Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Tom Thomson's Missing Tenor Banjo; Some Think It Is, Others Would Rather Not Say Yeah!

My favourite go to book when researching Tom Thomson written by David Silcox and Group of Eleven artist Harold Town.



COULD IT BE A BANJO ONCE PLAYED BY TOM THOMSON?




ANTIQUE HUNTING, AND NEVER SAYING "NEVER" - AS ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE

THE FOLLOWING WAS AN EXCLUSIVE COLUMN I WROTE LAST YEAR FOR "THE GREAT NORTH ARROW," AND THE FIRST TIME WE ACTUALLY MADE IT PUBLIC, THAT ANDREW MAY……JUST POSSIBLY……YOU NEVER KNOW…..OWN TOM THOMSON'S TENOR BANJO. THE COLUMN WAS WRITTEN TO ACCOMPANY TWO OTHER "THOMSON" RELATED FEATURE STORIES, THAT HAD RUN IN THE PAPER PRIOR TO THIS DEVIATION FROM HISTORY TO THE ANTIQUE DOMAIN. I'LL GIVE YOU A LITTLE PREAMBLE TO THE SITUATION, THAT LED US TO QUESTION A SKETCH OF A "GIBSON GIRL" ON THE INSIDE OF THE BANJO SKIN……TIEING IT TO THE FACT TOM HAD A TENOR BANJO IN HIS EARLY DAYS, BUT ITS WHEREABOUTS ARE UNKNOWN. THIS IS ACCORDING TO THE BOOK "TOM THOMSON; SILENCE AND THE STORM," BY DAVID SILCOX AND HAROLD TOWN. IT'S A PASSAGE I REMEMBERED READING, WHILE WORKING ON MY OWN FEATURE COLUMN SERIES, ON THE MYSTERY SURROUNDING THE ARTIST'S DEATH, WHILE CANOEING IN ALGONQUIN PARK, BACK IN JULY OF 1917.
AS I'VE STRESSED A NUMBER OF TIMES IN THIS MOST RECENT BLOG PROFILE, OF ANTIQUE DEALING, AND HISTORICAL HUNTING AND GATHERING, OUR WHOLE FAMILY CAN TURN ON A DIME, TO GRAB UP SOMETHING THAT IS IMPORTANT TO THE OTHER. ANDREW AND ROBERT ARE ROUTINELY FINDING ART WORK, OLD STEAMER TRUNKS (I REFINISH), AND MANY OLD BOOKS FOR ME. SUZANNE AND I ARE ALWAYS COMING HOME FROM A LITTLE WEEKEND ROAD TRIP, WITH SELECTIONS OF VINTAGE VINYL, MUSIC RELATED BOOKS, OLD STEREO SYSTEMS, RECORD PLAYERS, RADIOS, BEATER (BROKEN) GUITARS (FOR REPAIR), AND ANYTHING ELSE THEY MIGHT BE ABLE TO BENEFIT FROM, IN THEIR MAIN STREET GRAVENHURST MUSIC SHOP. SO WHEN WE WERE AT AN ANTIQUE MALL, QUITE A FEW YEARS AGO NOW, I FOUND THIS NEAT OLD BANJO THAT LOOKED LIKE IT NEEDED A LOT OF CONSERVATION AND UPGRADES TO BRING IT BACK TO PLAY-ABILITY. AS ANDREW WAS REALLY JUST STARTING IN THE GUITAR AND BANJO RESTORATION BUSINESS, THIS WAS A GOOD LEARNING PIECE. THE BONUS WAS, IT HAD SOME ART WORK, PENNED ONTO THE INSIDE OF THE TORN BANJO SKIN. I THOUGHT ABOUT THOMSON IMMEDIATELY, BECAUSE THE SKETCH OF THE GIBSON GIRL, WHICH WAS A VERY COMMON ART PROFICIENCY TEST, IN THE EARLY 1900'S, WAS VERY SIMILAR TO A PORTRAIT PUBLISHED IN THE BOOK BY SILCOX AND TOWN……CLOSE ENOUGH, THAT I BROUGHT IT TO ANDEW'S ATTENTION…..FIRST AS A NEAT VINTAGE INSTRUMENT AND SECONDLY ONE THAT MIGHT HAVE A LITTLE EXTRA PROVENANCE. I ALSO KNEW THAT SOMEWHERE IN THE SILCOX BOOK, THERE WAS A REFERENCE TO A FORMER TENOR BANJO THE ARTIST HAD USED TO PLAY. WELL, YOU KNOW WHAT CAN GO ON IN A PERSON'S HEAD, ESPECIALLY FOLKS SMITTEN…..AND FOR US, WE WERE ALL FANS OF THE LANDSCAPE PAINTINGS, BY THIS EXCEPTIONAL CANADIAN ARTIST. EVEN THE SLIGHTEST POSSIBILITY OF IT BEING A THOMSON SKETCH, MADE THE HUNDRED DOLLAR ASKING PRICE SEEM INSIGNIFICANT. SO ANDREW MADE THE PURCHASE, AND WE HAVE BEEN INVESTIGATING IT EVER SINCE, WITH NO CONCLUSIVE WORD YET, THAT IT IS, OR ISN'T. BUT AS YOU WILL READ, THERE'S EVIDENCE THE SKETCH CLOSELY PARALLELS SEVERAL OF THOMSON'S INK PORTRAIT, WITH SIMILAR COMPETENCE, AS REPORTED BY SEVERAL AUTHORITIES. IT PAYS TO BE EVER WATCHFUL WHILE OUT HUNTING ANTIQUES AND SUCH.
HERE IS THE ORIGINAL FEATURE COLUMN PUBLISHED LAST YEAR IN THE GREAT NORTH ARROW. HOPE YOU ENJOY IT!




IS IT REALLY TOM THOMSON'S TENOR BANJO? ARTIST DIED IN JULY 1917 IN ALGONQUIN PARK

BY TED CURRIE
Here is an exclusive feature article for this wonderful and exciting regional Ontario publication. That's right! You are seeing and reading this story for the first time here, on the pages of the Great North Arrow. A Canadian first! A national story of epic proportion. Or something like that, but it is, one way or another, a scoop involving a Canadian art legend!
While few of Thomson's biographers would claim, the artist was as proficient with a musical instrument, as with a paint brush, it is known that he liked to play stringed instruments, and was keen to take advantage of any opportunity to play. Just as most Thomson admirers would love to own an original art panel, most of us would be quite satisfied to own one of his paint brushes. I'd be quite contented with a few brush hairs. So what about owning a tenor banjo that may have belonged, and been actively played by the artist. It's just my opinion, but that would be a Canadian collector's dream instrument.
Let me explain. Just more than a half decade ago, we worked with our two boys, Andrew and Robert, both recent graduates of high school, to set up a vintage music shop here in Gravenhurst. At the time they had already earned a name for themselves as musicians, belonging to several bands, and both lads had a sincere desire to run a retail shop, and set up a corresponding music academy. It was a lengthy and frustrating period, operating on a shoe-string budget, the shop and studio being operated initially, out of our small house here at Birch Hollow. Being able to benefit from mom and pop's own antique business, which they had been involved in for most of their young lives, they were well prepared to scrounge shops and sales for their future inventory. They had studied us for years, buying old books, art, quilts, and blankets. They just applied their knowledge of the "buy and sell," to music related collectibles. It worked like a charm. Soon we came home after yard-sale-Saturdays with a van load of guitars, records, music related posters, and then of course, an array of old chairs, cupboards, folk art, quilts and tea-cups. Crazy. Absolutely. We had fun. Boy did we have a ball!
They knew how to scrounge old beater guitars, and Andrew has become well known for his repairs. Robert is the crackerjack salesman, and old vinyl specialist. By hustling yard sale to flea market, estate sale to auction, they have been able to amass a huge collection of vintage records, as well as having built up a large inventory of rejuvenated music and sound equipment for sale and rent. On top of this they have a large student base to help fund their shop, when retail sales plummet in the off-season.
What does this have to do with an old tenor banjo? The one with a sketch on the skin! The "Gibson Girl" ink drawing that may have been Thomson's handiwork! The sketch the experts believe has the competence of a Tom Thomson drawing. But with no signature, well, it's an interesting tenor banjo with a good story attached. And here it is!
We are a family of Thomson enthusiasts. As I have been actively involved, for more than a decade, in research concerning his mysterious death, on Algonquin's Canoe Lake, (July 1917), my obsession with the artist's life, work and murder (which most researchers now believe of his death), has led our entire family on many pilgrimages to the park, to paddle the routes taken by the artist in this beautiful locale. It has been a part of recreational and professional activities for so long, that it has all become a regular consideration, and a collecting mission. For antique and collectible scroungers, (pickers) like our family, we will latch onto anything Thomsonesque out there on the hustings, whether it is a book, magazine, or art print. Most of our present collection involves out-of-print publications that we use for easy reference, when writing feature articles. On one such outing, in Barrie, I came upon a curious, in poor condition, tenor banjo, stuck in the murky corner of an antique-mall booth. What I thought, initially would make a good restoration project for son Andrew, became more intriguing because of a sketch on the inside of the banjo skin. Not on the front, or face-side of the instrument. But rather, awkwardly positioned on the inside, and in rough condition, there she was…..Ms. Gibson.
I called to Andrew to have a look, to see if it could be repaired back to playing condition. Some old stringed instruments, we find, even for a good price, are beyond repair. This one seemed to show promise. I didn't tell him then, that the drawing made me think of Tom Thomson, and that I was pretty sure he once owned a tenor banjo. I would have to research this at home later. But there was no way we were going to leave this little gem behind.
In the important Thomson biography, "Silence and the Storm," written by art historian David Silcox, and well known Canadian artist, Harold Town, there is a passage that deals with the painter's musical prowess, and there it is! A brief mention of a tenor banjo Thomson used to play. Information suggests it has never been found in the year's since his death. It is the ink sketch of a "Gibson Girl," (a learn-to-sketch model familiar to training/ aspiring artists of Thomson's period), that we believed would prove that the art was the creation of the late, great Tom Thomson. We sent an image of the sketch, to a number of Thomson authorities, in Canada, and on each occasion, the verdict was what we wanted to hear. Yet not quite! You see, it was deemed to be the quality and competence of a Thomson work, but without a signature or any other identifying mark, or etching on the wooden parts of the banjo, it could not be clearly verified one way or another. In some ways, all we were looking for, was the expert advise that it may well be the handiwork of a great Canadian artist. My son had no real idea of having a big payday, off an instrument he has become quite attached. As he is as much interested in Tom Thomson, as I have become, he is pleased as punch to own this modest instrument with untold provenance attached. And when someone asks to see it, he's such a ham, that you get a concert at the same time.
I love the antique business for this very reason. You just never know, when you're out there kicking around sales and flea markets, antique shops and malls, when the holy grail might present itself. Andrew has this wonderful turn of the century banjo in his private collection, whipped-out for special occasions, or just played when the mood strikes. Until proven otherwise, which we could honestly endure by the way, we will continue to believe it was once played by the legendary landscape artist, who may or may not have been murdered, on that fateful day in July, 1917, on a traverse of beautiful Canoe Lake.
We have included a graphic of the tenor banjo and the sketch for your inspection. If you know something we don't about it, or Thomson, feel free to email me.

