The mistake of the antique profession, is to base everything on profit and greed
The antique dealer either becomes a legend in his, or her own time, or leaves the business disgruntled the result of missed opportunity
I found a charming little oil painting today, jammed awkwardly together, with dozens of crappy prints, on an inadequate metal shelf in a second hand shop, while trying to secure a little floor space in front, (in competition with other hands) that I very nearly dismissed as being a paper print adhered to a wood block. A rookie mistake. Any dealer with as much water under the bridge as me, should have picked-up on its pecularities right off the bat. There was some damage along two of the edges, and what I was initially confused by, was that the exposed areas (very tiny) looked too white and "paper-like" in constitution. If it had been a canvas, even with the damage, there would have been material fibres visible where it had been torn away. It was common to paint on another material, and then attach it, with glue, to a wood panel. So under magnification, the constitution of the material should have been visible. It makes all the difference, knowing this, because there are many frauds out there today, especially in second hand and charity shops. Some are so good, that even us tutored dealers fall prey.
When Suzanne gave me the small magnifying glass, she keeps in her purse for such instances, glory be, I found a brush hair in the paint on the paper-like material, adhered to the wood block. What I assumed could only be a print, contained one significant brush hair, which is a pretty good sign that it's an original, and not a paper print. Then I found the signature on the bottom left hand corner. The subject matter, was a small farm scene, with chickens and a rooster, and it was by all standards, a damn fine piece of artwork. The wooden block that it was adhered, was hand sculpted as well, which really should have been the tip-off if I had looked more closely, to start with. It's why I've been kicking my ass all afternoon; the fact I made a hasty decision, and if Suzanne had't been close at the time, I may not have asked to see her looking glass. It was a very affordable price, to make this little charmer my own, and I tried not to do the happy dance on the way out of the store. I when others do it, but I did feel a little jig coming on. Vendors try to beat the dealers, and we don't shy away from a challenge. If they win, shame on us. If we win, well, that's the way it's supposed to be, because we have all the advantages. We know the power of research and continuous learning in our profession. I will have a picture of this painting in tomorrow's blog, and a beautiful little Victorian cameo, we also found, with great jubilation, on a very prosperous weekend of antiquing about the area.
I additionally picked up a well executed, beautifully appointed watercolor of a Muskoka or Algonquin lake scene, with cottage building and canoe sitting up against the shore. And, Robert found me a 1967 memorial reprint issue, of Blodwen Davies' well known biography, of Canadian landscape artist, Tom Thomson; a book originally published privately by the author, in small quantity. This reprint edition was done especially to celebrate Canada's Centennial. I have one in my archives collection, that I paid forty dollars for five years ago. This one is for sale in the shop. I have a Blodwen Davies' original, entitled "Pallete and Paddle," in limited edition, from the period of the early 1930's. Blodwen Davies has always intrigued me, because she was the first writer to question how Tom Thomson died, that July, 1917, while traversing Canoe Lake, challenging the coroner's inquest conclusion, that the artist had died the result of accidental drowning. Davies suspected it was a case of murder, and even went to the provincial police with her suspicions; many which were raised during her interviews with Canoe Lake residents, about Tom Thomson's habits on Canoe Lake, and the lakeside community of Mowat, where the artist lived during the summer months. Many suspected foul play, but had never gone public before Davies came along, and started conducting interviews. It was Davies' book, on Thomson, that inspired Judge William Little, in the early 1970's, to write his own book on the subject, entitled "The Tom Thomson Mystery," still one of the most popular books on the rebound in Canada.
I won't mislead you. There are some significant treasures out there, waiting to be re-discovered, but many require the hunter to be alert beyond the commonplace, of what is usually considered a pretty conservative business enterprise. It is for some. Not for those who know that the very next time out on the road, in some dimly lit flea market corner, or hole-in-the-wall antique shop, there will be something "old world" or better, requiring the finder to be astute about the tiniest detail. You have to know your stuff, and even those with many years experience, can mess-up when it comes to in-shop, or at-the-sale identification. It pays to carry a small magnifying apparatus, because there are many occasions, when you find something you think is original, that is nothing more than a facsimile, and not even a good one. These magnifying devices are great for china and silver marks, and when you are at a sale, and expedience is necessary, it assists the whole aspect of due diligence. Fake, copy, or original? There are a certain number of pieces, that only get interesting when they are magnified, especially if you want to invest in art. You need to see the quality of the brush strokes, and the condition of the paint. There are not shortcuts in this, and there are millions of speed bumps, to being considered worthy of the title "art collector." I've been collecting art for a long time, but I still feel unqualified, as compared to the big wheels, with wheelbarrows full of money, who invest millions each year, and garner investment returns, that would eclipse everything financial I've accomplished over a lifetime. But, in antique terms, I'm still a rookie, even after forty years questing for the holy grail. I don't care. I'm good with being a slow learner.
