YOU CAN'T UNDERESTIMATE THE SOCIAL / CULTURAL CHARACTER OF THE COUNTRY AUCTION
WAYNE RUTLEDGE MADE THE EVENTS UNIQUE AND SO WONDERFULLY RURAL IN ATTITUDE
I JUST WANTED TO INCLUDE A FEW WORDS ABOUT OUR ANNUAL GRAVENHURST WINTER CARNIVAL, NOW THAT I'VE RETURNED HOME AFTER THE OPENING FESTIVITIES (OPEN AIR FORMAT), HAVING TWO ICE BLOCKS WHERE MY FEET USED TO BE. I DID THE SAME THING LAST YEAR. WHY OH WHY WOULD A LONG TIME MUSKOKAN, WEAR RUNNING SHOES TO A WINTER CARNIVAL EVENT? A WHILE BACK, I WONDERED IF THE ANNUAL CARNIVAL WOULD EVEN HAVE ENOUGH SNOW, TO CARRY ON ITS THREE DAY OUTDOOR EVENTS. WELL SIR, IT'S BEEN SNOWING AND BLOWING HERE, AND FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THREE YEARS, I BURIED THE CAR IN THE DRIVEWAY BEFORE NINE IN THE MORNING. AH, THIS IS THE CANADIAN WINTER I REMEMBER FROM CHILDHOOD. IN THOSE DAYS, I PUSHED MY DAD'S CAR OUT OF MUSKOKA SNOWBANKS, THREE WEEKDAYS OUT OF SEVEN. I ONLY IMPOSE ON MY BOYS ONCE EVERY THREE YEARS. ANYWAY, SUZANNE AND I ATTENDED THE OPENING CEREMONIES TO SEE OUR LADS PERFORMING THE "SKOKIE SONG" TO HERALD THE 2013 EDITION, OF THE RECENTLY REVIVED CARNIVAL, A COUSIN OF THE ORIGINAL MUSKOKA WINTER CARNIVAL THAT WAS POPULAR BACK IN THE EARLY 1970'S. THE FIRST MUSKOKA WINTER CARNIVAL SONG WAS WRITTEN BY LEGENDARY CANADIAN COMPOSER, MUSICIAN, HOWARD CABLE. THE SECOND WAS WRITTEN BY BRAD AND BONNIE VEITCH, OF BRACEBRIDGE, AND THE THIRD, WAS WRITTEN BY ANDREW CURRIE, MY WEE LAD, WHO IS A DISTANT COUSIN OF BRAD VEITCH. ANDREW WROTE THE SONG FOR THE WINTER CARNIVAL COMMITTEE TO USE IN 2012, AND IT HAS BEEN CARRIED ON BY THE CARNIVAL EXECUTIVE, AS THEIR TRADITIONAL THEME SONG. THE SONG WAS PERFORMED BY PRESSURE POINT, WITH SINGER DANI O'CONNOR. CONGRATULATIONS TO THE WINTER CARNIVAL COMMITTEE, FOR GIVING US ANOTHER THREE DAYS OF SEASONAL FUN FOR ALL COMERS…….AND IT'S A REALLY NICE FAMILY EVENT FOR THE LOW, LOW PRICE OF A SKOKIE BUTTON. IF YOU SEE ANY ORANGE AND GREEN SCARVES AND HATS OUT THERE, THIS WEEKEND, THERE'S A GOOD CHANCE THEY CAME FROM BIRCH HOLLOW, AND THE BUSY HANDS OF MY KNITTING-FANATIC WIFE, WHO BEGAN THIS YEAR'S WINTER CARNIVAL ATTIRE IN EARLY DECEMBER. A PERCENTAGE OF THE SALE PRICE OF EACH, WILL BE DONATED BACK TO THE WINTER CARNIVAL COMMITTEE, AS A SHOW OF OUR SUPPORT FOR THIS IMPORTANT COMMUNITY-WIDE EVENT. IT WAS NICE TO SEE SO MANY PEOPLE OUT FOR THE OPENING CEREMONIES TONIGHT, IN THE OPEN AIR OF THE OPERA HOUSE COURTYARD, AND DESPITE THE WIND AND BLOWING SNOW, IT WAS A PERFECT WINTER EVENING IN SOUTH MUSKOKA. THE OPERA HOUSE MAKES SUCH A NICE BACKDROP.