Monday, June 29, 2015

Part Of The Territory Of Being A Retailer, Dealing With The Nasty Reality Of Theft


BEING A RETAILER SUCKS WHEN SHOPLIFTERS SIPHON-OFF THE PROFIT

LIKE W.C. FIELDS - I'M THE NEW STORE "DICK"

     I think the title of the movie was "The Bank Dick," (meaning detective), and W.C. Fields had the starring role. Today, I've been appointed acting, "Antique Shop Dick," and now my contemporaries and a few sundry adversaries, are having a good laugh at my expense. The "dick" part more so than the store-detective aspect. While we have operated our family business here for the past eleven years, plus, the shoplifting reality is starting to necessitate tighter security. We hate it, and all that it represents, because it means we have finally been out-mustered by the criminal element, in disguise of antique-shopping customers. When you realize your shop has been the hunting ground of a shoplifter, I've got to tell you, (if you don't know from being a retailer yourself), it's even more disheartening than a long, long off-season slowdown. It's the realization, that the whole retail community is suffering the same kind of abuses, and losses, that makes doing business a lot more expensive, and achieving a profit, that much more evasive. I would venture to say, that a very small proportion of shoplifting occurrences are ever registered with police, because it was perpetrated without any witnesses, on video or in person. Most small businesses can't afford the kind of video installations that would be needed to cover the entire retail floor space of their respective shops. Yet, it's probably the expense we will be forced to assume as the cost of doing business in 2015. The other solution, is to just shut up shop, and give shoplifters one less business to target.
     In our former shop in Bracebridge, I caught a group of three teenagers and one adult, stealing our vintage hockey and baseball cards. I estimated that the teenagers themselves, had stolen three hundred dollars worth, and the adult, one hundred and fifty dollars in baseball cards. I considered turning them into police, but gave them the opportunity to make a big purchase. If they would pay for what had been stolen from the shop, I would be able to see my way, to avoid filing a shoplifting report with police. It worked brilliantly, and within several days, I had been paid in full. My additional request, was that none of the foursome, would ever return to our shop. They held up their end of the agreement, and so did I. They hated the fact I had caught them, but I was told by their mates, they respected the way I kept the police out of the mix. They got a lesson, on the cheap, missed getting a police report named in their honor, and I got some money during a slow business week. It was faulty logic on my part, because they did get away with a crime. We needed the money, more than a day in court, spent trying to tie-up convictions. I suppose we saved the taxpayer some coin at the same time.
     One of my favorite shoplifting stories, no kidding, was when I was ripped-off as the store-keeper one particular early-winter afternoon, and was targeted by three teenagers shortly after Suzanne had left me in charge. At the time, she was teaching at Bracebridge high school, and had just left the store after her lunch break. I was a rookie store clerk. One of two males began talking to me, interested in some of the collectables I had been pricing on the sale's counter. He seemed like a nice fellow, and was very polite during our conversation, even pardoning himself, when another customer needed to sneak past where he was standing. The other two were just browsing, and when they left, each one said goodbye to me individually, leading me to believe they weren't of the ilk of shoplifters.
     Shortly after they left the store, I came out from behind the counter to straighten-up some quilts, that had been put back on their stand improperly. It was then, I noticed an empty spot, where one of Suzanne's homemade baby quilts had been hanging. My heart jumped into my mouth, and I ran up the stairs, and outside to see if I could see the threesome, who had obviously taken the item. I went up the street and looked in all the garbage cans along the two blocks I travelled, north and south on upper Manitoba Street. Sometimes thieves just swipe stuff for the thrill of it, then dump it outside the store. I thought as well, that if they saw me coming behind them, they would ditch the stolen merchandise, and run off in different directions. I just wanted Suzanne's quilt back. I greatly feared having to report the theft to her, when she came back after school was over. She had been reminding me, you see, of the importance of vigilance in regard to shoplifting, and I knew I was going to catch crap for losing the thirty dollar quilt. It happened right under my nose. I had been capably distracted, by someone I thought was being sincere and curious, just like all our other customers.
     Suzanne was upset but more so, because of the nasty connotation of theft in general. At the time, in the early 1990's, we were just barely surviving in business, and Suzanne was stocking the shop with a large collection of her own craftwork, in order to make the shop look somewhat full. It hurt our bottom line, because we still had to cover the cost of her materials. We just felt deflated as you might expect of such a situation.
     One winter day, with a cold wind blowing down the Manitoba Street corridor, Suzanne was just leaving the shop, after lunch, and for a few moments, we stood in the doorway, watching the snow spirals coming down off the roof-tops across the road. She couldn't help notice the young mother, pulling a small sleigh in the direction of Memorial Park; and it was her opinion that the teenager was not dressed appropriately for the prevailing weather conditions. She looked at the sleigh, and admitted that, "at least the baby is well covered." She couldn't help but notice that the quilt the baby was wrapped in, looked a lot like the one that had gone missing two weeks earlier. She took off after the girl and her baby, and walked right behind her for two blocks in the heavy, and blowing snow. I didn't hear back from her, until she returned to the store, after classes, and told me the quilt had definitely been ours. She knew the girl and her circumstances, and even recognized one of her friends, that she met up with further down the street. She got close enough to identify the quilt as one she had crafted in her home studio. It made her furious, that the young mother had risked a shoplifting charge, when all she would have had to do, was ask for assistance. Suzanne, as a Family Studies teacher, often helped out her students in this regard, including sewing up their ripped coats, pants and sweaters, and seeing as she knew the young woman, from her class, would have made an arrangement to give her something to ensure the baby was kept warm. And you would likely do the same if you were approached with such an appeal, for some minor but very much needed assistance.
     She didn't confront the girl, and assessed immediately, the child needed the quilt to keep warm, and well, she could always make another quilt for the shop with minimal expense. Suzanne is a hobby sewer and crafter, and she felt good, despite the reality of theft on its own merit, that something positive had resulted, despite the reality a crime had been committed. It would have been a crime to her, and to us as business people, if she had stopped the girl, and insisted the quilt be given back. Well it never would have happened even if the weather had been milder. The child was the innocent victim of a societal woe that affects all of us in so many spin-off ways.
 
     In the historically strange, to the pinnacle of amazing chronicle, of the antique profession, the great authors of the world have found lots to write about in terms of embedded frauds and rogues. I have found very few of these scoundrels in my forty years as an antique dealer, because those who were of this ill-fame, were only professionals in their own opinion, and it didn't matter what they had printed on their business cards. They weren't accepted in my group of associates, that's for sure, because of buying and selling habits we couldn't endorse. As antique dealers often work close together, it's a precarious business for sure, to get involved with someone who is unscrupulous in dealings with the antique community and the public in general. I have side-stepped quite a few of these folks, when they wanted me to join them for major acquisitions, especially when they would let us (me) know there would be false pretenses involved. In other words, there was a plan to rip someone off, for our mutual advantage. Unfortunately, and it would be impossible to deny this, the antique profession has attracted many fraud artists over the centuries, who have participated in horrendous scams and fraudulent activities, that have bilked owners and buyers alike; and never really felt too bad about pocketing the proceeds of their crimes.
     Maybe it's a justice-rendered-gradually sort of thing, as a retribution for all the rogues and scam-artists the industry has harbored at one time or another, that literature has characterized for public consumption over the centuries; but antique dealers today, even if they represent the salt of the earth, and would never think of pocketing an ill-gotten nickel, are having a problem with a growing criminal insurgence. It's not coming from within the profession, as such, but most certainly, coming from beyond. We do get a lot of folks trying to sell us materials, who can't tell us where the items came from, and in these cases, we dispatch them abruptly. We jot down what the items were, that they brought in for us to see, and if they trouble us with their demeanour, we will also make note of their appearance and a car license number, if they have a vehicle. Having been the victim, several times, of major thefts of guitars, we know the precautions we have to take, to help folks get back their own stolen property. We have had a ninety-five percent success rate, getting back these vintage instruments, but losing even five percent cost us many thousands of dollars. So when anyone now tries to sell us valuable instruments, over the counter, we never make any purchases without identification and proof the seller is also the owner. We've had some dandy cases. One that involved an adult son trying to sell his father's vintage instrument collection. Fortunately, for us, we would only agree to sell them on consignment, eventually; but truthfully, we had just planned to hold them in storage for research purposes, to check first with the police, to see if any of the items had possibly been reported stolen. Within several days, we were contacted by family first, and it was determined that every piece of the dozens we had in storage, had been taken by the rogue son, without permission. Happily we were able to get them back to the owner.
     In another case, we arrived to work one morning, to find we had been broken-into, having a major number of instruments and amps removed from the building, adding-up to just under five thousands dollars in losses. We got the word out to all the regional second hand, hock and pawn shops in central Ontario, and it didn't take long to find the perpetrator, who brazenly walked into a shop, and was caught on video trying to pawn it! We got most back, and what we didn't, the court ordered the thief to make appropriate restitution. It made us more upset to know it was someone who had been a regular customer in the early days of the shop here in Gravenhurst.
     A second major heist, happened when a young man came in with a guitar in a case, and pulled a swap, when he found a guitar he liked better. That's right. He gave us the "beater" guitar, and stole a Fender Telecaster, worth approximately $600. The guitar he left us was worth ten bucks, as nothing more than a wall hanging. He was with a female accomplice, and despite an almost immediate recognition the guitar had been stolen, the twosome were able to scramble down the street, probably ducking into shops, and then finally exiting, we think, via the train tracks, heading south. It was a busy summer day, and despite having four civilian searchers and several officers of the Ontario Provincial Police, the twosome managed to get away with their criminal act. It was a big loss to swallow, and it was one of the early doubts we had, about having a retail outlet in the first place. A year before, a couple drunk arses, coming from a local bar, smashed out our front window, but fortunately, nothing had been stolen.
     Son Robert once caught a record thief, having stuffed four albums up under his shirt, giving him a rather obvious "square chested" appearance. He had found the records he wanted, turned his back to Robert, and shoved them underneath his shirt. Although he denied it, and noted that his chest always looked as such, the shoplifter eventually complied with him, and handed the records back. On another occasions, a fellow showed up at the counter to buy two records, and asks that they be placed in a bag. After purchasing these items, he appears to be heading out the front door, but suddenly makes a turn back to the record room, and grabs up another record he had left on top of a pile, placing it with the other records in the bag. He then left the store. He has never returned to the shop, thank goodness. Another young man tucked-up a number of T-Shirts in the same fashion, and when confronted, denied there was anything being concealed. The fact he looked as if he was five months pregnant, seemed irrelevant. He eventually surrendered what was stuffed-up in his sweater, and was simply told to never, ever come back to the shop again. This year, we had a donation box for the Humane Society stolen, but fortunately we caught the offender and the money was eventually returned, to the OSPCA for use at the Bracebridge shelter.
     Earlier this spring, a female customer took a leather jacket from our back room, and it was our own lack of due diligence that allowed her to get away with the theft. She was allowed to take a large shopping bag to the back room, and she found it had ample room to accommodate the leather jacket. We know who took it, but of course, it's impossible to prove without support evidence. She was the only person in the back room that morning, and the leather jacket had been in place when we opened at ten. We were truly disappointed, because it was a customer we had been dealing with since our first year; and had engaged in friendly conversation many times in the past.
     This afternoon, Suzanne, when walking by a selection of her vintage sewing machines, spotted one of her Singer machines was missing what she calls a throat plate. After a half hour's search of the floor space, in an around the unit, we both recognized that someone had taken it for their own machine, obviously missing that component. Or otherwise, simply as an act of vandalism. She remembers on Saturday, a customer telling someone in her group, how she had the very same machine at home, one she had inherited from her mother. You hate like hell thinking this, but could it be that the machine was missing the same plate, and with opportunity prevailing, she took ours to make her's complete. I apologize for getting speculative in this fashion, but you know, it really makes you mad when this kind of criminal act occurs in what we think is a friendly environs. Take the whole machine for gosh sakes. The penalty for getting caught is the same. Now, on the positive side, the chrome plates can be acquired for about fifteen bucks online, and with shipping, we can have it mailed to our place of business for another fifteen. The machine is currently on sale for $65.00. Now that really slims down the profit margin if it sells. It is the market value so we can't increase the price. Fortunately, we can write this off, as part of business costs, but none the less, it's just so damn insulting, that people feel safe enough in this business community, to steal from folks trying to survive in a rather tough economy.
     Suzanne would have gladly sought-out this sewing machine part, for this customer, at a very minor cost, if she had only been asked. She's done the same thing for many of our customers in the past. It's customer service the way we have both known it, in traditional retail sales. Muskoka style. When I left the building a few moments ago, I could hear the stretch of tape, that Suzanne was using to fasten-down all the throat plates of her many vintage sewing machines; to in a small way, make it a little more difficult to slide out from the base of the units. What a waste of time and effort. Necessary however, in the grand scheme, because we have a lot of sewing machines to protect.
     Suzanne and I, and of course our sons, in the vintage music business, enjoy our respective retail enterprises, and would very much hate the idea of surrendering to those who wish to cherry-pick inventory, at our loss. If I have to be the Store Dick, and make a nuisance of myself, being as intrusive in person as I can be in print, then this will be our new reality. It breaks our collective heart, each time we have to deal with one of these missing-in-action incidents. And believe me, it's not just about the money.
     If you have any sewing machine parts laying about, or old Singers that are getting in the way, let us know. We may need some replacement components in the future.
     The incidents of shoplifting are few. I don't know about other businesses in town, but it's certainly not like we're hit once a day, once a week or even once a month. When it does happen however, sometimes in clusters, it just seems so personally insulting, and disrespectful. You temporarily lose perspective that's for sure, and take the loss much more to heart than would be proportional to the amount lost. But we want our customers to know, the bad seeds are a tiny, tiny, tiny percentage of the thousands of nice folks, who come through our store every year. They are the reason we weather the adverse occasions, as they very much represent to us, the goodwill we need to keep our spirits up.
    I know that losing a small piece off a vintage sewing machine, doesn't seem like a big deal. A minor expense to purchase a replacement part. I promised Suzanne, you see, after 25 years of not having a place for a proper sewing room, at home, in which to work, I would help her fashion the retirement business she had planned since the year we were married. She now has a hundred sewing machines spanning the centuries, including those she has in the shop proper (and behind her sales desk where she sews every day; and can use any number of machines to best suit the project she is working on at the time). The sewing machines are kind of special in this way, and this latest act of vandalism was just plain mean to a dedicated sewer who just happens to have an antique business.
     But, we must move on, and prove that the shoplifter, in this case, has won the battle but lost the war!

