Floyd Buell, who died last week, sold us our first house, in 1994, on the Kingston Road.
I originally found Floyd because he was the realtor for a house on the Colville Road with an asking price of $33,000, a price that, even back then, seemed impossibly affordable. That house—which turned out to have been built from the rubble of the old house next door—turned out not to suit us, but Floyd became our realtor in the process.
He was a kind and patient man, and showed us scores of houses in the $30K to $50K range, most of which—no fault of his—were desperately horrible houses: basements filled with water, walls smashed, hyper-pink bedrooms; we saw it all, from Emyvale to Donaldston to Mount Buchanan and all points between. Floyd never faltered, despite knowing his commission wasn’t likely to top $1,000.
Eventually we looked at 1360 Kingston Road, and we were ready to buy. And even then it was a multi-back-and-forth offer-counter process followed by an unexpected Supreme Court Quieting of the Title. Floyd was in for the duration.
We loved that house for the six years we lived in it
Floyd will be missed.