Muskoka Antiques; National Cash Register & How Not To Carry One

Block Print of Guitar Player; Abstract From Robert Currie's Recording Studio

NATIONAL CASH REGISTER, SELLING OFF THE BACK OF A TRUCK, A PURPLE ZITHER

THE ANTIQUE SHOP - WHAT A STAGE FOR IMPROV THEATRE

     A BUSINESS WOMAN CAME INTO THE SHOP ONE MORNING, AT ABOUT THIS TIME OF YEAR, AND AT FIRST GLANCE, I ASSUMED SHE WOULD BE ONE OF THE CUSTOMERS WHO WOULD STAY THE CUSTOMARY THREE MINUTES, AND THEN FLY OUT THE DOOR AS IF THE BUILDING WAS ON FIRE. I REALLY DIDN'T THINK THERE WOULD BE ANYTHING IN OUR TINY SHOP TO INSPIRE HER. WE ALL TRY TO REMAIN OPTIMISTIC IN THIS BUSINESS, BUT WITHOUT APOLOGY, WE DO TRY TO READ OUR CUSTOMERS. SHE WAS GLANCING ALL OVER THE STORE, AND I WAS TRYING TO PUT A CARTOON BUBBLE OVER HER HEAD, WITH HER THOUGHTS ABOUT THE SHOP. THE WORDS ABOVE HER HEAD, MIGHT HAVE READ, "WHY THE HELL DID I COME IN HERE," OR "THEY HAVE THE NERVE TO CALL THIS AN ANTIQUE SHOP!" IT'S WRONG TO PRE-JUDGE BUT WE DO IT ANYWAY. IN THIS CASE, I WAS WRONG. NOT THE FIRST TIME OR THE LAST. I LIKE BEING PROVEN WRONG. ACTUALLY, I'VE HAD SOME VERY SNARLY PEOPLE TURN OUT TO BE THE BIGGEST SPENDERS.
     She arrived at my sales desk with an old zither, (similar to an auto harp) and a big smile on her face. It was priced at around one hundred and twenty-five, but I took her offer of one hundred and ten. It was winter in Muskoka, and sales were few and far between. The zither was beautifully decorated with gold flowers, and lots of interesting graphics, and probably dated from the late Victorian period. I had purchased it from a farm auction, and it was one of those pieces that enhances the look of the shop, but there aren't too many zither players around these days. Suzanne always gets mad at me, when I come home with pieces like this, because they are hard to sell. It's kind of an expensive ornament, if all you're going to do is hang it on the livingroom wall. Today, with the link to our boys' vintage music shop, the zither would have been in their portion of the store, and it most certainly would have been playable. I do think that Andrew would have objected to painting this zither. If it had been brought back to playing condition, he probably would have priced it such, that no one would have wanted to make an ornament out of it....period Andrew repairs a variety of old stringed instruments, so that they can be played again. The zither I sold had some cracking, and would have needed many hours of work, to upgrade for playing.
     I had to ask the woman if she was a zither player. Antique dealers are notoriously nosey. In our defense, we do like to know where items, we've hand-picked from all over the place, are going to wind-up for the next chapter of their heritage. "No, it's not for me," she laughed. "I'm an interior decorator, and I'm going to have the zither painted white, and it's going to be hung above a Steinway (piano) in a condo." That's when the dealer's jaw hits the chest, and you can't really think of any insightful response, that would make sense to the situation unfolding. It was already paid for, by this point, so I couldn't really yank it back, as was my first instinct. We're never sure about things like this, because our hearts still align with the heritage-integrity of the piece. But we are also in business to profit occasionally, so we have to bite our tongues a lot. So why would I care if the zither was painted white or orange, as long as it was going to be appreciated by a future owner. It was pretty neat, when I thought about it after she left, for this little Victorian zither, I had found, to keep company with a great piano, in a Toronto condo tower. So I said goodbye to the little zither I had brought from a local homestead, and wished the woman well on her decorating adventures.
     On another quiet afternoon, having startled myself back from slumber three or four times, I heard the front door open and a lot of feet coming down the stairs. In seconds, the main room was full of customers. It was one group, and they were certainly light hearted, wandering through the store laughing and singing. There seemed to be a lot of conferencing going on, between members of the group, asking each other questions about certain pieces they'd found. "Will this work for us," and "We could change this a bit." Now an antique dealer, in the off-season, starts licking his or her lips, at this point, because happy customers, as a tradition, like to buy stuff. It's why we have lively music playing, and try as much as we can, to keep the atmosphere bright and colorful.
