PICKED UP AN "ARROW" AT A SECOND HAND SHOP; BUT IT WON'T FLY LIKE ONE
1955-1960 SEWING MACHINE - NOT AN AVRO ARROW, SILLY!
WE FIRST SAW THE ATTRACTIVE LITTLE "ARROW," ON FRIDAY NIGHT, ON A SHOPPING JAG, BUT WE HAD ALREADY OVER-SPENT OUR STORE BUDGET BY FIFTY PERCENT. WE HAVE TO STICK TO A BUDGET (ALTHOUGH IT DRIVES US NUTS) AND FOR DEALERS WHO ARE ALSO COLLECTORS, THERE ARE LOTS OF EMOTIONAL CONFLICTS DAY TO DAY. AT SOME POINT IN EVERY YEAR, IT'S NECESSARY TO SEE A PROFIT FROM THIS ANTIQUE SPECULATION ENTERPRISE. A LOT OF DEALERS KEEP ON RE-INVESTING IN THEIR BUSINESS, AND WE'RE RIGHT AT THE TOP OF THE LIST, OF THOSE WHO OVER-INVEST AS IF, WE'RE SURE, LIFE WILL RUN ETERNAL. FOR TWO DAYS SINCE, I'VE BEEN TRYING TO CONVINCE SUZANNE, (BECAUSE IT'S JUST SO MUCH FUN), ABOUT HER LEAVING A SEWING MACHINE THAT WAS PROBABLY BUILT, IN SLOW TIMES, SIDE BY SIDE THE LEGENDARY CANADIAN JET, THE AVRO ARROW. I GAVE HER A FEW PARALLELS, FROM SOME OTHER FAMILIAR CANADIAN INDUSTRIES, THAT WORKED ON OTHER MANUFACTURING PROJECTS WHEN BUSINESS FOR THEIR MAINSTAY OUTPUT SLOWED DOWN; SOMETIMES RELATED TO SEASONAL ECONOMY. ONE WAS PETERBOROUGH CANOES THAT MADE DUCK DECOYS, AND THE CHESTNUT CANOE COMPANY, WHICH MADE SNOWSHOES. I ALMOST HAD HER CONVINCED, THAT SHE SHOULD HAVE PURCHASED IT, WITH THE POTENTIAL A RABID COLLECTOR OF AVRO AVIATION HERITAGE ITEMS, MIGHT GO CRAZY TO GET THE FORERUNNER OF THE GREAT CANADIAN JET. WELL, SUZANNE IS PRETTY SAVY ABOUT SEWING MACHINES, AND SHE INFORMED ME, THAT ALTHOUGH THE CASE WAS MADE IN CANADA, BECAUSE IT'S STAMPED ACCORDINGLY, THE INTERESTING LOOKING MACHINE WAS ACTUALLY BUILT IN JAPAN, AS MANY WERE BACK IN THIS ERA, AS CLONES OF POPULAR MACHINES MADE BY SINGER (AND OTHER COMPANIES) IN NORTH AMERICA. SUZANNE PLAYED ALONG FOR AWHILE, AND THEN SHOWED ME SOME OF THE LISTINGS ON THE INTERNET, AND THERE WAS NO MENTION OF AVRO HAVING TAKEN A BREAK FROM AIRCRAFT BUILDING, TO MAKE NIFTY SEWING MACHINES FOR THE HOMES OF NORTH AMERICA. I SUGGEST SHE PURCHASE IT ANYWAY, ON OUR TRIP SOUTH TODAY, TO INCREASE HER COLLECTION'S DIVERSITY. THE PRICE BEING PAID FOR THESE MADE IN JAPAN, "ARROWS," (CIRCA 1955-1965)BY THE WAY, IS QUITE STARTLING; RANGING