Sunday, June 28, 2015

Dave Brown's Outdoor Education Center Was Cut Due To Conservative Government Cutbacks; So He Collected Books Full Time



DAVE BROWN AND THE OBSESSIVE REQUIREMENT FOR BOOK FULFILLMENT

HE HAD A GOLDEN PERSONALITY, AND HE COULD CHARM HIS WAY INTO YOUR HOUSE, AND STAY FOR DINNER

     As Dave Brown's biographer, I have to admit now, that I really should have waited at least a decade, if not a little longer, to write the text. I could have made more thorough notes, and conducted many more interviews. Since the book was published, at the turn of this present century, I've now got enough information to write a second edition that would double the size of the original. Every time I write a blog about my relationship with Dave Brown, I get at least one response from a former colleague, student, or friend, and considering that I use his name as reference, five to ten times each month, well, it's to be expected I'll have added new stories to my research file, which has never closed, despite the release of the book. Unfortunately, the market was satisfied in 2000, the book selling-out after a year on store shelves. I'm not so sure a new edition would sell quite as well. It doesn't mean the story isn't a gem, and a source of inspiration for up and coming collectors, who have an interest in old books. Dave, by the way, also minored in the acquisition of logging artifacts, and at the time of his death, had a museum-quality collection. He had been seeking out these relics of the logging industry for most of his life, and a lot of this hunting and gathering was done by canoe. Sometimes, he even enlisted the help of (Camp) Comak campers, on Algonquin Park canoe trips, to scour the shallow shoreline waters, for artifacts like pike poles, cant hooks, coveted and rare logging stamps (with company emblems etc.), and logging chains. They became his collection. At least that was his opinion. He used a lot of the artifacts for his heritage exhibits at the Hamilton Board of Education Headquarters, where he had the use of large display cases.
     The real story of Dave Brown, whether as an Outdoor Education instructor, the curator of Canadian historical artifacts (of literally all descriptions), or as a book collector, has much to do with the whole range, of what for him, could only be considered passionate, joyful pursuits. The story of Dave Brown is complex, and I doubt if I will ever really understand what made him obsessive-compulsive about collecting books. What turned him into a bibliomaniac in later years? What made him take out a small mortgage on his house, to buy more books. He could have been very well off financially, if he had sold them off after his retirement from teaching. Dave had some quirks even about the storage of the books he adored. At our Gravenhurst home, one evening, Suzanne, who doesn't like spiders, (and that means everything that looks and acts like a spider), intentionally stepped on one of the critters, as it was scampering across the kitchen floor. We have a very large population of spiders at Birch Hollow, because of our proximity to the woodlands, and The Bog across the lane. Dave was, at that point, sitting at the table, and was shocked that Suzanne, seemingly a friend to all wayward creatures, himself included, would kill an insect that meant her no harm. The incident became the topic of discussion all through dinner, as Dave explained the difference between good spiders, and ones that could make you swell up and possibly expire as a result of a bite. He pointed out, that in his case, as a large scale book collector, he kept spiders around his house, as welcome inmates, because they destroyed other harmful bugs that might, if allowed to multiply in numbers, cause serious damage to the paper constitution of the piled and shelved texts. After the lengthy explanation, Dave looked Suzanne in the eye, and with a twinkle, said, "Hollywood, I'm afraid, has given the good and helpful nature of a spider a more dangerous, threatening character than it deserves, especially in this part of Canada." It didn't change her opinion of spiders, but I haven't killed one ever since. I assume they are protecting my paper heritage as well. I just never, ever (and I mean that) let my good wife know, when I occasionally see one of the spider types, that she calls a "Lake Rosseau dock spider,' like the ones she remembered from the family cottage in Windermere. I kind of think we brought some of those inadvertently to Birch Hollow, when we shipped some of the cottage furniture home, after her father sold the property. Oops! Dave had also told this story to many of his Outdoor Education students as well. He was indeed, a friend of the spider, simply because they helped conserve his book. Truth to this? If anyone knew about this, it was Mr. Brown, and if you'd been on one of his tours through the Botanical Gardens, you would have heard all about the importance of all the bandy legged wee beasties of the woodlands.
     I think it was Dave's drive that influenced me the most. He didn't let obstacles get in the way, of securing what he wanted. As an example, when he knew that someone had a collection of logging tools, or important reference books about, say the logging industry, he may have had to visit them a hundred times, before arriving on that one summer afternoon, when a collector friend's mind had changed; and that it was indeed time to sell off the coveted artifacts. On each visit, while Dave was touring around the countryside with a canoe strapped to his truck, he would stop in for a chat, knowing well, that if he showed up at breakfast, he would be invited to sit at the kitchen table for bacon and eggs. The same at lunch and dinner. Dave knew each family's dining habits, including our own, and he sometimes had a bottle of wine sitting in the truck, to bring to the table. He bought and traded books, and whatever else he had for trade bait in the way of antiques, and logging artifacts, up and down the travelled roads and country lanes of our province; dining with friends, and then accepting their invitations of lodging there overnight. Dave you see, was a master of conversation, and he could make instant friends, because he was so comfortable and kindly in his approach. He might get a little animated if you still wanted to hang onto your collection of whatever interested him, but the rule was a simple one. For his investment of time and friendship, he requested first refusal when it came time to sell-off their possessions. He would never talk to you again, if he was betrayed in this fashion. His mother did this, when he wanted money to buy the property of Camp Comak, and she refused to budge on her opinion it was a waste of money. For many years he wouldn't visit her, or even talk to her on the phone, and it took years before he put her name on a tombstone, to recognize she was buried beside her husband, Dr. Brown, formerly the director of the Hamilton General Hospital.
     Dave was as complex as the spiders he always described with considerable detail. It was undeniable that he was self-centered, and over-sensitive, but when compared to other compulsive collectors I've known in my life, Dave wasn't all that eccentric after all. But there is much to be learned from his story. It my not sell out in book form, but the essence of the collector's story is still just as compelling, if not more so, than when I originally wrote it, as a celebration of his life. His focus and intense concentration when it came to collecting books, and finding the gems of North American history buried in the estates, and attics of the thousands of places he visited, did make him worthy of the title "bibliophile" and "antiquarian". He was as much an historian, and most of this showed up in his efforts as an exhibition curator, at the Hamilton Board Office. A short time before his death, being very sick at the time, staff of the centre remember him sitting on the floor, in front of his exhibition cases, sorting through the items he was going to place behind the glass, to visually explore some other aspect of regional or provincial history, he felt administrators, teachers and students in Hamilton, needed to know; in order to upgrade their level of knowledge about such things. Dave believed in life-long learning, and practiced what he preached. Dave died shortly after working on the exhibit. He knew death was rattling about, but decided it was important to leave this one last display, to add to his legacy of historical interpretation. It was sad for everyone at the Centre, to watch the final efforts of Dave Brown to teach others. When he left, he smiled and yelled back that he would see them again soon. It was not to be!
     Whether we wish to acknowledge it or not, we have all benefitted from the mentors in our lives. Maybe we didn't seek them out, or even feel we needed their input, but we'd also have a difficult time looking back, and addressing our successes, without referencing, even in casual thought, the advice given by others, that made a difference in our lives. Dave Brown was a hustler and a horse-trader, and his antics could make you wince. Yet, having attended his school of hard knocks, and achieved what I think was a passing grade, I now always think of Dave Brown, when I've got my head buried in a full box of books, as the fellow responsible for what Suzanne calls my "bad habit." Well sir, this bad habit pays, and pays well. Thanks Dave.




DAVE BROWN WAS AN OUTDOOR EDUCATION TEACHER TO THE END - DESPITE GOVERNMENT CUT-BACKS THAT DESTROYED HIS PROGRAMS

HAMILTON TEACHER WAS BORN THIS WAY

     THE CONSERVATIVE GOVERNMENT'S FISCAL BATTERING, IN THE LATE 1990'S, DESTROYED THE HAPPY ENDING OF DAVE BROWN'S TEACHING CAREER. SO WHO CARES? WE CAN'T ALL RETIRE AFTER WINNING THE GREY CUP, OR ACHIEVING SOME SPECTACULAR EXIT AWARD AT THE PLACE WE WORK. BUT AS THE PRESENT PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENT FEELS COMPELLED TO DIVERT ATTENTION FROM THE AIR AMBULANCE OVER-SPENDING DEBACLE, BY TRYING A TORY MOVE TO BEAT-UP TEACHERS AND THEIR RIGHT TO COLLECTIVE BARGAINING, BY GOLLY, I HAVE A STORY TO SHARE. JUST FOR THE RECORD, IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH THE FACT MY WIFE IS A TEACHER, BECAUSE FOR MORE THAN THIRTY YEARS NOW, I HAVE DISTANCED MYSELF FROM COMMENT, WHENEVER THERE HAS BEEN UNION / MANAGEMENT STRIFE. IN FACT, AS FORMER EDITOR OF THE HERALD-GAZETTE, IN BRACEBRIDGE, DURING THE MAJOR TEACHER STRIKE IN MUSKOKA (1980'S), I STEPPED AWAY FROM EDITORIAL WRITING SO AS NOT TO GENERATE CALLS ABOUT CONFLICT OF INTEREST. OUR PAPER'S POLICY JUMPED BACK AND FORTH DEPENDING ON THE DEVELOPMENTS EACH WEEK, AND SOMETIMES IT SUPPORTED THE TEACHERS, AND OTHER TIMES, THE BOARD. WHILE I WON'T DENY OUR HOUSEHOLD HAS TO AVOID POLITICAL-TALK AROUND THE DINNER TABLE, WE SUPPORT SUZANNE AS A TEACHER……AND THAT IS UNCONDITIONAL. SHE HAS ALWAYS SUPPORTED ME IN MY PROFESSIONAL PURSUITS, AS SHE DOES WITH THE BOYS IN MUSIC, SO IT SHOULDN'T BE ANY SURPRISE THAT WE WILL ARGUE VEHEMENTLY AGAINST ANYONE, GROUP OF GOVERNMENT…..THAT TAKES A CHEAP-SHOT AT HER PROFESSION. THIS IS WHEN I GET MOST FRUSTRATED ABOUT WHAT'S HAPPENING IN OUR PROVINCE, BECAUSE IT HAPPENED BEFORE……AND IT HAD A DEVASTATING IMPACT ON A GOOD FRIEND OF MINE……DESTROYING AN OUTDOOR EDUCATION PROGRAM HE HAD SCULPTED FROM NEXT TO NOTHING ,TO ONE OF THE MOST AMAZING RESOURCE CENTRES IN THE PROVINCE. AND IT WAS ONLY A CLASSROOM BUT WOW WHAT A CLASSROOM.