I think the biggest mistake, I still see a lot of dealers make, especially in co-op situations, is that they over-price out of fear, they are going to sell their great finds too cheaply. In most of the antique malls I visit, there is this prevailing obsession with dragging the last cent out of a neat piece of vintage furniture, or china, glass, or pottery, and then failing to notice the fact, they misidentified another antiquity, putting a wonderfully low price on it, because they were mistaken about its provenance, age, significance, and value. I've found booths where a vendor has priced jars of old buttons, for more than, for example, an original European watercolor, that they believed was just a nice print in a cute frame. I've been in other booths, where a nicely framed print, (but definitely one of hundreds of thousands produced) was priced more than for a solid, competently painted and signed, original landscape, in oil, that could have been researched online, in about ten minutes of sleuthing time. It's exactly what we look for, and we have been targeting certain dealers, who never learn from their shortfalls. Well, it's like this. They don't actually know they were shortfalls, until one day, on an antique tour, they visit our shop, and yell out, "Holy crap, you bought this from us." "Sorry Charlie," but that is the name of the game.
I pursue antiques with the same zeal, extended from childhood. I never went for a walk, to school, or even for a hike through the woods, without finding stuff to bring home. I've done this for as long as I can remember. So at fifty-nine, my friends, I am getting better at this hunt and gather exercise. This weekend alone, I picked up seven exceptional works of art, and another fifteen that we can sell in the shop, for a modest mark-up, that will make young home decorators very happy. Affordable wall art, signed and original, is a good seller for us, and we always like to have our walls full; and we never dumb-our-store-down, by refusing to offer the best of the best to advantage our customers. If we make a big find, it will be put up for sale. It will have been researched, and every detail we can find out about it, including the region from which it was generated, is passed on to a future owner. We got a lovely vintage wooden carving this weekend, of a ski chalet in Quebec, nicely painted by the artist, by the name of "Benoit". Not Madam Benoit. It is carved into an inch thick piece of cut pine, in a foot long panel, and purposely warped to enhance the scene. This is a little pricey because it is a nice piece of Canadiana, and our Quebec carvings don't last long in the shop. A short distance from where it hangs, we have a much larger landscape painting, of the Rockies, we believe, that is competently executed, and a believable, nature-filled scene. It's what is considered, a starving artist painting, or "motel art" because they are done fairly quickly, by the painters, as compared to what landscapes might otherwise take in time to complete. Some like Varga, used to work in shopping malls, painting landscapes while you watched. They didn't take days to complete but hours. We can sell paintings like this, that are pleasing wall adornments, for any room in the house, at about fifty bucks. But we also like to have work by the better known artists and wood carvers, yet we have customers in all price ranges, so having a wide selection has proven successful for us in the past. We may buy three exceptional paintings, in the under thousand dollar range, and we will then buy a half dozen in the under hundred dollar zone, and they of course, always outsell what we call our investment paintings. Investment antiques are the backbone of the enterprise. They can be auctioned off when money is needed, or you close up shop.
The difference with our approach to antique hunting, is that we don't take anything for granted. We know that in order to prosper in the antique and collectable business, we have to cover three levels really well. The first level, is finding inventory to sell daily to all kinds of customers, having all ranges of spending capabilities, in the shop setting. If you want to survive, you have to stock saleable inventory. By this I mean, sensibly priced, useable, good condition, high quality collectable-wear, that is vintage through and through, but still highly useable, in the kitchen, or on the harvest table. Vintage kitchen mixing bowls, and utensils, that can still be used. We make a third of our rent, every month, on what most dealers call "smalls," that for us are related to our cookery heritage. Basically, the first level, is the most important to everything else, because you have to meet the budget restrictions of your clientele. These days, you're competing with a lot of other dealers and second hand shops. If we price too high, we lose our customers to competing shops in the marketplace; which for us this year, has become far more intense and unforgiving. There are only so many dollars to go around, and we have to prove we want your business more than our neighbors. It's great for the consumer, but it does forced us to be far more aggressive, hunting for interesting and affordable inventory. A shop that doesn't keep this affordability thing on the front burner, will disappear in the oblivion of so many other antique shops throughout history. If times get tough financially, in the years to come, there will be a lot of dealers we see today, who will be out of business. Frankly, I don't know how they survive at present. Those dealers that show some sensible proportion, and understand the importance of turn-over, and fiscal dynamic, find us as customers, and believe me, once we attach ourselves, you can bank on us for years down the road. Sometimes, however, we find that some dealers in malls, figure out what we're looking for, and on subsequent trips, we notice the prices for items that interest us, are far, far out of reach. In fact, we've had to drop several antique stops-along-the-way, in favor of others, simply because we can't afford to buy and re-sell. The only way we can shop with them, is shark-style, and this takes time. This means we gnaw each dealer down to a nub, by looking hard, and long for the pieces they misidentified, or misunderstood. If we are in a time crunch, we most often, just put our focus on another shop, and other dealers instead, and let the folly play itself out. It always does by the way. Level one dealing, is for sustainability. You can't survive without steady earnings, and they are best secured, by offering low prices on quality pieces; none of the holy grail variety.