FROM A HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS TO TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY; BEING IN GOOD WORKING ORDER OF COURSE. IT WAS MODEL 77 IF YOU HAPPEN TO BE AN "ARROW" COLLECTOR. I ALSO SAID THAT SHE WAS BECOMING ADDICTED TO SEWING MACHINES, AND SOON SHE'D BE SNEAKING AROUND, AND HAVING SECRET MEETINGS WITH UNSAVOURY DEALERS, TO GET THE HOTTEST VINTAGE UNITS; THE RAREST OF THE RARE, EVENTUALLY FORCING ME TO GET HER INTO REHABILITATION. "YOU'RE THE ONE WHO FOUND IT. YOU TOLD ME I HAD TO COME RIGHT THAT MINUTE TO SEE IT," SHE SAID, AND THIS WOULD BE CORRECT. WELL SON ANDREW, CONVINCED HER SHE SHOULD BUY IT TODAY, AFTER SHE ROLLED HER EYES AT ME, BECAUSE I TOLD HER IT COULD PROBABLY FLY AS WELL AS SEW. "MY MOTHER WARNED ME YOU WERE A CLOWN," SHE CHORTLED, AS ANDREW CARRIED THE "ARROW" UP TO THE SALES COUNTER. WE HAVE A LOT OF FUN OUT ON THE HUSTINGS, AND IT'S ALL IN GOOD NATURE. I TOLD HER, WHILE WALKING IN MY DUTIFUL FASHION, WAY, WAY BEHIND EVERYONE ELSE, THAT WE WOULD HAVE TO FIND ANOTHER BUSINESS NAME FOR THE SHOP. WHEN SHE RETIRED FROM TEACHING LAST YEAR, SHE OPENED "SUZANNE CURRIE'S COOKERY NOOKERY," BECAUSE OF HER LARGE COLLECTION OF VINTAGE COOKBOOKS. "WHAT WOULD WE CALL A BUSINESS THAT SPECIALIZES IN VINTAGE SEWING MACHINES. "SUZANNE CURRIE'S SUPER FANTASTIC EMPORIUM OF OLD, STRANGE, AND BIZARRE SEWING CONTRAPTIONS!" "LIKE I SAID BEFORE, MOTHER ALWAYS THOUGHT YOU SHOULD HAVE JOINED THE CIRCUS, WHERE YOUR SENSE OF HUMOUR WOULD BE MOST APPRECIATED."
HERE'S A NEAT SIDEBAR FOR YOU. SUZANNE JUST CAME INTO MY OFFICE, AND HAD TO ADMIT, SHEEPISHLY, THAT I MUST HAVE A SIXTH SENSE ABOUT THESE KIND OF "PROVENANCE" SUSPICIONS, BECAUSE I HAD BEEN CORRECT ABOUT ONE THING, REGARDING THE SEWING MACHINE. WHILE IT WASN'T CONNECTED IN ANY WAY TO THE COMPANY THAT CONSTRUCTED THE "AVRO ARROW," IT WAS MADE BY AN EVEN MORE PROSPEROUS COMPANY IN JAPAN. THAT'S RIGHT, SUZANNE'S NEWEST "OLD" MACHINE, FOR THE SHOP COLLECTION, WAS MADE BY "TOYOTA." NOW THERE'S AN INTERESTING PARALLEL. INSTEAD OF HAVING A LITTLE ROAR OF A JET ENGINE, WHEN ENGAGED, IN PURRS LIKE A WELL TUNED TOYOTA READY TO GO OUT ON A COUNTRYSIDE DRIVE.