HERE'S WHAT PEOPLE NEED TO KNOW ABOUT TEACHERS AND THEIR WORK DAYS

     Dave Brown lived and breathed outdoor education. Even now, well more than a decade after his death, I still run into people a dozen times each year, who knew him, or were taught by him, in the Hamilton school system. I've never heard any one, who knew Dave Brown, describe him as run-of-the-mill or just another teacher amongst thousands. A long time outdoor instructor with summer camps such as Camp Comak, near Dorset, and an associate with Camp Kandalore, a short distance away, Dave was highly skilled in the art of teaching natural history, and outdoor survival, to the young people of our province. He was an expert canoeist, and as far as a role model in the outdoors, Dave was an enchanter. Even as a young man, Dave wanted to be a teacher. There was only one time he had doubts, and after being upset by some Board policies he didn't care for, Dave took this short span of time in his life to run as a trustee, which was successful, and served faithfully as a Board of Education member. He hated it. He wasn't cut out to be an administrator, like his father had been, in executive management of the Hamilton General Hospital. Dave was a ground floor person, who just wanted to be allowed to excel and improve on an old model of education.
     One thing about it, he knew how to saddle up to board members and senior administrators, to push some of his projects and models to fruition. He was very persuasive. I know this personally, because he used to spend a lot of weekends at our house, before and after major outdoor junkets with his trademark yellow canoe, lashed to his old red Ford pickup. Without knowing it at the time, Dave was willingly giving me his biographical information, because he knew early in our relationship, that I would be the writer he was going to recruit to pen an outdoor education text. Dave died shortly after we began work on the project. I had a lot of information gathered, so that wasn't the problem. The main challenge for me, was "not" being angry about what had happened to this incredibly generous teacher, who never, ever got paid for his huge amount of over-time, working to improve his outdoor education centre, near the Botanical Gardens.
     Dave liked getting a pay cheque. He didn't get his pay, and then donate it to a charity. He was frugal, and put a lot of money into his obsession for non-fiction books. But what most people knew, who worked side by side the man for years, was that he enjoyed being a teacher……and would have shown up for work every day whether there was a pay day…..or not. Let me explain. When Dave shut down the outdoor education centre, at the end of the school day, he never stopped thinking about new displays for the room, more exciting upcoming field trips, and of course his pride and joy, the display cases at the Hamilton Board of Education head offices. I can remember him telling me about logging antiques he was gathering, with samples of stamped pine he had pulled from Muskoka and Algonquin area swamps, (on his days off), that would make-up the very next exhibit. I still have his rough diagrams, for these and other displays he was planning. He'd sit at a campfire, on some remote lake, and make these copious notes about the supplies he needed, the artifacts he could offer on loan, and reminders about the friends he would hit up for artifacts from their private collections. He'd beg stuff off me, and I'd loan him anything he wanted…..because it was going to help educate the young people he was so proud of, at the Hamilton Board.
     Dave and I talked often about retirement, and he had a plan for the future. He wouldn't set a date or make any commitment that it would be sometime in the next decade……just "when I retire." When the Provincial Conservatives waged their own stupid war with the teachers, and leveled cutbacks on school boards, administrators and trustees, who he thought were onside and his close friends, betrayed him in his mind, by looking at his outdoor education program as an easy and obvious expense to reduce. They didn't care that they were quite literally, destroying a man's professional life, who had always been the keenest, most faithful staffer, and greatly loved teacher. It didn't matter a hoot. The government of the day was too set on their agenda, to have ever looked at the collateral damage they were causing, and the impact on students who lost a hugely important program, staffed by an incredibly talented teacher. There was much more carnage than this, and a lot of programs met the same fate. I just happened to be close to this human disaster.
     When Dave phoned to tell me that he was being sent back to a traditional classroom, and that his outdoor education program had been cut from the curriculum, for the entire board, I knew it was the beginning of the end for my friend. No, I can't blame his death on government cutbacks. I would like to, because in many ways, I know it was the reason for his depression, and resignation that his usefulness to society had run its course. When he phoned a short while later to complain, that he was miserable in his new environment, and the students were even stealing the bones off his medical skeleton, brought from the resource centre, there was no mistaking that Dave wasn't going to last much longer at his post. It was only a few weeks later that he had asked for a medical leave, as his health was deteriorating. It wasn't because of rowdy students……because he knew how to deal with that kind of behavior, and it wasn't the result of losing his outdoor centre, because we know it was a serious disorder of the blood. It didn't help though, that his career had been uprooted, by government bean counters and assorted other toadies, who had never stepped foot in this fine man's enchanted outdoor education classroom. If the minister of education, had taken a small road trip, and a few minutes of time, to visit Dave's well appointed classroom, occupied by every kind of wild creature, alive and conserved, they would have known, two feet inside the door, that the teacher responsible for this collection, needed to be rewarded and recognized……for going above and beyond the call of duty. Of course, that would have required a minister who thought about such intricacies while making broad stroke slashes to funding. The Board should have stood up for Dave Brown, and found a way to keep him where he was……just a matter of re-payment of loyalty, so he could have retired content, his life had been well invested. This is what hurt him so profoundly that it brought him to personal agony. He was tossed on the heap of retired teachers, and he hated it. As long as he had the strength to conduct a walk in a forest or pasture, with kids in tow, he wanted to stay employed…..feel useful, and help youngsters related to the great outdoors.
     Dave Brown was as good teacher. I travelled on some of his outdoor walks with him, and students hung off his every word;…..and his tales of life in pioneer times, held them spellbound, as he described the hardships they endured in their drafty, ramshackle shanties on barren farmsteads. I'm not easy to hook. I hated school, and never achieved even close to what my boys and Suzanne did as students. So when this teacher, Mr. Brown, wanted me to work on his biography, I most definitely hesitated…….because I didn't think I could be fair, as I had only a few teachers in my school years, that I actually looked up to as role models. With Dave, my reluctance was short-lived. What I discovered about this consummate professional, was that he not only loved his profession, but couldn't see himself as anything else in life. Even though he was a highly successful collector of rare books, and could have made lots of money as a tree-remover, or building wrecker (he helped demolition industrial buildings for several Hamilton companies), he realized in his late teens, that he was meant to be an instructor. He worked beyond what he had to, in order to get a teaching certificate, and it can be said of Mr. Brown, that he never stopped the learning process, just because he had made it to the classroom. His was a life of learning, and what he knew, he passed on generously to his students.
     One day, Dave Brown showed up at our house, covered in mud. Head to toe. When I asked him what he had gotten up to, in order to get this mud-colored, he told me about an old white pine log, he had found a year earlier in a local swamp. He had marked it then, and planned to return to harvest it, for his Board of Education display case. It had a logging company stamp impressed on the end, which made it valuable to him…..and I suppose any one else who collects logging artifacts. He had some of the iron stamps used to make these marks, so he knew all about the significance of this particular stamp and company. He never stopped researching things like this. So he arrived back at the site, found the mark he had made on shore, and pulled his canoe up to the sunken log……which was huge. Dave worked at that log for hours and hours and yes, he was covered in leeches. He wrestled the length, which wasn't long but it was heavy, into the canoe, and then waded while pushing the canoe toward the shore. This was a school project. He had this idea for a display, and he was just grabbing up what he needed, one piece at a time, from wherever he could. He wasn't on the clock, and to my knowledge he never submitted a gas receipt, or asked the Board to pay for the chunk of preserved pine. He did the same kind of thing time and again for his resource centre. Like the time, one Christmas holiday, when a friend called him at home, to ask him if he wanted a boa constrictor that had died in the engine of an associate's car. The snake, you see, had escaped from its warm owner's apartment, and once outside, slithered into the first warm environs it found. When the engine cooled the cold blooded snake quickly froze to death. Dave had to work for hours, getting the frozen snake out of the engine compartment. It was to be used at his resource centre, to educate the students who were set to visit in the spring of the year. You want to talk about being spellbound. I've talked to lots of former students, who were bedazzled by that crazy environmentally responsive classroom. It would have pleased Dave, to know so many adults were still talking about their experiences in Outdoor Education……decades after their last farewell to Mr. Brown. He was a legend. But he only ever thought of himself as a teacher.
     There are thousands of teachers just as committed as Dave Brown. Teachers who use their own money, and volunteer hundreds of unpaid hours, to make their programs better and more dynamic for students. They don't do it for recognition. They do it because it's part of the job. Now some will think this is shameful, on my part, to play up Dave Brown, who for personal reasons, wished to work longer than what he was being paid for……and spend his own money on resources the school couldn't or wouldn't afford. The reality is, regardless, that many teachers in similar positions, have to do the same thing because of their own professional commitment, and passion for the job.
     The last few times I talked to Dave Brown, he told me about still going to the resource centre, and taking a few tours each week, for a stipend.  He was sick and discouraged, but to my knowledge, he never let those teachers or students down, who wanted Mr. Brown to run the tours. When we got word he had passed away, admittedly I was mad and in some ways it never diminished, because I believed with all my heart, he had died, in part, of a broken heart. He certainly had lost his will to fight the illness. I very much despise the fact, he had such a horrible end to an illustrious, successful career. I can't possibly blame the government of that day for his death…..because they didn't contaminate his blood. I can blame them heartily, for not looking and learning, before they slashed the budget, that ultimately killed his resource centre, and forced him back into the classroom.
     In the tangle of rhetoric on both sides of this new but old war, there are, believe it or not, teachers like the good Mr. Brown, who just want to pursue their careers to the best of their ability……who are the casualties of politics for politics sake. I don't expect the story of Dave Brown would cause more than a "sure he was" response, from the government, but it's not fiction.
     One thing Dave told me, just before he found out he was sick, was very disturbing to me…..being the spouse of a teacher myself. He said that he was invited, to join with a number of other retired teachers, who used to meet regularly for coffee at a local restaurant. He told me that, "they actually have it worked out, how long retired teachers live once classroom life is over." I don't remember what the number was exactly, but in that group of teachers he was referring, deceased colleagues were lasting about three years before succumbing. I just can't imagine talking about something like this, but let me tell you, I took it seriously. I've known teachers in this bailiwick of Ontario, who have had somewhat the same stats. The withdrawal factor apparently has something to do with it! I am worried about my wife, and the burden of her eventual retirement……as she, like Dave Brown, has imbedded herself in the profession from her late teens, and has never had a serious separation, even after the birth of our two children. I stayed at home, and she went back to work soon after.

Saturday, June 27, 2015

Dave Brown Wanted To Buy Camp Comak on Lake St. Nora But His Mother Said "No!"

The Former Camp Comak on Lake St. Nora near Dorset


Hand Tinted Photograph of Dave Brown with his Hamilton Students taken from an original image published in The Hamilton Spectator

