdays – anything worth celebrating was celebrated at that house. It was full of light, laughter, and love and I was the Master of Ceremonies. At times, I felt like Jay Gatsby.

Then, something happened. My wife and I drifted. We stopped being the priority in each other’s lives. The laughter become less and less and the distance between us greater and greater. Our marriage struggled. It finally reached the breaking point and she left. She said that she needed to be away from me and that place. So, there I was alone, except for two of my stepsons, in my Ivory Tower. Eventually, as my marriage continued to crumble, so did my relationship with my stepsons. Everything came crashing down. All that I had worked so hard for collapsed like a house of cards. Now, all I was left with was a huge, empty white elephant – one that I owned but no longer had any desire to live in.

The boys are now gone, as am I. I have lived alone for nearly three years in a small apartment where it all started – South Nyack. I guess that means that I have come full circle. And that’s OK. I live simply and happily. After I left the house, my wife eventually returned to Haverstraw with our dog. But, it’s proving WAY too big for one person. She can’t manage that place alone. I try to come up at least three times a week to visit with the dog and do whatever maintenance I can around the house. But, without the joy of laughter and light that was once such a big part of the place, it brings me no pleasure. In fact, it’s become just One Big Chore. Labors that used to be done with love are just plain work now.

Besides, my life has changed. The house and property which I was once so proud of as a symbol of my success, now stands as a monument to my failure. For I did fail as a husband and stepfather. It reminds me of that every time that I see it. And, it fills me with sadness and ambivalence - I love what it once was but I hate what it has become. Such is life, I suppose.

Camelot is for sale. It goes on the market soon. It needs to. It’s time. I don’t think that we’ll ever make the money back that we paid for it. In the years that we lived there the housing market collapsed and still has not completely recovered. Somehow, however, that doesn’t feel as important to me as it should. I suppose that’s because I am still conflicted over its sale. Perhaps, that’s the real reason I have delayed the attempt to sell it for so long. If, and when, it does sell I’m sure that I will feel relieved of all the burdens that are now a part of owning it.  But, I will also miss what it once stood for. However, as I came to find out, successful homes are not really measured in dollars and cents or square footage but in the amount of light and love that they contain. I should have never forgotten that.