THE ADDITIONAL FINDS TODAY WERE STRANGE AND DIVERSE WITHOUT A DOUBT. I PICKED UP AN INCREDIBLY INTERESTING VICTORIAN OIL ON CANVAS, OF AN UNIDENTIFIED WATERWAY, WITH FIVE ROWBOATS, THREE SAILBOATS, SOME SIGHTSEERS ON SHORE, PLUS CABINS, THAT WAS FRAMED IN TORONTO; BUT DESPITE BEING LABELLED BY A DEALER AS BEING A LOCAL DEPICTION, I DON'T THINK SO. IT COULD BE A CANADIAN SCENE, POSSIBLY ALGONQUIN, BECAUSE OF THE HILLSIDES IN THE BACKGROUND, BUT I'M SUSPICIOUS THAT IT MIGHT BE THE LAKE DISTRICT IN ENGLAND INSTEAD. IT IS NOW, QUITE OFFICIALLY, ONE OF THE FINEST PAINTINGS IN MY OWN COLLECTION, AND I'M JUST THRILLED; EVEN MORE THAN SUZANNE IS WITH HER TOYOTA "ARROW." I FOUND THE PAINTING IN THE ORILLIA AREA TODAY, AND I'LL DO A STUDY OF IT, WITH GRAPHICS, IN TOMORROW'S BLOG. SON ANDREW PICKED UP A VINTAGE "HOT RODS," MEAT PRODUCT'S METAL STAND, WITH SIGN, CIRCA THE 1970'S; ABOUT THE TIME I FIRST TURNED-ON TO THE SALTY, MEATY SNACKS, SOLD AT LIL & CEC'S LITTLE CORNER STORE, UP ON BRACEBRIDGE'S TORONTO STREET. I PROBABLY HAD ONE A DAY FOR THE FIRST YEAR THEY HIT THE MARKET. I LOVED THOSE THINGS. GUESS WHAT. ANDREW, A DRUMMER, WITH MANY DRUMMER FRIENDS, PLANS TO USE IT TO HOLD HIS COLLECTION OF STUDIO DRUM STICKS. WE'RE ALL A LITTLE NUTS THIS WAY. I BOUGHT A NEARLY DESTROYED MANTLE CLOCK TODAY, CIRCA 1880'S, THAT HAD ONE REDEEMING QUALITY, BECAUSE EVERYTHING ELSE ON IT HAS BEEN SMASHED TO SMITHEREENS. WHEN I PICKED THE LARGE WOODEN CASE UP, AND STARTED TO EXAMINE THE DAMAGE TO THE CLOCK GENERALLY, NOTING THE FACT IT HAD NO GLASS LEFT IN THE DOOR, AND EVEN PART OF THE DOOR WAS MISSING, (PLUS THE ROPE BALANCES TO THE WEIGHTS WAS MISSING), THE CLOCK STARTED TO TICK IN MY HANDS. I COULDN'T BELIEVE, THAT A CLOCK IN SUCH BAD SHAPE, WITH SO MUCH DAMAGE, COULD STILL "TICK-TOCK," AND POTENTIALLY BE OPERATIONAL IN THE HANDS OF SOMEONE CLEVER IN THESE OLD CLOCKWORKS. IT WAS TWENTY BUCKS. I FIGURED THERE WAS SOMETHING WITHIN, THAT WANTED TO IMPRESS UPON ME, IT STILL HAD SOME ENDEARING QUALITIES LEFT, AND COULD STILL ENHANCE A ROOM WITH ITS HISTORIC GOOD LOOKS. SO I DECIDED TO RESCUE IT, LIKE SO MANY OTHER BROKEN AND DAMAGE PIECES, WE TRY TO GIVE AN EXTENDED SHELF LIFE, AND WILL AT THE VERY LEAST, HAVE IT DOLLED UP AS A CHRISTMAS DECORATION FOR THE SHOP; A SORT OF DICKENSIAN REMINDER, TO RING IN THE COMING OF THE THREE SPIRITS TO VISIT SUZANNE, TO LET HER KNOW IT'S NOT NICE TO CALL HER SIGNIFICANT OTHER A CLOWN.
SON ROBERT, WHO JUST ARRIVED HOME, FROM A TOUR OF IRELAND, ENGLAND, FRANCE, AND GERMANY, HOURS BEFORE OUR TRAVELS TODAY, SLEPT MOST OF THE WAY, ON OUR ANTIQUE HUNT, BUT WHEN HE CAUGHT THE SCENT OF VINTAGE VINYL, AT AN ORILLIA RECORD SHOP, HE SPRUNG TO LIFE LIKE A MAN POSSESSED. THE LADS, AS USUAL, CAME BACK HOME WITH SOME NEAT MUSIC MEMORABILIA, INCLUDING SOME "TRAGICALLY HIP," RECORDS AND AN EARLY BAND POSTER. WE HAVE A FRIEND CLOSELY TIED TO THE GROUP, SO WE'RE ALWAYS WATCHING FOR "HIP" COLLECTABLES. IT WAS A GOOD DAY. WE JUST ARRIVED HOME, A FEW MOMENTS AGO, AND THE CATS HAVE BEEN REMINDING US, HOW CRAPPY WE ARE, AS PET OWNERS, TO HAVE BEEN LATE, ONCE AGAIN, SERVING THEM THEIR SUNDAY DINNER. THEY OWN US. THERE'S NOT QUESTION ABOUT THIS. JOIN ME TOMORROW FOR SOME ADDITIONAL INFORMATION ON THE PAINTING I PICKED UP ON THE ANTIQUE HUNT TODAY, AND MAYBE YOU'LL HAVE AN IDEA WHERE IT WAS PAINTED, AND BY WHAT FAMOUS ARTIST. WELL, YOU JUST NEVER KNOW! I'M HOPING YOU WON'T TELL ME IT WAS PAINTED BY A GUY THAT USED TO WORK AT TOYOTA, OR AVRO INDUSTRIES. YOU KNOW, IF YOU THOUGHT THE ANTIQUE BUSINESS WAS CONSERVATIVE AND STUFFY, ENGAGED BY OLD FARTS THAT HAVEN'T