1959 12th season summary for Camp Comak



OUTDOOR EDUCATION AND THE COLLECTOR - IT'S AMAZING WHAT YOU CAN FIND OUT THERE, IF YOU LOOK CLOSE ENOUGH

DAVE BROWN AND CAMP COMAK ON LAKE ST. NORA

     YOU DON'T HAVE TO REMIND ME! I DROP DAVE BROWN'S NAME INTO A LOT OF CONVERSATIONS, AND INTO A GREATER NUMBER OF STORIES. I DO SO, BECAUSE A LOT OF FOLKS ASK SUZANNE AND I, ALMOST WEEKLY, HOW WE GOT STARTED IN THE ANTIQUE PROFESSION. WHILE WE CAN'T GIVE DAVE CREDIT, FOR GETTING US STARTED IN THE TRADE, HE DID OFFER US AN APPRENTICESHIP THAT DID IMPROVE OUR ACQUISITION SKILLS. HE GAVE US SOME STEALTH MOVES, AND THE INSIDE SCOOP ON WILEY, CUNNING ENTERPRISE, TO GIVE US AN EDGE ON OUR ANTIQUE DEALER COMPETITION. IF YOU'RE A DEALER, OR COLLECTOR, YOU PROBABLY CAN LIST A HALF DOZEN OR MORE MENTORS, FROM THE PAST, WHO HELPED HONE YOUR SKILLS. EVEN THOUGH DAVE PASSED AWAY BEFORE THE TURN OF THIS CENTURY, HIS INFLUENCES ARE STILL DEEPLY INGRAINED IN OUR COLLECTING PHILOSOPHY. BUT WHAT DAVE IMBEDDED MOST OF ALL, WAS HIS PASSION FOR THE OUTDOORS. HE COLLECTED ITEMS OF NATURAL HERITAGE, AND PUT THEM ON DISPLAY FOR HIS THOUSANDS OF EAGER STUDENTS, WHO CONSIDERED HIM A SORT OF MORTAL WIZARD; WITH MUCH MORE DYNAMIC THAN A CLASSROOM TEACHER. WHEN WE TRAVEL ALONG, DOWN THE LONG DUSTY, HILLY TRAILS AND COUNTRY LANES, ON OUR ANTIQUE JAUNTS, WE RESPECTFULLY STUDY NATURE AT THE SAME TIME, RECALLING HOW DAVE NEVER ONCE DISCUSSED HIS BUYING TRIPS, WITHOUT HIGHLIGHTING THE ROAD WELL TRAVELLED; DETAILING THE SIGHTS HE HAD SEEN ON HIS TRAVELS, AND THE PLACES HE HAD STOPPED TO LAUNCH HIS CANOE, AND PITCH HIS TENT. WHEN HE TALKED ABOUT HIS NIGHTS AT CAMPSITES, I COULD IMAGINE HIM SITTING ON THE GROUND, WITH HIS SHOELESS FEET, IN TRADEMARK OLD WORK SOCKS, CROSSED NEAR THE CRACKLING FIRE PIT, WHILE HE LEANED BACK ON HIS HANDS, DREAMILY PONDERING THE DISCOVERIES LEFT FOR ANOTHER DAY. HE PLOTTED HIS ROUTES THE EVENING BEFORE, AND HE STUCK TO HIS SCHEDULE. AN EXCEPTION WAS WHEN SUZANNE MADE HIM BACON AND EGGS FOR BREAKFAST. HE ALWAYS FOUND THE TIME TO DELAY HIS TRAVEL PLANS, IF FOOD WAS INVOLVED. I DON'T THINK IT WAS UNTIL DAVE CAME ALONG, THAT I REALLY THOUGHT ABOUT HOW NATURE AND ANTIQUE HUNTING RAN TOGETHER, BEYOND WHAT WAS OBVIOUS, ATTENDING FARM AUCTIONS, AND STANDING OUT IN RETIRED PASTURES, WITH GRASSES UP TO OUR WAISTS; AWAITING OUR CHANCE TO BID ON OLD PINE CUPBOARDS AND BOXES OF BOOKS. FOR DAVE, THERE WAS NO SEPARATION BETWEEN HIS PENCHANT FOR COLLECTING, AND BEING OUT IN THE COUNTRYSIDE. I THINK ONE PEAK OF INTEREST FED THE OTHER, AND HE ALWAYS REMINDED ME OF THE STORY BOOK CHARACTER OF "JOHNNY APPLESEED."
     THIS WEEK, WITH MY HEAD STUCK DEEP IN AN OLD CEDAR TRUNK, WITH ALL KINDS OF COLLAPSING KEEPSAKES, AND THE BOYS' PLETHORA OF SCHOOL CRAFTS (PLASTER BOWLS AND PLASTIC SCULPTURES), I FOUND A FAMILIAR LOOKING FILE FOLDER, STUFFED WITH PAPER RELICS. I HAVE HUNDREDS OF FILE FOLDERS STACKED IN VARIOUS NOOKS AND CRANNIES, AT BIRCH HOLLOW, BUT THIS ONE HAD A COLORFUL PIECE OF PAPER PROTRUDING FROM ITS FRONT COVER. I KNEW IT WAS A FILE I KEPT, AFTER WORKING ON THE BIOGRAPHY OF MY OLD FRIEND, DAVE BROWN, OF HAMILTON, ONE OF THE GREAT INNOVATORS OF OUTDOOR EDUCATION IN THIS PROVINCE. I KNEW HIM BEST AS AN HISTORIAN AND OLD BOOK COLLECTOR. THE PAGE I WAS REFERRING TO, WAS ACTUALLY THE ORIGINAL HAND-TINTED PHOTOGRAPH, A WELL KNOWN MUSKOKA ARTIST HAD CREATED FOR ME, AS A BACK COVER FOR THE BIOGRAPHY. IT WAS ACTUALLY A PHOTOGRAPH, TAKEN BY A STAFF MEMBER OF THE HAMILTON SPECTATOR, TO ACCOMPANY A FEATURE ARTICLE THE PAPER WAS RUNNING IN THE 1990'S, ABOUT DAVE BROWN'S OUTDOOR EDUCATION PROGRAM. DAVE KNEW HOW TO GET PUBLICITY, AND WHO WOULD DENY THE ABOVE PHOTOGRAPH DOESN'T SPEAK A THOUSAND WORDS ON ITS OWN. DAVE LIKED TO HAVE PUBLIC FOCUS ON HIS OUTDOOR EDUCATION PROGRAM, SO IT WOULD REMIND EDUCATION ADMINISTRATORS, HOW WELL HIS FUNDING WAS BEING UTILIZED FOR THE BENEFIT OF STUDENTS. HE WORKED ME PRETTY HARD THIS WAY AS WELL, BECAUSE I COULD GIVE HIM LOTS OF PUBLICITY, HERE IN THE MUSKOKA MEDIA.
     MUSKOKA ARTIST JIM THOMPSON, WHO HAD WORKED WITH DAVE BROWN, IN HAMILTON, AGREED TO HAND-TINT THE BLACK AND WHITE PHOTOGRAPH, FROM THE SPECTATOR. I HAD, OF COURSE, THE PERMISSION OF BOTH THE HAMILTON SPECTATOR AND THE PHOTOGRAPHER WHO HAD CAPTURED THE SCENE. JIM AND HIS WIFE HAD RETIRED TO BRACEBRIDGE, AND A PROPERTY ON THE MUSKOKA RIVER. I FIRST MET JIM, DURING AN ARTS PROGRAM FOR HAMILTON STUDENTS, AT CAMP KWASIND ON SKELETON LAKE. JIM WAS AN ART INSTRUCTOR, AND PARTICIPATED IN THE WEEK LONG IMMERSION PROGRAM, WHERE STUDENTS WERE ENCOURAGED TO USE NATURE AS A SOURCE OF INSPIRATION. ART, CULTURE, HISTORY AND NATURE, PLAYED A ROLE IN BOTH JIM AND DAVE'S LIVES, SO IT WAS HIGHLY APPROPRIATE JIM PARTICIPATED IN THIS TRIBUTE PUBLICATION. DAVE, OF COURSE, RAN ALL THE NATURE PROGRAMS AND THE HIKES THROUGH THE MUSKOKA WOODLANDS. I DIDN'T THINK I STILL HAD HIS ORIGINAL WORK. JIM DIED SEVERAL YEARS AGO, AFTER HAVING SUFFERED A STROKE A FEW YEARS EARLIER. JIM WAS A GIFTED ART TEACHER AND ARTIST, WHO PAINTED SOME MEMORABLE MUSKOKA SCENES, SUCH AS A DEPICTION OF THE STEAMSHIP R.M.S. SEGWUN, WHEN IT STEAMED ITS WAY TO BRACEBRIDGE BAY PARK. THIS WAS BEFORE THE CONSTRUCTION OF THE WELLINGTON STREET BRIDGE, IN THE 1980'S, WHICH STOPPED THE RESTORED VESSEL FROM GETTING INTO THE BAY FROM THAT POINT ON. SO HAVING THIS JIM THOMPSON ORIGINAL IS PRETTY NEAT. IT NEEDS A FRAME AND A PLACE OF HONOR TO HANG AT BIRCH HOLLOW.
     I REMEMBER JIM TAKING OUR FAMILY OUT FOR A BOAT CRUISE OF LAKE MUSKOKA, ONE SUMMER AFTERNOON, AND TALKING AT LENGTH ABOUT ART AND ALL THE SOURCES OF INSPIRATION YOU COULD FIND AROUND OUR LAKES. THEN, TO MAKE THE OUTING MORE INTERESTING, I WAS STUNG BY A HORNET, OR SOMETHING LIKE THAT, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE LAKE OF ALL PLACES. WE THINK NOW, THE CRITTER HAD BEEN IN THE BOAT THE WHOLE TIME, AND BECAUSE I GOT IN HIS WAY, HE SENT ME A LITTLE POINTED MESSAGE. AND THEN I HAD THE SCIENCE OPPORTUNITY, OF WATCHING AS THE SIDE OF MY LEG BEGAN TO SWELL, AS IF IT WAS BEING INFLATED WITH A PUMP. I'VE NEVER HAD SUCH A WILD REACTION TO AN INSECT STING. THE PAIN WAS UNBELIEVABLE. EVEN HOURS AFTER THE STING, IT WAS STILL HOT WITH PAIN, AND SWOLLEN. SUZANNE FINALLY ASKED IF SHE COULD HAVE A CLOSER LOOK AT IT, AND WITH A MAGNIFYING GLASS, SPOTTED THE STINGER STILL IMBEDDED IN THE PUNCTURE. IT WAS THE WHOLE STINGER WITH A SACK ON THE END OF IT, AND APPARENTLY, I WAS GETTING STUNG REPEATEDLY, BY THE FACT IT WAS STILL LODGED IN MY LEG. I MISSED A LARGE PART OF OUR TALK, OUT ON THE LAKE, BECAUSE OF THE DISCOMFORT FROM THE STING; AND THE FACT, THE ONTARIO PROVINCIAL POLICE MARINE PATROL, STOPPED US, MID-LAKE, FOR AN EQUIPMENT CHECK. THE BOYS THOUGHT WE WERE BEING ARRESTED, SO THAT KIND OF UPSET THE AFTERNOON AS WELL. I DID HAVE A CHANCE TO VISIT WITH JIM A FEW MORE TIMES, BEFORE HE FELL ILL, AND WE TALKED A LOT ABOUT EDUCATION AND ART INSTRUCTION, AND HIS LOVE FOR NATURE. DAVE NEVER CONFESSED A LOVE FOR NATURE, BECAUSE HE PREFERRED THE WORD "RESPECT" INSTEAD. HE TAUGHT THOUSANDS OF STUDENTS THIS "RESPECT FOR NATURE," MUCH AS JIM INSTRUCTED HIS CLASSES, ABOUT THE POSITIVE INFLUENCES ON ART, FROM THE NATURAL WORLD. MY VISIT TO THE ART CAMP, AT KWASIND, AS I'VE WRITTEN ABOUT, MANY TIMES IN THE PAST, WAS A REAL EYE-OPENING EXPERIENCE, AND IT HAS BEEN THE SOURCE OF PROBABLY TEN PUBLISHED FEATURE ARTICLES, IN REGIONAL MAGAZINES, DATING BACK TO THE FIRST STORY, PRINTED BY "MUSKOKA TODAY," OF GRAVENHURST, BACK IN THE MID-1990'S. THERE WAS EVEN A MUSICAL COMPONENT TO THE PROGRAM, WHICH INTERESTED ANDREW, YEARS BEFORE HE WOULD COME TO PLAY HIS OWN GUITAR. I USED TO TAKE ANDREW AND ROBERT ON REPORTING GIGS ALL THE TIME, AND IT ENTITLED THEM TO SOME EXCEPTIONAL ADVENTURES, THEY WOULDN'T HAVE RECEIVED IN CLASSROOM INSTRUCTION. LIKE GOING ON NATURE WALKS WITH DAVE BROWN; ALWAYS LIVELY AFFAIRS. DAVE WAS A LITTLE LIKE DR. DOOLITTLE, AND THE CRITTERS SEEMED TO LIKE HIM.
     THE HAND TINTED PHOTOGRAPH IS ONE OF MY FAVORITE OF DAVE BROWN, TAKEN PRESUMABLY ON THE PROPERTY ADJACENT TO THE ROYAL BOTANICAL GARDENS IN HAMILTON. THE KIDS LOVED TO FOLLOW THE BURLY MR. BROWN, AND HE HAD A WAY OF PRESENTING NATURE, ON THEIR LEVEL, THAT IMMEDIATELY SOLD THEM ON THE IDEA THAT OUTDOORS WAS A GREAT PLACE TO BE; INSTEAD OF BEING HOLED-UP IN THEIR RECREATION ROOMS, OR APARTMENTS, ON WEEKENDS. AS PART OF HIS BIOGRAPHY, I ALSO HAD USE OF A VIDEO TAPE, TAKEN OF A TALK SHOW ON TV 11, IN HAMILTON, WHERE DAVE, A REGULAR GUEST, WAS ON THIS DAY, PRESENTING THE SKELETAL REMAINS OF A RACCOON; REFERRING TO THE BARE BONES, AS ALL THE POOR RACCOON'S WORLDY POSSESSIONS. HE WAS SHOWING HOW NATURE WOULD ACT TO DECAY THE FLESH OFF THE RACCOON, OVER TIME, LEAVING ONLY THESE TRACE BONES, WHICH WOULD ALSO DIMINISH AS TINY PARTICLES BACK TO THE SOIL. HE USED TO BRING ANDREW AND ROBERT SIMILAR ITEMS OF NATURAL HERITAGE, TO SEE IF THEY COULD FIGURE WHAT ANIMAL THEY BELONGED TO, OR SPECIES OF REPTILE A JAW OR SPINE HAD COME FROM. AS YOU CAN SEE BY THE TINTED PHOTOGRAPH ABOVE, THE KIDS WERE EAGER TO HEAR HIS STORIES, AND FOLLOW IN HIS FOOTSTEPS. MOST OF THE BIOGRAPHIES I SOLD, WERE TO FORMER STUDENTS AND STAFF COLLEAGUES.
