There is a Subtle Romance and Sense of Liberation Associated With The Hunt and Gather of Heritage Relics, Namely Antiques and Sundry Other Collectables

 

Birch Hollow Photos by Suzanne Currie

     At first, I very much enjoyed working for the weekly newspaper. I became, in just over two years on the job, the first non-family member to be news editor, then editor of the former Bracebridge Herald-Gazette. I was go-getter back then, and I have no particularly bad feelings about the general responsibilities when I took the helm of this historic Muskoka publication. It was an honor without question. I didn't however like attending accident and fire scenes across the region, or covering murder trials, or reporting on the victims of these crimes or accidents, which forced me into many uncomfortable situations with grieving family members. I knew I wasn't cut out for this work. I was more a poet and short story writer than a news writer. But I needed the work. I was always behind on my rent, my car was costing me way too much each month, and I had to choose between affording myself a beer at the local tavern, after work, or buying something nutritious for dinner. So maybe then you'll appreciate that my love for antique and collectable hunting was precisely what I needed, to bring down the temperature from a stress-laden work week at the newspaper. No, I didn't have money to spare going to antique shops, flea markets, or auction sales, but I went anyway with the few jingling coins still left unspent in my jean pockets.

     Through the years in what has continued to be my own legacy profession,  I have known a lot of characters in my line of work. (Which is mostly fun at least on the road, and at sales). I've talked with many of these well known dealers and the part timers we know as "attic dealers" and in a majority of cases, I have frequently, in conversation, asked what attracted them to this particular profession, when in reality, it can be both financially treacherous, physically daunting, personally precarious when loved ones don't support your spending habits, or hoarding of stuff; and whether or not they are truly intimate with all that the industry has come to represent over the centuries of its storied existence as a profession; or whether they're in it just for the money. I have met far more who were in the business of buying and selling old stuff for financial gain. Not that there is anything wrong with this, of course, other than it does make me wonder, if these same folks would have made more money doing just about anything else, versus speculating on antiques, which is always a gamble obviously. Markets are what they are, when they are, and you take your chances constantly. Did I mention that the odds of making mistakes in judgement are pretty typical, which in antique sale terms are often thusly referred to as "dogs." Items you thought would sell, and may have paid a lot to acquire them, that won't sell for the preferred price or any price.

     I'm not being judgmental here because I have also had many times in my antique buying and selling years, when I most definitely put "money-gained," over everything else, because, by circumstance of professional expenses, I really needed to pull a big profit or miss the mark on rent day. My own situation, as related to the overlapping years of my newspaper involvement, while also playing around with the early dabbling in antiques, as a junior professional, served me in a most unusual way; and it is a lingering reality of untold inspiration, and motivation, even today, when I am able to afford a get-away from the main street shop, to calm down out on the sale hustings. I have never subscribed to the typical aggressive collector-ship of my contemporaries, and I don't believe I have ever run, or catapulted myself in the direction of a flea market, yard sale, or auction. I enjoy my immersion in this antique enterprise because it pleases me, as it always has, being an entertaining respite from everything else that is stressful and loaded full of towering responsibilities.

     When the weekends rolled around when I was employed as a news hound, I couldn't wait to get out on the open road, with a half tank of gas, (all I could afford for my Chevette), and stop in at all the roadside sales, and neighborhood markets, and of course, any auction sales that were going on in the general vicinity. I had a lot of fun in those days, off-loading the work week dramas, at auctions in particular, where I had come to know all the auctioneers working in our district. I think they kind of felt sorry for me, because I would seldom be able to beat out the full time dealers and collectors, and certainly not the well endowed home decorators. As I have alluded previously, some of the auctioneers would cut off bidding on occasion, if they felt I needed a break, and I would be absolutely freaked-out to have won a couple of press back chairs for my tiny apartment, or a fairly decent painting by an unknown artist, for one of the bare walls that taunted me in my so called, no spouse yet, "bachelor's pad." And if I hung out long enough, as I usually did, unless I was on-call that weekend, I learned about the neat "pickings" at the end of these sales, that auctioneers wanted rid of, and were only too glad to help load into your vehicle. The estate or home owner didn't want anything left after the sale, and it was the auctioneer who tidied up at sale's end; and many, many times, I was the benefactor, which often necessitated two or three trips back home to dump the leftover relics. I did this for years. I performed a service for the auctioneers, while at the same time, having a ball, relaxing as if I had spent the weekend in an exotically located monastery, and well, loaded up my tiny apartment with all kinds of neat stuff that others at the sale didn't purchase, or if they did, left some of the job lot behind. This was common and I assume still occurs to some picker's delight.

    The greater point that I want to make here, is that I began my serious and life-long relationship with the antique profession, based on what the experience of hunting and gathering did for my blood pressure. Yup, and my heart rate. While it is true, and I admitted it earlier as fact, there were auctions later on, when I was a top bidder, that did result in elevated "everything," because of this heat of battle scenario. I never liked the fact that a gambling interest seemed to envelope me on these more rigorously fought bidding occasions, best described as mild "wars," and eventually with some guidance from Suzanne, our company accountant, I toned down my enthusiasm totally. Not an easy thing to kick, this gambling thing, even when it comes to something as traditionally non combative and conservative as bidding at auction sales. Without knowing it, I had become the local poster boy for overbidding out of spite, in the heat of the moment, willing to spend just about anything for bragging rights. Until that is, I found, on consecutive occasions, I had purchased something that wasn't what I had expected. A reproduction? A damaged item that I had not previously inspected, an old book with chapters and pictures torn out, and paintings with undeclared damaged and repairs, worth well less than what I had paid the auction clerk.

     This was a long time ago and I have no regrets that I listened to the sage advice of my partner Suzanne. As I began my love affair with antiques and assorted heirloom pieces, many years back, I morphed ever so gently back into a better relationship, with far more comfort realities, than adrenalin surges, in the quest for what some dealers still refer to as "the big score." I would be a hypocrite if I wrote that I hadn't ever belonged to that club of treasure hunters, and glory hounds, but it wasn't what provided that initial spark that made me curious about auction sales, as a starting point, and what made them so compelling for me at the time when I was drenched in the sweat that stress raises. I needed a place to hang-out and watch the proceedings of the day's sale, and it really didn't matter whether I was bidding or not, because it was in essence, that tranquilizing social gathering full of interaction without then, any real consequence. Over time, yes, I did benefit from my own exposure to the spoils of the day, when auctioneers would give me a wink of the eye, that it was time to clean up the leftovers of the day. You know, I would go back to work on Monday morning quite refreshed and so very pleased about even the most modest gains made on the weekend, at the assortment of sales I had attended. I think my increasing immersion in these sale venues, mostly as a quiet observer, gave me a few extra years working at the newspaper. Outside of recreation hockey and football, attending auctions especially, back then, were the perfect and affordable therapy for what ailed me of work place realities. I wanted to become a full fledged antique dealer as a direct result. And I would settle thusly for being a poet and short story spinner as well. Not a perfect professional existence, but pretty good none the less.

     In the next few posts I would like to take you to some of these old time country and estate auctions, dating well back into the 1970's, so that you too can enjoy some of the ambience and fun nostalgia of these antique socials. Please join me again.