The second level, is the solid antique and collectable exhibition. This is where dealers show their competence, in their respective areas of specialty, or even generality. This means, that when customers come in to a mall, they know exactly what you represent, even in the first minute of casual observation. These are "credibility" pieces, pretty standard in the antique trade, such that every dealer seems prone to have at least one rocking chair, or one vinegar crock, one silver tray and tea set, to demonstrate that industry traditions are still alive and well. These are antiques and collectables that show customers, you know what you're doing, and are thusly capable of bigger and better things. If you're a vendor, you want them leaving your booth with pieces under their arms, headed to the sales counter; but most of all, you want them to re-visit your section, the very next time they drop by the shop. In antique malls we visit, the four Curries of the Apocalypse, know before we open the front door, which direction we're going to travel. To those booths we know have great pieces for what we consider, justifiable, acceptable prices. It may stay this way for a year, and then all of a sudden, the dealer gets greedy and we have to move on, and find other vendors who price more sensibly. Keep in mind, that in the tradition of the antique profession, going back centuries, dealers buy off dealers, and most pickers are dealers today as well. It is customary, and a professional courtesy to give vendor-discounts, which we have always practiced no matter what the prices of purchased items; but lately, this has become a fading tradition in the industry as a whole.
The third level, is the "best of the best" or "show-off" stage, which means dealers relish the idea of having pieces in their booths, or shops, that are "show stoppers," which of course refers to antique shows more than shops, as such. The idea, is that the big, bold and beautiful antique pieces, versus the run-of-the-mill old stuff, attracts shoppers to your booth or shop with the "wow" factor. It could be a collection of vintage silver from the 1700's, an original totem pole, birch bark canoe, cigar store indian, or a half dozen painted crocks from Quebec. These are important pieces to have in your collection, because it has been proven time and again, to draw people inside, and creates conversation; which is a first step to outright purchase. These are qualifying pieces, that validate everything else you have, and the "dealer you," as a player in the profession, believe it our not; even the small ticket, ordinary items, look better on a shelf beside something spectacular in character. Anything looks good next to silver and painted crockery; a second hand paddle looks amazing, if it's sitting on the thwarts of a vintage Chestnut Canoe. The extension of this, is the investment level, which is really part of this category, because it deals with the best of the best, in your collection. A lot of dealers keep their best at home, and this really bothers me. I don't. We don't. If we have a shop in the first place, we're not going to hold-back; and the only reason we would do this, is to facilitate research, because know that bigger ticket items require as much provenance as attainable, if you wish to get the best price. So we might delay a couple of weeks, before we bring a more valuable piece into the shop, so we have our ducks in a row, you might say.
There's still a lot more to this collecting thing, than the almighty profit. Antique hunting generally, is the time of my most dedicated concentration, and it pays off. Suzanne calls this my monk phase. I am so focused, I won't let anything distract me, including the other focused dealers, who try to cut me off at the pass. My wife tells me that I make an audible growl, to move people away from me, and I suppose she's right. Today, and this weekend generally, we had a great time criss-crossing the region, south and north, and enjoyed some good company, good food, and a great opportunities to improve our shop inventory. We don't come home with a hundred thousand dollars in inventory. We do come home, with a satisfied feeling, that we enjoyed what we were up to, and it was stress free from beginning to end. The discoveries are great, and we are always pleased, when our years of extra research, and extended learning pay off; mostly because we know about certain pieces, and provenance, ahead of time. We do put ourselves in the greatest position of advantage, to out perform our competition. It's what makes it so darn much fun, because while it's not competition with a hockey stick, baseball bat, football, golf club, or curling broom, it is a challenge to see if we can out-fox our partner professionals. It's tough out there, so the only way to get ahead, and get the best pieces first, is to be intuitive, and fast on the draw. It's not about getting to the sale early. It's about knowing what's of value and what's not. I watched people this weekend, going nuts over framed prints, and related graphics, that were basically worthless, other than to fill some wall space. When they were finished pawing over the art work, they would have inadvertently uncovered a signed original, and that's when my lightning hand shot in for the pick-up. One lady, who had one of those framed faded flowers, that were copied in the billions, looked at my lovely little water color and said, "You know that's only a print, right?" "Well, then this print has a brush hair stuck in the paint."
It's hard work out there, but there's no life like it! I was born a treasure hunter, and it will be etched on to my tombstone. "The old son of a bitch never said "never," and he got his holy grail afterall."
FROM THE ARCHIVES
HISTORY IS WHAT IT IS! A COLLECTION OF FACTS AND STORIES THAT REMIND US WHO WE ARE - WHERE WE CAME FROM!
AND THEN THERE'S A LITTLE COLOR, FOR THOSE WHO CAN HANDLE A LITTLE MORE THAN THE TRUTH!