     Soon members of this happy gang, were loading things on my counter, and asking whether I had certain pieces, they had on a crumpled list, one of the group members held in his outstretched hand. While I love seeing this much enthusiasm, and especially such a large number of items on the counter, at one time, I temper myself on these occasions, because it often heralds the agony of negotiations for the best price. On this otherwise dead business day, I had mistaken them entirely. They were a happy bunch, but they were serious about their purchases. On that now sunny day, I managed to hit close to a thousand dollars, from only a few customers. Making a thousand bucks a week, in the winter months, is a capital milestone. In one day, it's a heart stopper. After I had packed up all their purchases, which included some toys, a child's wooden scooter, blankets, quilts, candle holders, pictures, hanging bells and tacky ornaments, the chap I was dealing with, extended me his hand, to shake on the deal.....and to offer thanks for my hospitality. He asked for a detailed list of the purchases, they had made, and when I handed it to him, he said, "Maybe you'll see this stuff in our new movie." I had to ask. "What movie would that be?" "It's going to be called 'Indian Summer'," he answered. "It's being shot up in Algonquin Park, at Camp Tamakwa (on Tea Lake)." Well, it became one of our favorite movies. It wasn't an academy award winner, by any means, but we really liked it....beyond, of course, what we saw of our former inventory.
     We had the same thing happen, but with a little less profit, when theatre staff showed up one summer morning, looking for stage props. They were from Muskoka Festival, working out of the Gravenhurst Opera House, and I sold them quite a few ornaments and pictures, along with a beautiful old camera, I'd found at a local estate sale. There were a dozen significant pieces, and as usual, I gave them a good price. What sadness later, when I read about the storage facility that had burned down, consuming all the props they'd purchased from me, plus the ones they had from other plays that season. I know it was out of my domain, and I had cashed the cheque, but dealers still like to know the antiques and collectables they sell, are going to be conserved and enjoyed by the new owners. The only consolation, I suppose, was that they had served their purpose that summer season....and were by the end of the run, considered surplus materials, to be utilized sometime down the road. We have loaned out hundreds of pieces for theatre productions over the years, including a Canadian Army uniform, from the First World War. The day the actor came in, to see if it would fit, I was absolutely stunned, to see him first, before he walked like a ghost, through the store....startling some of our customers. The uniform, right down to the gators and boots, fit as if it had been tailored just for him. Others in the store, at this time, were equally spellbound, by this dapper little man, floating around the shop as if it was still 1915. I think we loaned that suit out three times in two years, but it looked best on the first actor, who was gearing up for a Remembrance Day production. These were the moments that made being an antique dealer so interesting.
     One of my favorite stories, is about the group of young men who came in, while waiting for their chinese food order, from the restaurant next door, on Manitoba Street. Two of the men, asked me a lot of questions about the vintage dresses, Suzanne had put on a new rack opposite my counter. As I always expected the buyers would be women, (just because I'm a stupid male) I really never thought about answering too many questions about the material, the hem, the lace on the collar, or their respective ages. Suzanne had taken the day off, to look after one of the boys, who was sick, and I just never gave it a second thought....that I might get stumped by a clothing related question. The other question, that danced in my mind, was what we could use as a makeshift changeroom, because the bathroom upstairs was too small. Antique dealers, like me, are famous for thinking about this as a retrospective, when it should have actually been the first consideration. I knew the small room at the bottom of the stairs, could be closed temporarily, if changing was required. I figured the ladies would take one look at me, and then ask "when is your wife coming back in?" They didn't want to ask me clothing related questioning, and I think the baseball cap and stubbly beard led them easily to this opinion. These lads didn't care about my attire, or what I may have thought, seeing them trying the dresses on. At first, I started to laugh, but to myself. Then I thought, well sir, these guys are just fooling around, and one of their mates has a camera to record the moment. As I had been getting ready to close the shop, I really didn't want to deal with these customers, having a laugh at my expense. All of a sudden, one of the men came from behind the rack, to ask me what I thought of the dress he was wearing....followed closely by his mate, who, after looking at himself in the mirror, seemed abundantly pleased by his reflection.