BEEN REGULAR SINCE THE EISENHOWER ADMINISTRATION, YOU'RE OUTDATED YOURSELF. WE'RE ACTUALLY PRETTY HIP PEOPLE (SEE, I GOT IN ANOTHER MENTION OF THE TRAGICALLY HIP), AND WE LOVE ODDBALL ACQUISITIONS. TODAY WE OUTDID OURSELVES, AND WHETHER WE ACTUALLY MAKE A MILLION AT THIS ENDLESS ADVENTURE, OR NOT, WE'VE HAD A BILLION DOLLARS WORTH OF FUN FOR LONG AND LONG. SOMETIMES WE HAVE SO MUCH FUN, I START FEELING GUILTY THAT THIS CAN'T BE A REAL PROFESSION. PROFESSIONS ARE SERIOUS, RIGHT? REGARDLESS, WE DON'T SEE THIS AS WORK, BUT A SERIOUS CULTURAL RECREATION, THAN ON A GOOD DAY, LIKE FISHING ON GOLDEN POND, WE CAN MAKE A DECENT LIVING.
HOPE YOU WILL JOIN ME TOMORROW. YOU'RE GOING TO LIKE MY PAINTING.
NOT JUST ABOUT GHOSTS AND GOBLINS AT HALLOWE'EN
NOTE: THIS COLUMN WAS WRITTEN IN ADVANCE FOR THE GREAT NORTH ARROW BUT SEEING AS MY BLOG FOLLOWERS DON'T GET THIS FINE PAPER, I THOUGHT IT WAS WORTHWHILE TO RUN IT TODAY FOR YOU FOLKS. A LITTLE HALLOWEEN TREAT EARLY.
By Ted Currie
In my fist year working as a poorly paid cub reporter, for the community press, admittedly I had a lot to learn. It was on-the-job training for sure. A lot of mistakes were made in those first few years, and a lot of people took advantage of the green reporter with the hastily compiled notebook. Who of course didn't always ask the right questions, of the most reliable people. For this I suffered for my craft.
If I wanted to keep my job, I had to learn fast. In a small town, and sparsely populated region, it was necessary to gain acceptance by whatever means was necessary. I bought a lot of lunches and a lot of beer. Being considered an outsider, working locally until a better job offer came along, meant many trials and tribulations for a rookie writer. I got scammed a lot in those days, by the locals having some fun with the green reporter. I just had to be careful where I got my news information, and expect to be offered some less than genuine news leads, that yes, sent me on many wild goose chases, you might say.
While my so-called new friends were killing themselves laughing at how far they made me drive, and the ridiculous questions they gave me to ask the subject, (knowing I'd stir something up) I had to figure out counter measures to protect myself and the newspaper's reputation. I didn't want to get hauled into court for misrepresenting a news story, being accused of misquoting a source, or getting the article wrong because of horseplay, by those who thought such a thing was funny. It could have been a career-ender.
There was a situation, and a great story hanging in the balance, that I heard about, after I'd already spent nearly two years in the community. By this point, I'd sort of figured out when and from who, I would get some crazy news tip, and simply avoid contact with them. But one day, I got a story-tip, corroborated by several friends who I trusted. I was working on a Hallowe'en feature article, and was looking for some local angles to make it a nice regional piece. Over a few cold pop one night, at my little cottage on the lake, these chaps spun a most interesting and hilarious story about a lady they had both known, in the village, from their youth, and how a routine Hallowe'en prank turned into an amazing tale of revenge and counter attack. Maybe this isn't a true story. All the parties immediately involved were either deceased or not to be found. I made the lads swear it was a true story, but as I had been duped before, I did take this story as a "Hallowe'en Yarn," and not necessarily as an actual reported occurrence, recorded on the police blotter. So here goes.