DID YOU KNOW THERE WERE HOUSES OF ILL REPUTE, OPERATING IN BRACEBRIDGE, BACK IN THE LATE 1800'S. IT SEEMS THE LOGGERS, WOODWORKERS, TANNING INDUSTRY LABORERS, ETC., WERE KNOWN TO VISIT SEVERAL PROSTITUTES, WHO HAD SET UP THEIR ENTERPRISE, IN A COMFORTABLE ABODE IN "THE HOLLOW," IN CLOSE PROXIMITY TO THEIR CLIENTS' RESPECTIVE PLACES OF INDUSTRY. THE TOWN CONSTABLES, ACTING ON COMPLAINTS, MOVED IN ON THE LADIES, AND DID MANAGE TO CLOSE ONE HOUSE, AND THEN THE OTHER, TO THE CHAGRIN OF SOME WHO LIKED THEIR COMPANY. NOT ONES TO GIVE UP EASILY, THEY WERE SAID TO HAVE SET-UP FREE RANGE NATURE RETREATS, FOR THOSE STRAY SOULS PINING FOR LOVE, SITUATED CLOSE TO TOWN; SOMEWHERE ON THE BANK OF THE MUSKOKA RIVER. THE THIRD VERSE, SAME AS THE FIRST, AND SECOND. THE CONSTABLES HAD TO KEEP STOMPING ON THESE BREAK-OUT FIRES, THAT WERE GIVING THE WIVES AND MOTHERS OF THE TOWN SOME HEARTACHE.
OVER THE PAST FEW WEEKS, I'VE BEEN ATTEMPTING TO SHED SOME LIGHT ON THE FOLK HISTORY OF MUSKOKA. THE BAND OF HISTORIANS, SERVING THIS REGION, SINCE THE LATE 1860'S, HAS GIVEN US MODERNISTS, A PRETTY GOOD FOUNDATION OF RECORDED, FACTUAL HISTORY. IT'S THE SKELETON WE NEED, TO UNDERSTAND THE WAY WE HAVE DEVELOPED, FROM THOSE FIRST FEW HAMLETS AND LOG SHANTIES, TO THE PRESENT. THERE HAVE BEEN A LOT OF BOOKS WRITTEN ABOUT MUSKOKA'S HISTORY, AND OVERALL, I'D SAY WE'VE BEEN PRETTY WELL SERVED BY OUR RECORD KEEPERS. I DO FEEL, HOWEVER, THAT WE STILL HAVE A SHORTAGE OF FOLK STORIES, TO APPLY TO THAT SKELETON, TO GIVE THE MUSKOKA STORY A MORE HUMAN COMPOSITION. THOSE PEOPLE WHO HAVE MADE IT TO THE BLACK PRINT, IN OUR HISTORY TEXTS, HAD PERSONALITIES, AND CURIOUS HUMAN ATTRIBUTES, WHICH WERE PART AND PARCEL OF THE HISTORY THEY IMPRINTED. UNFORTUNATELY, A LOT OF THE BARE BONES HISTORY, WILL NEVER HAVE ANY MORE FLESH ATOP THEM, BECAUSE HISTORIANS OFTEN DIDN'T FEEL IT NECESSARY; TO THINK OF THIS HUMANITY-THING, AS BEING IMPORTANT TO THE OUTCOME OF THE STORY. WHAT I HAVE PRESENTED OVER THE PAST MONTH, HAS BEEN DIRECTED SPECIFICALLY, AT PUTTING SOME ACTUALITY AND EMOTION BACK INTO THE WAY WE INTERPRET OUR HISTORICAL PAST. ANECDOTE IS PART OF OUR DAILY LIVES. WHAT WOULD A STORY ABOUT A DAY SPENT AT SCHOOL OR WORK, BE, OR REPRESENT IN POSTERITY, WITHOUT THE COMPANION ANECDOTE, ABOUT SOMEONE'S FOLLY ON THE JOB….OR IN THE CLASSROOM. IT'S WHAT MAKES HISTORY MEMORABLE. NOT JUST THE BARE FACTS. THE COLOR AND EMOTION OF THE NEWS MAKER, IS WHAT COMPELS US TO REMEMBER THE FACTS OF SOME EVENT OR OTHER.