     THE OTHER GRAPHICS TODAY, ARE FROM DAVE'S FAVORITE SUMMER CAMP, COMAK, ON LAKE ST. NORA, NEAR THE VILLAGE OF DORSET. WHEN SCHOOL WAS LET OUT FOR THE SUMMER SEASON, DAVE AND HIS WIFE BARBARA, WOULD HEAD UP TO CAMP COMAK FOR THE SUMMER MONTHS, WHERE THEY WORKED AS INSTRUCTORS. WHAT WAS IMPORTANT ABOUT CAMP COMACK, TO THE WORK OF THIS BIOGRAPHER, WAS THAT DAVE WANTED TO BUY IT; AN OBSESSION THAT PEAKED WHEN THE OWNER DECIDED TO SELL IT FOR COTTAGE DEVELOPMENT. DAVE KNEW IT WAS INEVITABLE THE PROPERTY WOULD BE SOLD OFF, FOR RE-DEVELOPMENT, AND HAD BEGUN EARLIER, TRYING TO HATCH A PLAN TO FUND THE PURCHASE OF THE CAMP. WHEN HE DID GET HIS OPPORTUNITY, HIS MOTHER REFUSED TO OFFER HIM ANY FINANCIAL ASSISTANCE, OR ANY PERSONAL APPROVAL FOR SUCH A GAMBLE. SHE KNEW HER SON WAS A FINE TEACHER, BUT NOT A BUSINESSMAN. I BELIEVE THERE WAS A STIPEND OF INHERITANCE FROM DAVE'S FATHER, WHO HAD DIED MANY YEARS EARLIER, THAT HAD BEEN TUCKED AWAY FOR HIM. HIS MOTHER TRIED EVERYTHING TO CONVINCE DAVE TO HOLD ONTO THE MONEY, AND INVEST IN A HOME INSTEAD, BEFORE SQUANDERING IT ON A SUMMER CAMP, THAT WAS SHOWING ITS AGE AND A DECLINING ENROLLMENT. DAVE WAS SO ANGRY ABOUT HIS MOTHER'S NEGATIVE INTERVENTION, HE REFUSED TO HAVE ANYTHING TO DO WITH HER AGAIN. IT WAS MANY YEARS AFTER HER DEATH, THAT HE FINALLY AGREED TO HAVE HER NAME INSCRIBED ON A FAMILY TOMBSTONE. HIS FATHER, A DOCTOR, HAD ONCE BEEN THE SENIOR ADMINISTRATOR OF THE HAMILTON GENERAL HOSPITAL, AND THE FAMILY ENJOYED THE BENEFITS OF HIGH PROFILE, AND ECONOMIC ADVANTAGE. HE DIED OF HEART DISEASE AND A YOUNG AGE, LIKELY CAUSED BY JOB STRESS, AND HAD LEFT HIS FAMILY WITHOUT MEANS TO LIVE COMFORTABLY FOR MORE THAN A FEW YEARS. HIS MOTHER ACCEPTED A JOB AS A SECRETARY AT MCMASTER UNIVERSITY, WHERE SHE STAYED EVEN BEYOND HER RETIREMENT YEARS. SHE DID PROVIDE HIM WITH A SMALL INHERITANCE, BUT NOT ENOUGH TO OPEN A SUMMER CAMP. HE FELT BETRAYED BY HIS MOTHER, AND NOT BUYING THE CAMP, BOTHERED HIM UNTIL THE END OF HIS LIFE.
      ILLUSTRATED ABOVE, ARE SOME OF THE CAMP COMAK KEEPSAKES HE HUNG ONTO, FROM THOSE HALCYON DAYS, WORKING AS A CAMP INSTRUCTOR. BUT WITHOUT QUESTION, IT WAS THE PLACE THAT SEEDED HIS INTEREST IN OUTDOOR EDUCATION.
     IF DAVE HAD PURCHASED CAMP COMAK, AT LEAST FROM THIS BIOGRAPHER'S POINT OF VIEW, HE WOULD HAVE EVENTUALLY BEEN FORCED TO SELL THE LAKE ST. NORA PROPERTY, BECAUSE ENROLLMENT COULDN'T COVER OPERATIONAL EXPENSES. I THINK IT WOULD HAVE BEEN MUCH HARDER ON DAVE'S PSYCHE, IF HE HAD OWNED THE CAMP, AND LOST IT IN THIS FASHION; THAN AS IT TURNED OUT, AND IT REMAINED ONLY WISHFUL THINKING. I DO BELIEVE HIS MOTHER WAS CORRECT, AND IT MAY HAVE SAVED HER SON A GREAT DEAL OF EMOTIONAL TURMOIL. DAVE WAS STUBBORN TO A FAULT, AND BY TIME HE WOULD HAVE GIVEN UP ON THE CAMP, AS ITS OWNER, HE WOULD HAVE UNDOUBTEDLY RUN UP QUITE A DEBT LOAD. AS MANY TIMES AS WE TALKED ABOUT THE POSSIBILITIES, OF HAVING RUN THE CAMP THE WAY HE HAD ALWAYS WANTED, HE HAD LITTLE REGARD FOR THE RIGORS OF ACCOUNTING, AND KEEPING A BUSINESS IN THE BLACK. OVER THE YEARS HE HAD BEEN A CAMP INSTRUCTOR, THERE WAS LOTS OF CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN THE OWNER AND HIMSELF, ADDRESSING THE ISSUE OF "WHO WAS THE BOSS." DAVE BELIEVED HE WAS, AND I'VE TALKED TO OTHERS WHO WORKED WITH HIM, AND IT WAS PRETTY CLEAR, DAVE DIDN'T LET ACTUAL ON-PAPER OWNERSHIP, INTERFERE WITH HIS SENSE OF ENTITLEMENT, FOR DOING A GOOD JOB AND WORKING OVERTIME. DAVE DID WORK HARD, AND LONG, BECAUSE IT WAS HIS MISSION TO EVENTUALLY OWN THE CAMP. WHEN HE HAD TO ADMIT THE RELATIONSHIP WAS OVER, IT HURT HIM RIGHT THROUGH THE HEART, LIKE THE HORNET STING ON MY LEG. HE TOOK THAT NEGATIVE ENERGY, AND PUT IT INTO DEVELOPING A SUBSTANTIAL OUTDOOR EDUCATION CENTRE INSTEAD, AND THEN IT WAS THE HAMILTON BOARD, THAT HAD TO DEAL WITH HIS OBSESSIVE QUALITIES. THEN IN THE LATE 1990'S, WHEN THE PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENT MADE SERIOUS CUTS TO EDUCATION, THE BOARD SHUT DOWN DAVE'S OUTDOOR EDUCATION PROGRAM, AND EVENTUALLY, HIS AMAZING CLASSROOM, STUFFED TO OVER-FLOWING WITH RELICS OF NATURE, ALIVE AND PRESERVED. LIKE LOSING COMAK, DAVE WAS GRIEF STRICKEN, THAT ALL HIS WORK AND CONTRIBUTIONS OF ARTIFACTS, AND NATURAL HERITAGE, HAD BEEN A WASTE OF EFFORT. EVEN THOUGH MANY THOUSANDS OF STUDENTS, WHO HAD PASSED THROUGH HIS PROGRAMS, WOULD NEVER FORGET THE INSTRUCTION OFFERED BY THIS MAN OF THE WOODS, ALL HE COULD SEE WAS ANOTHER COLOSSAL FAILURE IN HIS LIFE AMBITIONS. I SUPPOSE, WHEN HE COMMISSIONED ME TO WRITE HIS BIOGRAPHY, HE ASSUMED FINALLY, HE WOULD HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY, TO PRESENT HIS SIDE OF THE STORY. DAVE DIED SHORTLY AFTER I AGREED TO WRITE THE BIOGRAPHY, WITHOUT LEAVING ANY PLAN FOR THE TEXT. I SUPPOSE, FROM WHAT I HAD WRITTEN ABOUT HIS PROGRAM, YEARS EARLIER, (FOR VARIOUS PUBLICATIONS), HE WOULD HAVE EXPECTED ME TO BE PARTICULARLY CRITICAL OF THOSE WHO HAD DENIED HIM OPPORTUNITY, AND CLOSURE, SUCH AS THE CASE WITH HIS OUTDOOR EDUCATION CLASSROOM.
     DURING THE SPRING ARTS PROGRAM, AT CAMP KWASIND, (WHICH HAD BEEN RUN IN YEARS PREVIOUS), DAVE HAD A REGULAR ROLE TO PLAY, DURING THE LUNCH HOUR BREAKS. DAVE, AS HE HAD ALWAYS DONE AT CAMP COMAK, WAS A MASTER OF THEATRICS, WHEN IT CAME TO HERITAGE AND NATURE STUDIES. IN THIS CASE, HE HAD BEEN WANDERING THE LAKESHORE PROPERTY, AROUND SKELETON LAKE, (AT LEAST WHERE HE COULD GAIN ACCESS), AND FOUND IRON OBJECTS COVERED OVER IN THE TALL FIELD GRASSES. I REMEMBER HIM SHOWING STUDENTS HUGE, RUSTED IRON PIECES OF ANTIQUATED FARM MACHINERY, HE HAD RESCUED AND CLEANED UP; ONE OF THE MOST MEMORABLE, WAS A LARGE IRON DOOR HE HELD UP, WITH AN INTERESTING RAISED DESIGN ON THE FRONT. ONE STUDENT WAS ABLE TO IDENTIFY IT PROPERLY, AS THE IRON DOOR OFF AN OLD COOKSTOVE. DAVE SEEMED DISAPPOINTED. HE LIKED TO STUMP THEM. HE WOULD HAVE HAD FIVE OR SIX ITEMS HE WANTED STUDENTS TO IDENTIFY, ALL OF WHICH HE HAD FOUND EARLIER IN THE DAY, AND HAULED, AT GREAT PHYSICAL EXPENSE, TO THE CAMP'S DINING HALL. INSTEAD OF HAVING LUNCH, HE WOULD RUN THIS LITTLE IDENTIFICATION PROGRAM INSTEAD. HE WASN'T EMPLOYED TO DO IT; HE DID THESE THINGS BECAUSE IT WAS SOMETHING HE ENJOYED.
      IT HAD ALWAYS BEEN THIS WAY, GOING ALL THE WAY BACK TO HIS YEARS AT CAMP COMAK, WHERE HE BEGAN HIS LONG RELATIONSHIP, AS AN ARTIFACT HUNTER-GATHERER. HIS SPECIALTY THEN, OUTSIDE OF NATURAL HERITAGE, WAS HIS DESIRE TO ACCUMULATE RELICS OF THE LOGGING INDUSTRY IN ONTARIO. AS I WROTE ABOUT SOME WEEKS BACK, HE ACTUALLY ENLISTED THE HELP OF HIS STUDENT CAMPERS, VIA CANOE TRIPS, TO WATCH THE WATER IN THE SHALLOWS OF LOCAL LAKES, AND RIVERS BEING TRAVERSED, FOR OLD LOGGING CHAINS, PIKE POLES, LOGGING STAMPS ETC., RUSTING AWAY IN THE WATER. AT THE END OF DAVE'S LIFE, HE HAD A VERY SUBSTANTIAL COLLECTION OF LOGGING ARTIFACTS, INCLUDING RARE LOGGING STAMPS, WHICH, IN THE INDUSTRY, WERE POUNDED INTO THE ENDS OF LOGS, TO SHOW COMPANY OWNERSHIP. HE WOULD NEVER SELL ME ANY, EVEN THOUGH HE COULD HAVE MADE A SMALL FORTUNE DOING SO. DAVE, THE BIBLIOPHILE, REFUSED TO SELL ME THE BOOKS I WANTED BUT WOULD TRADE ME OTHER BOOKS, I DIDN'T REALLY WANT, FOR ANY LOGGING PIECES, I MIGHT HAVE JUST GOT IN, SINCE HIS LAST VISIT. I NEVER GOT THE BETTER DEAL. HE WAS THE MODERN AGE WILL ROGERS, WHEN IT CAME TO TRADING THINGS. I EVEN TRADED HIM A PORTABLE EMBALMING MACHINE ONCE, FOR TWO BOXES OF BOOKS THAT I FOUND OUT LATER, WERE WORTH HALF WHAT THE FUNERARY COLLECTABLE HAD BEEN PRICED AT, IN THE SHOP. HOW I GOT EVEN WITH DAVE, WAS TO GET HIM, WITHOUT KNOWING IT, TO TUTOR SUZANNE AND I ABOUT COLLECTING NON-FICTION BOOKS OF VALUE, AND WHAT METHODS TO EMPLOY, TO GET THE EDGE ON OUR COMPETITION. DAVE WAS ALWAYS CAREFUL NEVER TO GIVE UP TOO MANY TRADE SECRETS, THAT WOULD PUT HIM AT ANY KIND OF DISADVANTAGE, IF WE HAPPENED TO BE OUT TOGETHER, HUNTING BOOKS. SEEING AS DAVE LIKED A GOOD ROAST BEEF OR CHICKEN DINNER, AND ESPECIALLY A GLASS OF WINE IN THE EVENING, WE PLAYED TO HIS WEAKNESSES, AND I'M TELLING YOU, WE GOT A LOT MORE INSIGHTS THAN HE EVER INTENDED. FIRST OF ALL, HE DIDN'T SEE US AS COMPETITION. SUZANNE WITH A KITCHEN APRON ON, WOULDN'T SEEM TO MOST GUESTS, AS SOMEONE WHO WOULD BE RUTHLESS ON THE TRAIL OF ANTIQUES AND COLLECTABLES. I SEEMED TOO RELAXED AND NAIVE TO BE WORTHY OF PROVIDING COMPETITION TO HIM, BUT LOW AND BEHOLD, WE BETTERED HIM ON MANY OCCASI0NS, TO THE POINT HE WOULD STORM OFF IN A HUFF, AND HEAD BACK TO THE CITY WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE. DAVE WOULD ALWAYS PHONE SUZANNE BACK, LATER IN THE DAY, AND THANK HER FOR FOOD AND LODGING OVER THE WEEKEND STAY. HE WOULDN'T TALK TO ME AGAIN FOR A WEEK OR SO. LONGER IF HE KNEW THAT I HAD GOT BETTER BOOKS THAN HIM FROM A SALE. HE FELT IT WAS CHEATING, FOR US TO HAVE A PARTNERSHIP OF ANTIQUE HUNTERS, WHILE HE WORKED SOLO.