THE COMFORTABLE AUCTION SOCIAL
A family friend, the other day, asked my son Andrew what was up with my blogs. She critiqued that I had lost my edge, and my vehement mission to clobber every municipal politician, for any one of a number of actions or general inaction. When he came home and told me what our friend had stated, and that his response was "because he's fed up with local politics," I thought back to the late 1970's, when I was a reporter, then news editor of The Muskoka Lakes-Georgian Bay Beacon. My office then was in MacTier. I was living in a tiny lakeside residence, known as "Seven Persons Cottage," in Foote's Bay. I arrived as a reporter, with a degree in Canadian history under my arm, and a minor in creative writing. I was not well suited to the rigors of newspaper reporting, so I had to "wing-it" as they say, and pick it up as fast as possible. How hard could it be? Well, it was ridiculously hard, and we didn't have much in the way of editorial staff. I even had to sell stationary, when the office supply clerk went to lunch. That was something else I didn't understand, and that had never been part of the job description when I agreed to take the job when it was offered. Point is, it was a stressful job even for an experienced reporter / editor. I met a lot of those ragged and weary souls in my press days. For me it was outrageously difficult, because I was used to writing about what I liked……and what inspired me. Outside of university essays, I'd never had to write about what I didn't care about. Every day, I was writing in order to pay rent, the lease payments on my car, buy a few groceries now and again, and oh yes, with a few coins left to purchase a school boy six pack of beer, as a treat on Fridays. I hated my job. But I hated being poor more than this. So I started attending any auction that was within easy driving distance. I didn't have a lot of money to spend, but I knew the importance of keeping up my antique hunting skills. My parents and I had opened up Old Mill Antiques in the fall of 1977, and for two years I refinished furniture for the shop, in the basement of our Bracebridge home business. I could easily afford furniture in the rough, and my pay was when a refinished piece sold for considerably more than I paid for it. If you've done refinishing, you know this isn't the primary fascination of the antique trade. It's the means to an end. In fact, it was pretty much a parallel to writing daily for sustenance, but not very inspiring. I still like refinishing some pieces, just like I enjoy occasionally writing about local politics. Having a steady diet of it…..I don't think so. It would make Teddy a very dull but irritable fellow.
Now in casual, subtle response to my friend, who I hold in high regard (and she know this), I used to handle my newspaper writing and management stresses, with two vices. One was booze and all the qualities and quantities that it generated, from long, long nights at the tavern, and waking up, with a pounding headache, finding a party still going on in my apartment…….a party by the way, I didn't know I'd thrown for the neighborhood. The second vice, was antique hunting, and specifically attending auctions. I would arrive at a country estate, or farm auction, for the 10:00 a.m. preview, and stay for the whole day, which could have meant coming home at around 7:00 p.m. At this time my girlfriend Gail had given me the proverbial heave-ho, for dating an x-ray technician (her sister bumped into me with Pam, at the local movie theatre). I had about five years to think about my "inability to commit" issues, and for those hiatus years, I learned how to write on command…….like an improv. comedian, only more serious; and best of all, I figured out how to de-stress by doing something I adored. Going to an auction. It's how I met auctioneer's Les Rutledge, his son Wayne, and of course, my good friend Art Campbell, of Bracebridge. I'd arrive at the sales gnashing my teeth about the news business, but after a couple of cups of coffee from the catering truck, and several conversations with my old auction mates, I'd forget all about the work week. This was during a wonderful time, when cell phones were a long way away. If I had been forced to carry one, the knobs I worked for, would have been on me like stink, to cover some other community function, which most of the time, had a political flavor to it…..which folks, I despised. Once again, the job despite the challenges, kept me in a car, a small residence, and in company of the occasional case of beer.
For some time this past year, I dedicated myself to highlighting some municipal follies here in Gravenhurst. Some claim I was down-right mean. I've been shunned recently by some of those folks, who think I overstepped my rights and privileges as a citizen, by daring to criticize the way tax dollars are being spent here in South Muskoka. I would stare down a politician, and if asked, go off like a Roman Candle, predicting the end of the sensible world, if there wasn't an immediate change to outdated, and faulty governance protocols. I was getting to the point, when honest to God, I was losing total objectivity, and getting mad if I saw a piece of crumpled paper tumbling down the road. I wanted to blame everything on our elected officials. So finally it dawned on me, as it had, back when I was a rookie reporter, that writing and stress continue to make Ted a dangerous fellow…..and considering I don't drink in volume, and don lampshades at parties…..amongst other things, any more, all that was left beyond the joy of family and friends, was this antique hunting alternative. And as I've been meaning to complete this biography for about ten years now, about my adventures in the profession, I decided after a great stress-free Christmas, to start the ball rolling and mean it this time. No more convenient hiatus periods, to rag on local councillors for the still partly finished Opera House roof, or the fact the local business improvement group wants to double its catchment area in the coming year……something that I vehemently oppose in principle. So I want to assure my friend, that while my edge has been purposely dulled, and my focus directed elsewhere, it's not because I've stopped watching town hall for perceived or actual shortfalls….but that for the mean time, I've come to my senses, about what has been truly restorative in my life. Antique hunting. Auctions.
