My father refused to sell the Stoner house, even though there was an interested buyer. “I wont sell to that man,” Aba said about Gary Blonder, a high-profile, flamboyant Hartford business man who made his fortune in used auto parts. “He’s a creep,” Mimo would say. And sure enough, Blonder was later convicted for tax evasion, fraud, and lying to federal authorities, the last of which was in 2005 for trying to conceal a $100,000 bond investment from federal bank regulators. He was sentenced to 28 months in prison for that crime.

Blonder was a shady character, but he had money and we needed to sell the house. “No,” was all my father would say when we broached the subject. His stubbornness caused the house to go into foreclosure (See Walk of Shame posted May 31, 2010).

The Stoner Mansion was a former estate of the Stoner Family. It was completed in 1928 for Louis Stoner, a manufacturer who became wealthy from the Jacobs Chuck company, which produces holding devices for stationary equipment and portable power tools. The property was sold off into single lots starting in the 1950s after Louis Stoner committed suicide and his widow, Clara Stoner, faced financial hardship. (See 112 Stoner Drive, posted January 26, 2010).

Before the land was sold, the estate encompassed the entire street and contained a small 9-hole golf course as well as a stable and a rose garden. The mansion remains at the top of the hill overlooking what used to be the golf course. My parents purchased the house in 1974 for a mere $180,000. I’m sure they must have refinanced or taken a second mortgage on the house in later years and were not able to keep up with the payments, especially after my father’s head injury in 1987, which among other things, led to financial troubles.

On the day of the public auction, we got the house ready and prepared ourselves for the indignity. Mr. and Mrs. Large, our close family friends came with a cashier’s check for $50,000 in hand, the amount required to bid on the house. They didn’t want the house, but thought that bidding on it would help drive the sale price up so that at least my father would be able to pay what he owed his multiple creditors.

An hour or so before the auction was set to start, we were all looking glum. “I can’t believe this is happening,” I said to Mimo. “Why wont he agree to sell it and spare us the embarrassment of a foreclosure?”

In the final hour, my father changed his mind. “Tell the bank I’ll agree to sell to Blonder,” he said quietly, keeping the house from going into foreclosure. The public auction was called off and the sale negotiations began in earnest. He sold the house to Blonder for $1.1 million, and even that didn’t cover all his debts.

As we we packed up the house over the following weeks before the closing, my father would sit in the same chair in the Billiard Room, which we called the Big Room since we didn’t have a billiard table. There was plenty to pack up, fifteen years of memories tucked away in drawers and cabinets. A full attic and basement and piles and piles of stuff. We sold what we could and moved the rest into a friend’s storage facility. The Big Room was the last room to be packed, but eventually we had to pack it. And my father just sat there as we packed up around him. Boxes of his books and other artifacts. Until all that was left was the chair he sat on. We moved the chair after Aba walked out of the house for the last time.

My father hated leaving that house, and he hated that he had to sell it to Gary Blonder. Blonder didn’t last long in the house, which has had a series of owners after we moved out, most of whom I don’t think have really inhabited it for long.

When we lived in the house, I felt the presence of Clara Stoner’s ghost at various times. I think she mostly liked us and the hustle and bustle we brought to the house, but maybe she didn’t like Blonder and the other owners that resided in the house after him. Or maybe my father’s ghost lives there now too. He and Clara must have pretty high standards, because the house is for sale again.

The Big Room