     IF DAVE WAS PASSING AN OLD FARMSTEAD, AND TOOK A FANCY TO A PIECE OF FARM MACHINERY, HE'D DRIVE UP TO THE HOUSE, AND ATTEMPT TO MAKE A DEAL TO HARVEST THE IRON WORK. DAVE GOT MOST OF THESE RELICS FREE OF CHARGE. YOU'D BE SURPRISED TO FIND OUT HOW MANY LUNCHES HE GOT THE SAME WAY. HE'D ASK FOR AN OLD PLOW, GET IT FOR THE PRICE OF SWEAT EQUITY TO REMOVE IT, AND THEN BE INVITED IN FOR A FARM LUNCH OR BREAKFAST. MAYBE EVEN AN OVERNIGHT STAY. ALTHOUGH HE WAS MORE INTERESTED IN LOGGING ARTIFACTS, HE ALWAYS KEPT AN OPEN MIND ABOUT WHAT HE COULD USE ABANDONED MACHINERY TO HIGHLIGHT; PARTICULARLY SO, FOR HIS ONGOING HERITAGE DISPLAYS, IN A EXHIBIT SPACE HE WAS IN CHARGE OF, AT THE HAMILTON BOARD OF EDUCATION ADMINISTRATION OFFICE. TOMORROW, I'D LIKE TO SHOW YOU SOME OF WHAT I CALL "DAVE'S FOLK ART." THESE WERE CONCEPTUAL SKETCHES, OF DISPLAYS HE PLANNED FOR THE FUTURE. MOST OF WHAT HE HAD IN HIS FOLIO, HAD BEEN UNDERTAKEN, AND EXHIBITED. HE WOULD HAVE DONE MUCH THE SAME, WHILE AT CAMP COMAK. WHAT HE DID FOR THE BOARD, HE DID ON HIS OWN DIME, INCLUDING OWNERSHIP AND ACQUISITIION OF THE ARTIFACTS USED IN THE DISPLY.
     HERE'S ONE EXAMPLE, OF HOW I BEAT THE MASTER AT HIS OWN GAME. DAVE CAME UP TO OUR HOUSE, FOR A WEEKEND RETREAT, IN PART, TO VISIT SOME LOCAL BOOK SALES THAT WERE HAPPENING IN SOUTH MUSKOKA. I HAD TIPPED DAVE OFF, EARLIER IN THE WEEK, THAT THERE WAS A SIGNIFICANT ESTATE SALE HAPPENING THAT COMING SATURDAY, IN THE VILLAGE OF BALA. THEY WERE ADVERTISING A LARGE COLLECTION OF OLD BOOKS. THERE WAS ALSO A LIBRARY BOOK SALE GOING ON, OUTSIDE THE GRAVENHURST OPERA HOUSE, ON SATURDAY MORNING, WHICH HAS ALWAYS TURNED UP SOME DECENT INVESTMENT BOOKS IN THE PAST. DAVE TOOK THE INFORMATION FROM THE CLASSIFIED AD, AND WITHOUT LETTING ME KNOW IN ADVANCE, HAD ACTUALLY BEGGED HIS WAY INTO THE SALE ON THE FRIDAY NIGHT. WE HELD DINNER FOR HIM, AND WHEN HE FINALLY SHOWED UP, (SUZANNE FUMING ABOUT HER DRIED-OUT CHICKEN) HE OFFERED US A PACKAGE OF FRESHLY BAKED BUTTER TARTS. BEFORE WE COULD THANK HIM FOR STOPPING AT THE LOCAL BAKE SHOP, FOR THESE FINE LOOKING TARTS, HE LET US KNOW, THEY HAD ACTUALLY BEEN A GIFT FROM THE BALA FAMILY, HE HAD VISITED AN HOUR EARLIER. DAVE WAS LIKE THIS, AND HE COULD WORM HIS WAY IN, WITH AN AMAZING EXHIBITION OF GENTLEMANLY CHARM. SO BEFORE THE SALE DAY, DAVE GOT THE PICK OF THE BOOKS, AND PURCHASED THREE BOXES FULL. THIS WAS A KICK IN THE ARSE, BECAUSE I WAS SUPPOSED TO HAVE GONE WITH HIM, EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, WHEN THE SALE WAS TO HAVE OFFICIALLY BEGUN. SO IN OTHER WORDS, THE MONEY BOOKS WERE GONE. HE DID TELL ME THERE WAS A LOT OF OTHER NEAT STUFF BEING SOLD, THAT WOULD FIT OUR ANTIQUE INTERESTS. DAVE ALWAYS MINIMIZED ME AS A BOOK COLLECTOR, AND WAS HIGHLY CRITICAL OF MY PENCHANT FOR PURCHASING VINTAGE RELIGIOUS BOOKS. "THEY WON'T SELL TED, AND YOU'RE JUST WASTING MONEY BUYING THEM." FUNNY THING! I HAVE SOLD THOUSANDS OF THEM SINCE SUZANNE AND I STARTED SELLING ANTIQUARIAN BOOKS. IN FACT, WE HAVE VERY FEW LEFT. DAVE WOULD OFTEN SAY THINGS TO THROW US OFF THE SCENT. HE DIDN'T WANT HIS UNDERSTUDIES GETTING IN HIS WAY.
     SO I AGREED TO GO TO THE SALE WITH HIM, KNOWING AHEAD OF TIME, I WASN'T GOING TO GET THE BIG BUY ON BOOKS. BUT BEING HIS TOP STUDENT, I TRUSTED THAT I COULD STILL PULL ONE OUT OF THE HAT. DAVE WOULD OBSESS AT SALES, AND ON THIS DAY, HIS MISSION WAS TO CONVINCE THE SON OF THE SALE HOSTS, WHO WAS SELLING-OFF THE COTTAGE CONTENTS, THAT HAD BELONGED TO HER DOCTOR FATHER, THAT HE SHOULD SELL THE TEXTS OF WESTERN AMERICANA, HE WOULDN'T AGREE TO, THE NIGHT BEFORE. IT'S ALL DAVE TALKED ABOUT AFTER DINNER. GETTING THOSE BOOKS. SO I KNEW HE WOULD BUSY HIMSELF NEGOTIATING FOR THE BOOKS, ONCE AT THE COTTAGE, AND LEAVE ME TO BROWSE UNINTERRUPTED THROUGH THE YARD SALE INVENTORY. I'VE TOLD THIS STORY MANY TIMES IN THE PAST, BUT IT STILL CHEERS ME UP, AT TIMES WHEN I DOUBT MY CAPABILITIES THESE DAYS, IN THE MIDST OF TOUGH COMPETITION FOR SEEMINGLY FEWER PIECES. THE ABRIDGED VERSION IS, I PICKED UP A FANTASTIC MOUNTED DEER HEAD, WITH MAGNIFICENT ANTLERS, THAT HAD BEEN IN THE SMALL BALA COTTAGE FOR ABOUT SIXTY YEARS. I PAID THIRTY BUCKS. THEN I FOUND A DINOSAUR BONE FROM DRUMHELLER, ALBERTA. NOW TALK ABOUT PISSING DAVE OFF. I STILL HAVE THAT BONE, AND IT'S ON DISPLAY IN A SPECIAL SHOWCASE AT THE FRONT OF OUR SHOP; I LIKE TO SHOW OFF NATURAL HERITAGE LIKE THIS, BUT TRUTH BE KNOWN, IT'S STILL MY LITTLE TROPHY, TO REMIND ME, OF THE DAY I BEAT THE GREAT DAVE BROWN, WHO BY THE WAY, NEVER DID GET THE BOOKS HE WANTED. HE WOULDN'T TALK TO ME ALL THE WAY BACK TO GRAVENHURST, AFTER I SHOWED HIM THE DINOSAUR BONE, AND THE DEER HEAD. I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE GIVEN DAVE THE BONE FOR HIS OUTDOOR EDUCATION CLASSROOM, BUT IT WAS JUST TOO MUCH OF A COUP FOR ME, THE UNDERLING, TO HAND OVER; THE MENTOR HAD BEEN OUT-PLAYED. LATER THAT MORNING, HIS OTHER STUDENT, SUZANNE, BEAT HIM A THE LIBRARY BOOK SALE, FOR A FIRST EDITON OF THE LATE 1800'S BOOK, "TORONTO RE-VISITED," AND HE STORMED OFF IN ANGER, WHEN SHE DIDN'T VOLUNTARILY SURRENDER IT TO HIM; AS HE SUPPOSED A HOST FOR THE WEEKEND SHOULD. HE ACTUALLY WENT HOME WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE, BECAUSE HE WAS MAD HIS APPRENTICES HAD OUT MUSTERED THE TEACHER. HE EVENTUALLY CAME AROUND AND OFFERED YET ANOTHER APOLOGY FOR BEING RUDE. DAVE BROWN WAS TRULY ECCENTRIC. HE WAS ONE OF THOSE WILDLY INTELLIGENT PEOPLE, WHO HAD SOME COMPANION QUIRKS THAT WERE HARD TO GET USED TO; BUT WHO WAS GENEROUS TO A FAULT, IN SO MANY OTHER WAYS. HE GAVE SUZANNE AND I AN EDUCATION IN BOOK COLLECTING AND ANTIQUE HUNTING, THAT, IF WE HAD BEEN FORCED TO PAY FOR, WOULD HAVE COST US MANY, MANY THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS. HE DID, OVER TIME, GIVE US INSIDE TIPS, THAT HAVE ALLOWED US TO CHERRY PICK TO OUR HEARTS CONTENT, KNOWING INVESTMENT BOOKS FROM THE MOMENT WE SEE THEIR SPINES LINED-UP ON A SHELF.
     HOW ECCENTRIC WAS DAVE BROWN? HE WAS GIVEN THE TASK OF TAKING APART, LOG BY LOG, A FORMER NORTHERN ALGONQUIN PARK CAMP, KNOWN AS THE TURTLE CLUB, IN PARTNERSHIP WITH WELL KNOWN CANOE EXPERT, KIRK WIPPER (CAMP KANDALORE, NEAR DORSET); WITH THE LONG RANGE PLAN, OF FINDING ANOTHER LOCATION TO RE-CONSTRUCT THE BUILDING FOR ANOTHER USE. DAVE DISASSEMBLED THE BUILDING, NUMBERED THE LOGS AND CODED THEM IN A BOOK HE KEPT ON THE PROJECT, AND HAD THEM READY TO BE REMOVED TO ANOTHER SITE. THERE WAS A DISPUTE ABOUT PAYMENT AND IT WAS SO SEVERE, THAT DAVE REFUSED TO HAND OVER THE LOG NUMBERING PROFILE, WHICH WAS ESSENTIAL TO RE-BUILDING THE STRUCTURE. IT BECAME A LONG STANDING BATTLE BETWEEN THE TWO WELL KNOWN HISTORIANS, AND IT WAS NEVER RESOLVED FOR THE REST OF DAVE'S LIFE, AS HE PASSED AWAY FIRST. SEVERAL YEARS AGO, MR. WIPPER PASSED AWAY, AND TO MY KNOWLEDGE, THE MATTER WAS NEVER RESOLVED. IT ISN'T KNOWN WHETHER THE EXECUTOR OF DAVE'S ESTATE, EVER FOUND THE BOOKLET, IN WHICH THE PLAN HAD BEEN SKETCHED OUT, WITH LOG NUMBERS AND KEY MEASUREMENTS. I HAVE HEARD A STORY SINCE, THAT THE LOGS HAVE ROTTED AWAY, STILL IN THE ORIGINAL PILE IN WHICH THEY WERE LEFT. THE PROJECT WAS NEVER FULFILLED.
     THE SAME THING HAPPENED WITH HISTORIAN ED PHELPS, WHO ALSO PASSED AWAY SOME YEARS AGO. DAVE HAD A MAP THAT WAS OWNED BY PHELPS, THAT ALSO BECAME A FINANCIAL DEBACLE; ONE CLAIMING THAT COMPENSATION WAS OWED, WHILE THE OTHER VEHEMENTLY DISAGREED. I BELIEVE THAT PHELPS WAS ABLE TO RECOVER THE MAP AFTER DAVE'S DEATH, BUT HE MAY HAVE HAD TO PAY FOR IT TO SETTLE THE MATTER. I REMEMBER ED TELLING ME ALL ABOUT THIS, WHEN HE SHOWED UP AT BIRCH HOLLOW, FOR A VISIT, IN COMPANY OF HIS HISTORIAN BUDDY, HUGH MACMILLAN, ANOTHER OF MY CANADIAN HERITAGE MENTORS. IT WAS HUGH WHO, IN HIS BOOK, "ADVENTURES OF A PAPER SLEUTH," REFERENCED DAVE BROWN'S PORNOGRAPHIC COLLECTION, THAT WAS FOUND BY EXECUTORS, WHEN CLEARING OUT HIS HAMILTON BUNGALOW. I KNEW ABOUT THE SMALL COLLECTION, THAT DAVE HAD ACQUIRED AS PART OF A LARGE BOOK PURCHASE, HE HAD MADE OFF A REGIONAL ESTATE. HE JUST DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH THEM. I ASKED HUGH NOT TO PUT THIS IN HIS BOOK, BUT HUGH DIDN'T TAKE INSTRUCTIONS FROM ME.
    AS MUCH AS I CARED FOR DAVE, THERE WERE THINGS ABOUT HIS BUSINESS DEALERS, THAT MADE ME WINCE, BUT DID ALLOW ME TO SEE JUST HOW WILD IT COULD GET BETWEEN STALWART COLLECTORS IN THIS COUNTRY. AT TIMES, I WILL COMMENT TO SUZANNE, ABOUT THE ANTICS OF SOME COLLECTOR FRIEND WE KNOW, FEELING THEY MAY HAVE ACTED AGGRESSIVELY OR SHOWN SOME UNHEALTHY OBSESSIVE TRAITS DURING SOME BUSINESS DEALING. THEN SHE WILL REMIND ME OF ALL THE BITS AND PIECES OF THE DAVE BROWN BIOGRAPHY, THAT NEVER MADE THE BOOK, WE HAVE KNOWN INTIMATELY FOR DECADES, AND WE AGREE AT ONCE, THAT WHATEVER HAPPENED IN THE CONTEMPORARY BUSINESS FORUM, NOTHING HAS BEEN COMPARABLE, TO ONE OF THE MOST VICIOUS COLLECTORS WE HAVE EVER KNOWN. AND IF YOU TAKE ANOTHER GLANCE, AT THE ILLUSTRATION OF DAVE BROWN, HOLDING THE HANDS OF THESE YOUNGSTERS, ON ONE OF HIS NATURE WALKS, IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE THIS KINDLY CHAP, HAD SUCH A VISCOUS STREAK, TO HAVE MADE HIM SUCH A FEARED ADVERSARY IN THE COLLECTING FIELD. HE COULD TURN IT OFF WHEN HE OPENED THE DOOR OF HIS OUTDOOR EDUCATION CENTRE, OR WHEN TAKING HIS STUDENTS ON NATURE WALKS THROUGH THE HAMILTON AREA WOODLANDS. WE KNEW ALL SIDES OF DAVE BROWN, AND HE WAS AS DIVERSE AS THE CANADIAN SEASONS.