AS I'VE MENTIONED ON NUMEROUS OCCASIONS, I HAD THE PRIVILEGE OF A CLOSE APPRENTICESHIP WITH NUMEROUS HISTORIANS, LOCAL, PROVINCIAL AND NATIONAL, AND I'VE SPENT QUITE A BIT OF RESEARCH TIME, WORKING ON BIOGRAPHIES; PARTICULARLY HUGELY INTERESTING BIOGRAPHIES OF MUSKOKA ARTISTS, SUCH AS RICHARD KARON, ROBERT EVERETT, AND PIONEER PAINTER, ADA FLORENCE KINTON. I KNOW QUITE A BIT ABOUT OTHER LOCAL ARTISTS, SUCH AS THE LATE BILL ANDERSON, THE BRACEBRIDGE BARBERSHOP ARTIST, AND ROSS SMITH, THE UPTOWN GAS STATION ATTENDANT-ARTIST, ALSO FROM BRACEBRIDGE. I WENT TO SCHOOL WITH ROSS, AND WATCHED HIM MATURE AS A PAINTER OVER MANY YEARS. WHEN I WAS GROWING UP, IN BRACEBRIDGE, YOU COULD BUY A PAINTING OFF ROSS, FROM THE UPTOWN ESSO THAT HIS FATHER OWNED, (HE WORKED AT HIS PAINTINGS BETWEEN CUSTOMERS), AND BILL ANDERSON WOULD SELL YOU ONE OF HIS LANDSCAPES, WHICH HE ALSO WORKED-ON BETWEEN CUTTING GIGS, AT HIS BARBERSHOP, ON THE SOUTH CORNER OF THE FORMER PATTERSON HOTEL, ON MANITOBA STREET. BOB EVERETT, ONE OF MUSKOKA'S BEST KNOWN PAINTERS, USED TO SKETCH AND PAINT IN THE BACK OF EVERETT'S DRUG STORE, AT THE SOUTH END OF MANITOBA STREET, ON CIGAR BOX LIDS…..AND SHOULD YOU EVER FIND ONE, IT'S WORTH A "PRETTY PENNY" AS THEY SAY. HERE IN GRAVENHURST I'VE GOT A PRETTY FAIR FILE GOING, ON FRANK JOHNSTON, THE MAN RESPONSIBLE FOR THE WONDERFUL WATERCOLORS OF MUSKOKA STEAMSHIPS, THAT USED TO HANG ON THE WALLS OF THE FORMER SLOAN'S RESTAURANT, ON MUSKOKA ROAD. ALL FASCINATING STUDIES, OF THE CHARACTERS WHO FOUND INSPIRATION IN OUR REGION OF ONTARIO. BUT WHAT WERE THEY LIKE, AS INDIVIDUALS. THAT'S WHAT I WANT TO KNOW. IN FACT, I'D LIKE TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ALL OUR HISTORY MAKERS, BECAUSE THERE WAS SO MUCH MORE HERE, THAN JUST BARE BONES HISTORY, BEING NOTCHED HOUR AFTER HOUR, DAY AFTER DAY. BY THE WAY, WILLIAM ANDERSON WAS A WELL KNOWN LOGGER IN MUSKOKA, AND KNEW A LOT ABOUT THE LORE OF THE WOODLANDS. HE PUT THIS SENSORY PERCEPTION INTO HIS LANDSCAPES, SUCH THAT THEY OFTEN APPEARED, AT LEAST TO ME (WHO SAT IN HIS CHAIR TWO SATURDAYS A MONTH) AS IF YOU COULD WALK FROM THE BARBER'S CHAIR, RIGHT INTO THE RAINY HAZE OF A MUSKOKA FOREST….IN ITS AUTUMN FINERY.
ONE OF THE FIRST BOOKS THAT GOT ME THINKING ABOUT THE LACKING COLOR OF MUSKOKA HISTORY, WAS WHEN I CAME UPON A BOOK WRITTEN BY REDMOND THOMAS, Q.C., ENTITLED "RECOLLECTIONS." REDMOND WAS THE SON OF G.H.O. THOMAS, ONE OF THE TOWN'S GREAT MOVERS AND SHAKERS, WHO BECAME KNOWN IN THE LOCAL NEWSPAPER GAME, WITH THE BRACEBRIDGE GAZETTE. REDMOND, WHO HAD WRITTEN A NEWSPAPER COLUMN FOR MANY YEARS, PUT SOME OF HIS FAVORITE STORIES INTO A SMALL STAPLE-BOUND TEXT, THAT CONTAINED THE KIND OF STORIES A FLEDGLING HISTORIAN LIKE ME, WANTED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT. MY FAVORITE IS THE STORY HE SPUN, ABOUT A HUGE STEAM-POWERED MERRY-GO-ROUND, THAT WAS OWNED BY SOMEONE IN THE GRAVENHURST AREA, AND RENTED OUT TO FALL FAIRS AND COMMUNITY CELEBRATIONS. IN HIS DESCRIPTION, HE TELLS HOW THE BEAUTIFUL CARNIVAL PIECE, WAS SHIPPED IN PIECES, ABOARD A TRAIN, COMING NORTH FROM GRAVENHURST, AND LOCATED IN AN AREA OF THE MAIN STREET, BUT SEEING AS I DON'T PRESENTLY OWN THE BOOK, I'LL JUST HAVE TO GUESS THAT IT WAS WHERE THE CARNEGIE LIBRARY WAS BUILT, ON UPPER MANITOBA STREET…OR IN THE VICINITY, BUT NOT MEMORIAL PARK.