    I confess that I didn't know quite what to say, and I'm a public relations specialist....and while being politically correct resonated back and forth through my thick head.....without giving me a clear direction to follow.....I just reacted to whatever happened, as an "innocent." As it was quite true, the young man looked terrific, I just offered the opinion that it "fit quite well." The second gentleman, had already declared it to be a perfect dress, and didn't need me to offer an overview, which was great. I was sort of glad no one came in at this late hour of business time, just in case, they thought it was a theatre gag, and started to laugh. I prayed that a couple of my red neck hockey cronies wouldn't come in either, because they would have definitely made comment. Truth was, these young men were friendly, kind and complimentary to our little shop, and they made the bells on my cash register dingle, and well, it hadn't been such a bad experience at all. Considering, there were a few precarious moments, when they were trying the dresses on, when I started to titter....and I really did fear I was going to hurt their feelings. They weren't uncomfortable at all. I was the prude. And by the way, it happened on other occasions as well, but I was prepared. So was Suzanne. We even had female customers, who would partially disrobe, and try on dresses right in the middle of the store. If I was in the store, Suzanne made me turn around, because it was polite. Of course it was. On my own, I made busy-work instead, but it was always an awkward moment. "You're not sneaking a peek are you Mr. Currie," one girl asked. I sputtered and mispronounced my words, and got dry mouth at the same time. "Uh, well, uh, of course not." That was pretty much an admission I had at least thought about it. Busted!
     I've given the long version of this story several times, in the past two years, so I pared it down today. We sold a beautiful National Cash Register, on a four and a half foot pedestal-cabinet, which contained its cash drawers. There were about eight spring loaded drawers, that worked off the main register. A young baker, who worked up the street, was given the cash register as a Christmas present, by his girlfriend, although all he got under his tree that year, was a photograph, as the unit hadn't been fully paid yet. After the final payment, which in total had come to about $1,200, (maybe a little more) the baker came with a more senior baker, owner of his own bakery, to move the cash register. It was a Saturday morning, at around eleven, and the store was fairly busy as it usually was on these days....even in the off-season. When I prepared the unit for the trolley, I assumed he had brought to fetch it, the guy told me they were going to "dead lift" it up the flight, of stairs at the front of the shop. I believe it was then, that I started to laugh, because this unit was hugely heavy, and it had come downstairs on a two-wheeled industrial-strength trolley.
     The two bakers, who knew a lot about food preparation, but not much about cash register moving, inched the pedestal up to the first step of about twenty to go. They huffed and puffed, and recited a Baker's prayer, and managed to get it up on the first step. This was their strategy. One step at a time, like the good Bakers they were. They managed to make it to the second step, before the top-heavy piece, toppled over, pinning Baker number two, in the crotch, against the staircase. Outside of being a little winded, and concerned about the welfare of his genitalia, we had a little wiggle room to figure out a rescue plan. There wasn't a lot of room on either side of the staircase, so a side rescue wasn't practical. We tried to pull it upright, from the bottom, but even with a rope attached, it was just too heavy. The pinned baker, didn't have the right angle to do much of anything, accept to keep his wits....and one hand over his privates. We needed someone on the top, of the stairs, to help lift it up, and relieve the pressure on the chap laying beneath. I had to yell out the loading door, at the bottom of the stairs, for someone to help free the baker. It took a full thirty minutes, to muster enough help at the top of the stairs, to lift the brass register up, and bring it down the two stairs at the bottom.....without neutering baker number two. Meanwhile, we've got customers trapped in the store, as this spectacle unfolded. The bakers left that morning, a little worse for wear, and entirely humble, vowing not to come back without a wheeled device for proper extraction. If that same thing happened today, those bakers would have been online celebrities....and potentially been invited to join the talk show circuit, telling of the time they tried to move a turn of the century National Cash Register, but like a collapsed souffle, found their untested recipe didn't work. Their defeat could only be described as crushing.