I'd like to take my friend out to a farm auction, under a clear Muskoka sky, with the wonderful aroma of sweet grasses and hay…..wildflowers and the permeating scent of old wood, and history, imbedded in the painted landscape. To stand out on a knoll above a pasture, watching the spring wind wavering the new growth stretching along the old rail fences, the azure sky so universal and heavenly at the same time. The sight of the old primitive furniture up for auction. The flat-to-the-walls, pine chairs, harvest tables, dressers and wardrobes. The Victorian balloon back chairs, and magnificent oil lamps with painted shades. The boxes of old books, and paper, side by side old farm implements lined up in front of the farm outbuildings. Those familiar Medicine Hat crocks, vinegar jugs, glass sealer jars, and the pleasant nostalgia of the 1940's buffet, and the chrome chairs and tube-leg table from the late 1950's, that replaced the worn harvest tables in the new era of the farmstead. Yes, I do find this intoxicatingly beautiful. Fascinating. Getting to these sales, is like the opening description, of the travel adventure, in the book, "Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance," which I re-read at least once a year, for what it does for my mental liberation from politics…..back down into the real world of discovery and adventure. This is what auctions and the antique profession have done for me, since I was a teenager, attending my first auctions…..and buying my first oil lamp; one of hundreds I've bought since. There is an ethereal relevance to this escapism I practice even today, on not much more than a whim. I see a sparkling blue sky, an engaging sun, and if I happen to find myself flush with cash, I will make no apology, for finding a road to travel along. I follow my heart's desire. I will go antique hunting, and be better for the effort.
SALES THAT WERE AVERAGE AND EXCEPTIONAL AT THE SAME TIME
I liked Wayne Rutledge auctions because they were simple, uncomplicated, country sales, that always seemed so wonderfully rural. I remember being at a weekly auction, in a barn-style building, in Mitchell, Ontario, and not wanting to leave at the end of the sale…..because of its imperfect commonplace, where people came to buy and sell but mostly…..to visit. There wasn't a fibre of stress. If there was any stress at all, it was looking after the food and beverage needs of sons Andrew and Robert. It was the model sale, of what I thought would be great in South Muskoka. Wayne Rutledge ran much the same auctions, although he preferred a new barn-like facility at the Bracebridge Fall Fair grounds. But like Mitchell, the events were very social in nature. He had groupies from all over the region, and beyond, who liked his easy way of conducting business. There was a steady but not a rushed pace. He like to talk to his audience, and when he got laughing about something, it was hard for him to get back on track. Hell we didn't care. It gave the auction a lot more color and dynamic. Still, he operated a sort of social club whether he ever acknowledged this or not. He had many turn up for his auctions, who never bid on a single item. I got to know many in the crowd, and some were admittedly widowers, singles, who were lonely, and felt comforted being in the company of us antique and bargain hunters….who did buy in volume, and have full loads leaving the fair grounds.
What I appreciated most about Wayne, is that he made no pretense of being an antique expert. He had a pretty good idea about what was of considerable value, just through common sense and many years experience. He was cautious, and committed to getting the best prices for his clients, but he also was a practical auctioneer, who wanted everything gone by the time the last auction call was rendered. He had a number of picker / scroungers working with him, who would haul some of the pieces home. I was often in this group, much to Suzanne's chagrin. I liked to talk Wayne at the end of the sales, to get his opinion of the day, in case I was in the position to write a column about the event for the next issue of The Muskoka Sun, or the Muskoka Advance, both weekly publications I was affiliated. I always made a point of thanking him for giving us an enjoyable day. I think he was surprised at times to hear me say this, but it was true. Lots of other people approached him after the sales, and yes, they did slap him on the back for a job well done. He had the same thing in his professional hockey career for the Los Angeles Kings, of the National Hockey League, and the Houston Aeros of the World Hockey Association. Here then, he was getting those same "good game" acknowledgments, but as an auctioneer.
Wayne was quick to pick up auction signals, and he never missed one of my winks, or nods. He had good spotters working for him, and this was our security as bidders, that we weren't going to lose an important piece up for sale, because he hadn't noticed our signals. He was loud even without a microphone, and his cadence was clear and understandable. He handled disputes with great consideration for the rights of all parties, and he would willingly re-auction a disputed piece, in order to make it fair to one and all. He liked to create large job-lots of items on the sale tables, if he was having a slow day getting bids, from a lethargic audience, and I loved those large purchase offerings. I always made considerable profit buying these job-lots. Wayne would point with his cane to a section on the table, and draw an invisible line behind a box, may five feet down the table…..to be auctioned for one winning bid. If it was a large sale, this could happen ten or twenty times at an auction, and that's when you wanted to have a van, a truck, and a lift-truck to bring it all home. It's how Suzanne built up an inventory of thousands of kitchen collectibles, for our business…..because many of those boxes contained these nostalgic cookery relics of which we have specialized for years. Wayne used to chuckle about my dedicated service to Suzanne, buying her boxes and boxes and boxes of vintage kitchen gadgets for pennies per item. I haven't come upon an auctioneer, offering these kinds of job-lot deals since.
I will have more on these fabulous Muskoka auctions, in tomorrow's blog. You know, my feet have finally thawed out, after my winter carnival outing. Ouch. Please join me again for a look at auction discoveries and the folks who made it happen.
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