REDMOND DESCRIBES THE SCENE BEAUTIFULLY, OF THE GAS ILLUMINATION FROM THE TORCHES, MOUNTED ON THE OUTSIDE OF THE MERRY-GO-ROUND; THE SOUND OF THE STEAM ENGINE PUMPING AWAY, AND THE SONG BEING PLAYED, "MEET ME IN ST.LOUIS," IN RECOGNITION OF THE ST. LOUIS WORLD'S FAIR. THE WAY HE DESCRIBES THE NIGHT, THE SIGHT OF THE TORCH LIT MERRY-GO-ROUND SPINNING, THE CROWD HUDDLED AROUND, AND THE PASSENGERS THOROUGHLY ENJOYING THEMSELVES, YOU FELT AS IF YOU WERE STANDING THERE AS WELL, THE SMELL OF FOOD AND CANDY PERMEATING THE COOL AIR…..AND THAT'S WHAT I CONSIDER THE MASTERY OF A GOOD STORY TELLER.
HE WROTE ANOTHER ONE, THAT FASCINATED ME, ABOUT, I BELIEVE, MR. BROWNING'S FUNERAL PROCESSION, THAT HAS ALWAYS STUCK IN MY MIND. FIRST BECAUSE WE USED TO HAVE OUR SECOND ANTIQUE SHOP, BIRCH HOLLOW, IN THE BASEMENT OF THE FORMER FUNERAL DIRECTOR'S HOME, W.W. KINSEY, ON NORTH MANITOBA STREET. REDMOND TELLS THE STORY, (ALTHOUGH SOME DETAILS NOW ARE A LITTLE FUZZY), THAT MR. BROWNING, ONE OF THE TOWN'S PROMINENT CITIZENS OF THE LATE 1800'S, (BROWNING HALL, CONNECTED TO ST. THOMAS ANGLICAN CHURCH), WAS IN HIS COFFIN, PLACED IN THE BACK OF KINSEY'S HORSE DRAWN HEARSE, PARKED, AWAITING THE BEGINNING OF THE FUNERAL PROCESSION NORTH ON THE MAIN STREET. APPARENTLY, SOMETHING SPOOKED THE HORSES, AND UPON REARING UP IN FRIGHT, SENT THE HEARSE UP AT THE FRONT, AND THE OCCUPANT SMASHING OUT THE GLASS DOORS OF THE BACK END, ONTO THE GROUND, IN AN UNCEREMONIOUS CRASH AND ROLL. ONE OF THE ATTENDANTS, AT THE TIME, WAS HEARD TO YELL OUT, "NO, NO, MR. BROWNING…..WE'RE NOT THERE YET," MEANING THE CEMETERY. AS FAR AS THE NORMAL COURSE OF HISTORICAL RECORD, THIS WOULD NEVER HAVE BEEN MENTIONED OTHERWISE. IT WAS CONSIDERED IRRELEVANT AND UNNECESSARY, AND MORE LIKE, VERY UNFLATTERING TO MR. KINSEY, AND TO THE BROWNING FAMILY. BUT IT HAPPENED. WITNESSES SAW THE FLYING COFFIN HIT THE ROAD. AND BECAUSE IT WAS ONE OF THE TOWN'S MOST BENEVOLENT CITIZENS, OF COURSE IT WAS NEWS. IT SHOWED THAT WE MUSKOKANS WEREN'T SO SERIOUS, TO HAVE LET A MOMENT LIKE THIS OCCUR, WITHOUT A LITTLE ACCOMPANYING ANECDOTE. IT WASN'T DISRESPECTFUL TO MR. BROWNING, OR A SIGN OF BAD BUSINESS BY KINSEY, JUST ANOTHER UNPREDICTABLE MOMENT IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND GOING ABOUT HIS OR HER BUSINESS. THINGS HAPPEN. MR. BROWNING WAS GIVEN A FITTING SEND-OFF NONE THE LESS, BUT I THINK HE MIGHT HAVE GOT A CHUCKLE ABOUT IT HIMSELF, AS HE WAS SAID TO HAVE HAD A GOOD SENSE OF HUMOR IN LIFE.
NOW THIS STORY HAS BEEN AROUND FOR LONG AND LONG, BUT I CAN'T ATTRIBUTE IT TO ANOTHER HISTORIAN; BUT RATHER TO A PUBLISHED NEWSPAPER ACCOUNT. IT IS THE SHORT NEWS STORY ABOUT A BRACEBRIDGE DOCTOR, WHO I WILL LEAVE UNNAMED, FROM THE EARLY YEARS OF TOWN HISTORY, WHO DECIDED TO AVOID THE NUISANCE OF HAVING SOME OTHER DOCTOR, REMOVE HIS TONSILS, NECESSITATING A HOSPITAL STAY. YES, YOU ARE RIGHT, IF YOU WERE THINKING HE DECIDED TO REMOVE THEM HIMSELF. UNFORTUNATELY FOR THE GOOD DOCTOR, A RESPECTED PRACTITIONER, HE WAS UNABLE TO HALT THE BLEEDING FROM HIS FIRST INCISION, AND BLED TO DEATH AS A RESULT. A LITTLE HARD TO BELIEVE, BUT IT HAPPENED.