     One fall morning, Suzanne and I attended an auction at a former Bracebridge lodge, that was being cleared of its contents. As there were three other antique sale events going on that day, the crowd was unusually thin, which was good for us. The auctioneer was moving very fast, because it was looking a little like rain. These are the kind of auctions that I enjoy, because I'm impatient, for one, and frugal, on top of that. You can get some great bargains when the auctioneer has to speed up the sale. So this met my requirements completely. So before the end of the first hour, I had already purchased twenty dressers and mirrors. Keep in mind, I was driving an Oldsmobile Ninety-Eight, not a moving van. Even the mirrors, when taken off the dressers, were too big to fit into the trunk. Suzanne's teaching colleague, who had also bought a couple of dressers, offered me the use of his pick-up truck, if he could use our car for the day. So while Suzanne kept bidding, I started piling the dressers on the truck, to haul uptown to our shop. My mother was running it that morning, and when I got the first load to the store, customers coming out, started asking about the dressers, and how much I wanted for them. I had four on the back of the truck, and on the first trip, I sold three with mirrors. On one day, in the parking lot, without taking one step down the shop stairs, I sold ten of twenty chests of drawers, and a few other chairs Suzanne had bid on. My pockets were bulging with money, and I was absolutely exhausted. At about four in the afternoon, I told Suzanne I had to go and find her friend, and return his truck. At six I was still trying to find the farm he was working at....which according to his map, seemed closer to MacTier than Bracebridge. When I got the car back, it was stuffed to overflowing, with other furniture pieces Suzanne had purchased, before leaving the sale; so in order to get her in the passenger seat, I had to spend another half hour re-organizing the load....which was definitely not a safe one. I think we got home at about nine that night, wondering what the hell we were playing at.....doing this antique thing.
     The only time more taxing than this day, was when I bought ten eight-foot pews, at a fundraising auction, at the local Anglican Church, and only had room in the shop for one on the floor.....seven that had to sit on their ends in a corner. When I remind Suzanne of this story, she just shakes her head, as if it seems just yesterday, when she was begging me not to buy them all. I had what I call, auction deafness....which repels all reason and sensibility as expressed from a well meaning spouse. I got them for thirty-five bucks each, and I reminded her, that I sold every one of the pews within two months.....for triple my investment. "But you took years off our lives, you crazy bastard, because you must certainly remember, that we had to walk them three blocks to the store, because the car wouldn't start."    Good times. If I have one main reason for writing my memoirs now, it's so that Suzanne won't be able to take the reins as my biographer.....and add her perspective to my life's work. She'd add too much color where I like black and white. She'd make light of what I take seriously. And she'd offer insights about a collector's ambitions, I'd rather never confess in print. This is a woman who has, at times, had to struggle for survival, in a small abode with thirty thousands books crammed inside, and everything from native artifacts, a dinosaur bone, to cabinets full of ephemera, where a couch, recliner, and her bedroom dresser should have been. Suzanne, above all else, is a good sport. I think she likes the spice of life I bring to the table.....when once again, she looks up reluctantly and asks, "Ted, what did you bring home this time?" I answer with a smile, and a twinkle of the eye......"It's not a horse! And it's definitely not a jockey!" I always start off with the best case scenario, and work backwards. "Is that a combine harvester in the driveway," she asks with a gasp. "Not a new one," I respond.
    The antique profession has its light moments. Even the undertaker chortles now and again. The antique dealer has to have a sense of humor, because there's so much happenstance involved in day to day functioning. I remember on one occasion, while we were in the process of moving, a good friend, John Black, arriving at the front door of our new house, holding a broken door off a primitive pine cupboard, that had been on the back of this truck for the two block move. He handed me the broken door, still with its hinges, and said, "I'm sorry Ted, it kind of fell off the truck on the way down the hill." As John was a good friend, and newspaper colleague, I said, "There are lots of other things to worry about, than this old cupboard. I can fix this up okay, John.....it'll just look a little distressed, which for us antique dealers, is a good thing. Where's the rest of it." "It's in a box in the back of the truck, but you're going to need a lot of glue." "What do you mean," I asked, as I tried to look past him, into the truck. "Well, this is the biggest surviving piece," he answered, tapping the corner of the cupboard door in my hand. "Oh well," I said, "Suzanne likes to make puzzles. This will be a dandy." John, bless his heart, was always willing to lend a hand to a family in need....and we were pretty needy!  
    Thanks for joining me today. More antique hunting stories to come.