Every Hallowe'en in the village, a certain chap, with mates, tipped over an elderly lady's outhouse. They didn't like her, and this was their way of letting her know what her approval rating was, at that moment, and time of the rolling year. She didn't care much for them either, and when they rode their bikes across her lawn, she'd take-off like an olympic sprinter, chasing them with a broom. They yelled back at her to "fly away you old witch," and she may or may not have extended them a middle finger in retreat. They didn't like each other, but it was pretty much run-of-the-mill stuff anyway. Except one thing.
Every year, the old woman expected the outhouse to be on its side, on the morning after Hallowe'en "trick or treating." Every year, she had to call the neighbors to help set it back over the hole, so it could be used again. She was only glad not to have been inside, when the raid and toppling occurred. It is said, that from sunset, through until daybreak, she used a "thunder mug," or what is more properly called a chamber pot, to relieve herself. It would have been terrible to have been in the outhouse as it was tipped over, especially if the little pranksters, brought it down on the door-side, which would trap her for the night. She wasn't going to take any chances.
On this particular Hallowe'en she'd got this idea, to give the local rapscallions a taste of their own medicine. With the help of two burly neighbors, who didn't like the teenage lads either, the outhouse was moved about five feet back (toward the house) from where it sat over the hole. As the attacks always seemed to be from the same direction, from the back of the property forward, she assumed the boys wouldn't see the hole on their approach, and before they could put their hands on the outhouse, they'd be waist (waste) deep in a hole of excrement.
It wasn't a moonlit night. It was a dark overcast, near-rain Hallowe'en. At about ten o'clock she heard faint rustling in the back woodlot, and sense the outhouse attack was in progress. She had the rear window open to hear the results of misadventure, that would happen any minute. The boys did exactly what they had done the year before, and for about three years before that…..stepping over the fallen rail fence, getting caught-up briefly in the old raspberry canes, and then rustling the leaves that hadn't been raked, up to the backside of the outhouse. She could hear them giggling. In fact, she was so excited, she went to the backdoor, and opened it a crack. Her intention, once they fell into the hole, was to flick on the outside lamp, so she could get a look at the results of her prank on the pranksters. She was going to enjoy this.
She listened for their footfall, as if counting the necessary feet before they reached the pit. All of a sudden, there was the sound of dismay. "Help. We've fallen into a hole," they yelled in unison. Well, it wasn't just any hole was it? "My God, I'm covered in poop," screamed one lad. "It's in my mouth….my nose, I'm going to puke," said one. While the other, of the two that had fallen in, yelled, "I'm going to get that old lady." The only thing the property owner had forgotten, somewhat, was the reality the lads might be stuck in the hole for some time, wading in feces. Once she felt they had probably learned a lesson, she put the back light on, and went out into the yard to get a step ladder, to help the trapped teens exit the pit. What she saw in that hole made her laugh. It is said she really let them have it, while they were gagging and sputtering in the dung. When she felt they had suffered adequately, and wouldn't likely be back to topple her outhouse any time soon, she dropped them the ladder, and watched the poop-encrusted youths climb out.
Of course, with all plans of such revenge, there is always the possibility of a counter attack, when one leasts expects it. When the two lads had successfully climbed from the hole, and got some of the muck off their heads and shoulders, they saw an opportunity open to them, in the illumination of the back yard. As if it had been part of the plan all along, both boys nodded to each other, in acceptance, and while the old lady continued to scold them, they took off like it was a hundred yard dash. And it pretty much was. She had mistakenly left the back door open. So there they went. Running right through the house, taking a few moments to visit the bedrooms as well as the living room, and stepping on her favorite chair in front of the television. By time they exited her house, it can be said, they had a total real estate tour. The woman stood in her backyard, mouth gaping open, mumbling "I never thought they would do that!" "Happy Halloween," the boys yelled back, at the woman, now approaching the back door, with a hand over her nose. The moral of the story? If you're going to get even with those who topple your outhouse, make sure the doors of your house are securely locked. Or else!
The article was a big hit. Was it true? Let's put it this way. I never let the truth mess up a really good story. Happy Hallowe'en to you
No comments:
Post a Comment