ANOTHER FASCINATING STORY TOLD BY REDMOND THOMAS, CHRONICLED A MAJOR TOWN EXPLOSION, THAT OCCURRED WHEN SOME TEENAGERS GAINED ENTRY INTO A STORAGE AREA, ON THE ROCKS ADJACENT TO BRACEBRIDGE FALLS. IT WAS A HOT DAY, AND THE FOREMAN OF A CONSTRUCTION PROJECT NEAR BY, HAD GONE FOR LUNCH, FAILING TO LOCK-UP THE DYNAMITE STORED WITHIN. SOMEHOW THE LADS WERE ABLE IGNITE A FUSE, ON PURPOSE, AND WHEN THE STOCKPILE EXPLODED, THE MASSIVE VIBRATION FOLLOWED THE ROCK LEDGE, IN AN "L" PATTERN, BENEATH ALL THE BUILDINGS ON ONE SIDE OF MANITOBA STREET, HEADING NORTH, AND ALL THE WINDOWS THAT WERE SHUT, BLEW OUT; THE ONES THAT WERE OPENED, WERE SPARED, AS THE VIBRATION WAS THUSLY INTERRUPTED. IT WAS FORTUNATE THE STOCK PILE WAS A LITTLE LESS THAN IT HAD BEEN PREVIOUS IN THE WEEK, SUCH THAT THE ENTIRE STREET MIGHT HAVE BEEN LEVELED, BY THE LARK OF YOUTH PLAYING A PRANK. NO ONE WAS HURT ACCEPT THE FEELINGS OF THE CHAP RESPONSIBLE FOR KEEPING THE EXPLOSIVES UNDER LOCK AND KEY…..WHO HAD A LENGTHY AND LOUD REPRIMAND FOR HIS LACK OF DUE DILIGENCE.
I WAS THINKING ABOUT THAT POWDER KEG EXPLOSION, NOT LONG AGO, WHEN WORK CREWS WERE INSTALLING NEW SEWER CONNECTIONS, AND UNDERGROUND SERVICES, AT THE SAME INTERSECTION, ABOVE THE FALLS, ENTRANCE DRIVE, QUEBEC STREET, AND MANITOBA. THE ROCK SHELF IS STILL THERE, AND I TALKED TO LOCAL BUSINESS OWNERS, WHO FELT THE DEEP VIBRATION BENEATH THEIR BUILDINGS, EACH TIME A CHARGE WAS DETONATED. BUT THESE WORKERS USED THE RIGHT AMOUNT, AND RUBBER BLANKETS TO STOP DEBRIS FROM FLYING ABOUT.
THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF NEAT STORIES LIKE THIS, THAT WERE NEWS, FIRST OF ALL, BUT THERE WAS ALWAYS A SIDEBAR FOLK STORY ATTACHED….THAT ADDED THE COLOR TO THE BLACK AND WHITE NEWS ACCOUNT. I GREW UP HEARING ABOUT THESE TALES, LIKE THE TIME THERE WAS A TRAIN DERAILMENT RIGHT INTO THE BRACEBRIDGE STATION…..DESTROYING THE ENGINE, CARS, AND MUCH OF THE BUILDING. WAS IT ON TIME? THEN THERE WAS THE TALE ABOUT THE MISSING TRAIN BELL, STOLEN FROM A WRECK THAT HAPPENED ONCE IN THE HAMLET OF FALKENBURG, NORTH OF BRACEBRIDGE. I HAVE HEARD THREE DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF THE STORY, AND WHO WAS SUSPECTED OF GRABBING THE BRASS BELL, THAT HAD BEEN RIPPED FREE OF THE STEAM ENGINE. I ONCE HAD THREE NAMES, OF THOSE FAMILIES SUSPECTED OF HARBORING THE STOLEN BELL, AND I KNEW ALL OF THEM. EACH WOULD CAST DOUBT ON THE OTHER CLAN, BUT LEGEND HAS IT, THE BELL IS STILL GLEAMING AND ON DISPLAY, SOMEWHERE IN THE BRACEBRIDGE AREA.
AND THEN, THERE'S THE FOLK STORY TOLD BY UFFORD / FAMILY HISTORIAN BERT SHEA, ENTITLED "WILLIAM SHEA AND THE BEAR": "BEAR, AS PEOPLE, SEEM TO TAKE NOTIONS TO DO STRANGE THINGS OR DEVELOP DIFFERENT HABITS OR TASTES FOR FOOD. THIS ONE IN PARTICULAR, DEVELOPED A TASTE FOR OATS IN THE RIPENING STAGE. WHILE STANDING IN THE STRAW, HE WAS CREATING CONSIDERABLE DESTRUCTION BY BREAKING THE STRAW DOWN IN LARGE PATCHES IN THE SETTLERS' OAT FIELDS. MR. WINFIELD, SQUATTER, OWNER OF LOTS 12, CON. 4, CUT HIS SMALL ACREAGE OF VERY FINE OATS WITH THE CRADLE BOUND, THEN INTO SHEAVES BY HAND, AND STOOKED THEM IN ROUND STOOKS WITH A CAP TO CURE, TILL STACKING TIME, A MATTER OF A FEW DAYS.'
BERT SHEA WRITES, " BY THE LIGHT OF THE FULL HARVEST MOON, FROM THE DEPTH OF THE ANCIENT WOOD, BRUIN CONTINUED HIS HAVOC WITH THE STOOKS, TEARING THEM APART, DESTROYING THE GRAIN, EATING SOME. SO THIS FINE NIGHT THAT PROMISED TO BE MOONLIGHT IN THE EVENING, WILLIAM SHEA VOLUNTEERED TO PLAY A SURPRISE ON BRUIN, AND MAKE HIM PAY FOR HIS DAMAGE BY HIS HIDE. ARMED WITH A MUZZLE LOADER, HE PICKED HIS STAND IN THE SMALL CLEARING, ARRANGED THE SHEAVES AROUND, IN THE FORM OF A LARGE STOOK AND CRAWLED INSIDE, GUN HAND PEEKING THROUGH THE HOLES BETWEEN THE SHEAVES; HE COULD SEE ALL PARTS OF THE FIELD. THE NIGHT WAS BEAUTIFUL; THE FULL MOON ROSE OVER THE FOREST IN ALL ITS SPLENDOR, CASTING DEEP, DARK SHADOWS ABOUT THE CLEARING EDGE. THE CRICKETS CHIRPED IN THE STUBBLE, A SLIGHT MIST AROSE FROM THE SWALE, A WARBLER PERCHED IN A THICKET SANG A SHORT SONG, AS IF IMPRESSED IN HIS SLEEP BY THE MAJESTY OF IT ALL. WILLIAM SHEA'S KEEN EYE NEVER CEASED TO SURVEY EVERY PART OF THE CLEARING FOR A MOVEMENT OF THE BLACK VISITOR. BY MIDNIGHT, THE OCCASIONAL CLOUD PASSED ACROSS THE FACE OF THE MOON, SHROUDING ITS LIGHT. BY ABOUT 2:30 A.M., BENEATH ONE OF THESE SHADOWS, WILLIAM COULD HEAR SOUNDS CAUSED BY MOVEMENTS ABOUT HIM, AND IN THE MIDST OF IT ALL, SOMETHING WAS WALKING DIRECTLY TOWARD HIS HIDING PLACE, BUT LOOK AS HE COULD, DARKNESS HID HIS VIEW.
"HE THOUGHT IT WAS THE BEAR, BUT IT COULD BE A SETTLER'S COW; TO SHOOT COULD BE FATAL, PERHAPS KILL A COW THAT A SETTLER DEPENDED ON TO FEED HIS FAMILY MILK AND BUTTER, WOULD BE DISASTROUS. AND THEN TO SHOOT THE ONLY ROUND FROM A MUZZLE LOADER, DIRECTED BY CHANCE IN THE DARK, AND PERHAPS WAS A BEAR, COULD BE DEATH (TO THE SHOOTER) BY WOUNDED BEAR. HE WISHED FOR LIGHT AND FELT HIS CHANCES TO SHOOT THE BEAR WAS NOW AND IN CLOSE QUARTERS IF HE COULD ONLY SEE. ALL OF A SUDDEN, A SHEAF WAS TORN FROM HIS HIDING STOCK AND IN A MATTER OF FEET AWAY, HE COULD HEAR THE BEAR'S TEETH CHEWING ON THE OATS' HEADS. SECOND WERE AS MINUTES; WOULD THE LIGHT COME? WOULD THE CLOUDS PART? WILLIAM SHEA WAS A MAN EXCEPTIONALLY SWIFT TO ACTION, BUT NEVER IN CHANCE. SUDDENLY BRUIN SENSED THE PRESENCE OF A HUMAN BEING TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT, AND FLED, LEAVING ONLY THE SOUND OF THE CRACKLING OF THE BRUSH, AS HE BOUNDED OVER THE BRUSH FENCE THAT SURROUNDED THE LITTLE CLEARING. BEFORE THE EARLY DAWN, WILLIAM SHEA WALKED QUIETLY HOME, SLIGHTLY DISAPPOINTED, YET WITH A THRILL OF A RARE EXPERIENCE, AND A REALIZATION OF THE PERFECTION OF THE PLANT OF THE MAKER FOR THE PRESERVATION OF ALL HIS CREATURES."
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