Friday, June 26, 2015

Dave Brown Was A Book Collector Who Wasn't Afraid of Jumping In A Swamp For a Good Log


WHAT DOES IT TAKE TO BE A SUCCESSFUL, PROFITABLE BOOK HOUND? GRADUATING THE SCHOOL OF HARD KNOCKS IS STEP ONE!

HAVING THE WILLINGNESS TO ENGAGE THE DEMANDS OF A LEARNING CURVE THAT NEVER, EVER  ENDS

     My great advantage, however mild it is on the grand scale, as a buyer of old books, in this area of Ontario, is that there are very few competitors, who have my experience. I'm not bragging. It just happens to be true. I do have colleagues, in the area, but we seldom, if ever, cross paths. Which is a good thing, considering we don't get along. As well, old books are considered a nuisance by estate executors, (and yard sale hosts) unless it happens to be a special collection, or private library being sold, during consecutive day sales, or auctioned off as a grouping. Dave Brown looked like an outdoor education teacher or summer camp councillor. He was both. He didn't however, look the part of a book collector. He used that to his advantage, and when he was prejudged, as being to outdoorsy to be a bibliophile, he could swoop in on a major collection, and offer to take it off their hands, by employing his Ford pick-up truck parked in the front yard. Seeing as sale hosts seldom felt the books were of any major value, Dave was able to smooth-talk his way into buying thousands of books over his collecting life, at a minor expense of cash. If they had suspected he was a major book dealer, (there are signs including business cards being exchanged), the prices would go up for their acquisition. Dave, looking like a groundskeeper more than a scholar (of which he most definitely was), made him look like someone's kindly, overweight uncle. He didn't seem threatening, but truth was, he had the aim of a cobra preparing to strike, and the cunning of a fox, behind that ear to ear grin he got, when in company of a really nice selection of old books. He could sense a collection of good books, after about ten minutes of surface scanning. I used to accompany him to sales in this region, so I saw the way he worked through the books, only touching them when a particularly rare copy caught his attention. If it was at an auction, Dave might buy all fifty boxes, because he knew collector and book dealer friends would take what he didn't want, to sell in their shops. He wasn't the best money manager, but he knew how to convert a good find into more books on trade, and maybe a few meals when the deal was sealed.
     For most average sale hosts, who have antiques and collectables to unload, every item for sale, gets more prominence than the books, which are usually piled tightly in cardboard boxes, or just left on the book shelves. The paintings and prints are placed to attract the attention of sale goers, as are the crystal bowls and glasses, the mantle and wall clocks, furniture, china pieces, sewing machines and baskets full of goodies, and old toys which are always a crowd pleaser. Even if you don't want to buy them, they set a lighthearted mood, which truthfully, helps massage the wallets of those in attendance. Books are considered, by most, to be the anchor of the sale, even more so than the huge Underwood manual typewriter, or the neat anvil they just happened to have for the home blacksmith.
     Most of the sellers in these circumstances, will today, attach print-outs from ebay or other online-sites, that parallel the inventory they have for sale, with asking prices, to support the stickers they've written out; confident this will be the price they will be stuffing into their tin boxes. Seldom if ever works this way, but by the end of the day, they will have figured it out! To the book hounds advantage, there are few competitors, especially of the general audience, more interested in the obvious, flashy items up for grabs. Who wants to crouch down for half hour, looking in these boxes, to find a book or two that might make interesting summer reading. We count on this happening, because any book hound with a goodly weight of experience, can scan the spines, and pick out the best of the best without even having to crouch and book-dive.
    After years of buying and selling old and collectable books, (rare as well) you hone a pretty accurate sensory perception about what a dustjacket or leather spine, represents in text, and age. It isn't just the case we can read the title either. There's a visual examination, and when we first touch what has caught our eye, we can tell the quality of the binding. In the case of old and collectable books, the quality of binding is usually a major clue, about the quality of the text and the author, that such expense was invested in them. I can usually date a book by using my experience with similarly appointed texts I've owned at some point, and most of the time, I'm within a decade of the publication date. I don't buy books because of age alone. A lot of religious-themed books even from the late 1700's, were printed in considerable volume, and often cheaper editions, and can have a very low rating as far as dealers being able to sell them online, or in their shops. So we are definitely concerned about editorial content, and provenance. If a religious book, possibly containing sermons, was owned by someone of considerable national or international significance, it would trump the content entirely. Say for example, the book had belonged to Rev. Bethune, the father of Dr. Norman Bethune, for example. It's the reason we are so alert about signatures in books, and any provenance we can find, that puts an historical figure as a previous owner of the subject book.
     I hunt for books with such provenance, signatures of authors and past owners, and I particularly like inscriptions that connect author and book recipient. You can imagine the value of a book written by British Author, Charles Dickens, being inscribed for his associate, American Author Washington Irving. It might have been the reverse, as the two were very familiar with each other's work. It was once said by Dickens himself, that he often "retired to bedlam," with one of Irving's books tucked under his arm. In such a case the book would be worth many, many thousands of dollars. While I haven't had something this rare in my possession, I have had book by authors inscribing their books to other authors, who they consider close colleagues. That gives them a literary provenance that means something to the scope of cultural heritage.
     In those boxes of books, may be autographs and inscriptions I need to know about. I have become reasonably competent spotting the kind of books most likely to be signed editions. This may seem absurd, but part of a book collector's capability to make "big money" acquisitions, necessitates a perception, that frankly is within a whisker of being considered the paranormal. Almost being able to see the book's inner type without opening it, to see whether it is signed or inscribed. I can't really explain it, such that it makes perfect sense to any one but me. Some of us will even confess, that a "special" book will make itself known, as we pass by, or view from afar. As a flimsy explanation, all I can offer you, is to re-tell the story of the elderly woman, who told her friend, one day, that she was still having the same old problem at home, that she had been complaining about for a year. "What's that," her friend asked out of a sense of politeness. "Well, Johnny still thinks he's a chicken." The friend, looking puzzled, asked why the woman hadn't sought out the help of a therapist, to convince him otherwise. "I would, you know, I really would, if we didn't need all the eggs he lays."     Point is, for me, I don't over analyze how I make my finds, and whether or not, my book collector friends, who have crossed over to the heavenly side, are helping me with helpful tips from beyond the grave. As long as I keep making solid finds, and it's all very legal, it's better to accept the assistance, and bask in the success it provides. Asking the question of oneself, about the legitimacy and accuracy of how I claim to make these finds, would complicate what I find easy and logical at present. I trust my instincts, and know what signs to follow, to make decent finds. I'd most certainly screw that up with unnecessary self examination.
    But many collectors become just as perceptive, and aware of the signs that can herald major discoveries. Consider the prospector who has made significant finds in gold deposits, for example, who has come to benefit from finely honed senses, knowing where to pan in creeks and shallow rivers, and the landscapes where these finds are most likely to occur. Education is the key; yet instinct built upon experience, will serve an important guidepost, in which to border further exploration. You learn how to trust past experience in this fashion, and although exceptions are always part of the mission's success or failure, we seldom put ourselves in positions that we won't discover something, to validate our efforts of working in a particular area; or in my case, knowing the one box out of fifty at an auction, that contains the holy grail of books (at least in my opinion). It isn't to suggest I never check the other boxes, but in those cases, I'm looking for what may be stored inside, more than seeking autographs, inscriptions and provenance. Even if these lesser quality books were signed, they wouldn't be worth much money in a shop like ours. There are however, lots of forgotten treasures that have marked pages, for previous readers, sometimes left untouched for a hundred years. It's the other way book dealers make money from old books, beyond them being first editions or inscribed copies. Hockey and baseball cards from a bygone era were often used as page markers in books of the same age. No fooling.
     Here now is another chapter of the Dave Brown biography. If you missed the first three blogs, you can archive back to catch up. Dave was an incredibly clever old book hunter / gatherer who, it was once said (by a friend) "he could skin a louse for its tallow, without even tickling the host." He taught me where to look for rare and antique books, and all about the ones to leave behind, despite their good looks. I didn't always agree with Dave, but I always knew I was in company of one of the most aggressive, untiring, unflinching bookmen in the country; so I did the wisest thing possible. Yup, I let him teach me, and as a bonus, he taught Suzanne as well. In return, of course, for lodging and meals. A small price to pay, me thinks!


A RUTHLESS COLLECTOR WITH A LONG MEMORY - CARRIED OVER DECADES

DAVE BROWN WAS SMART, INSIGHTFUL, WISE, AND WILEY - BUT COULD HE EVER HOLD A GRUDGE

I NEEDED DAVE BROWN'S TUTORIALS IN THE ANTIQUE AND RARE BOOK FIELD. HE WAS A GOOD ADVISOR ON PAPER HERITAGE ITEMS, AND WHAT TO LOOK FOR, AND HOW TO UTILIZE THE INFORMATION WITHIN. WE WERE BOTH HISTORIANS, AS WELL AS ANTIQUE-FIELD DABBLERS. MINE WAS PROFESSIONAL DABBLING. HIS WAS AS A COLLECTOR, HOARDER, AND OCCASIONAL YARD SALE LIQUIDATOR. DAVE WAS FAMOUS FOR HIS HAMILTON YARD SALES, AND SOLD THOUSANDS OF FURNITURE PIECES HE ACQUIRED, TO MCMASTER UNIVERSITY STUDENTS, NEEDING DESKS, CHAIRS AND SHELVING FOR THEIR NEW DIGS.
MOST IN HAMILTON NEW DAVE BROWN AS THE DIRECTOR OF ONE OF THE MOST FASCINATING OUTDOOR EDUCATION CLASSROOMS IN THE PROVINCE. IN OUR SPARE TIME, FROM OUR MORE SERIOUS EMPLOYMENT, DAVE AND I TALKED A LOT ABOUT COLLECTING OLD BOOKS AND ANTIQUES GENERALLY. I VERY MUCH APPRECIATED DAVE SHARING HIS STORIES WITH ME, BECAUSE TO THAT POINT, I'D HAD TO EDUCATE MYSELF WITH ONLY PERIPHERY ASSISTANCE FROM COLLEAGUE-COMPETITORS……AND THEN, I LEARNED BY WATCHING OVER THEIR SHOULDERS, NOT THAT THEY HAD VOLUNTEERED TO TUTOR THE NEW-GUY TO THE TRADE.
DAVE LIVED HIS OFF-SCHOOL HOURS AS AN ADVENTURE. BELIEVE ME, HE HAD LOTS AND LOTS OF ADVENTURES. HE MET A LOT OF INTERESTING PEOPLE, AND HE WAS INVITED INTO HOMES THAT WERE LIKE ART GALLERIES, FULL OF PAINTINGS AND ANTIQUES. FOLKS TRUSTED DAVE, AND HE WAS WORTHY OF THE HOSPITALITY. DAVE WOULD HAVE SHARED HIS TALES WITH ANYONE KIND ENOUGH TO INVITE HIM HOME FOR DINNER, OR OFFER A PLACE TO SLEEP FOR THE NIGHT.
NOW I DIDN'T FIND OUT MANY DETAILS OF DAVE'S STRANGER SIDE, UNTIL MONTHS, YEARS AFTER HIS DEATH. IT WAS PRETTY INCREDIBLE, THE LENGTHS DAVE WENT TO, IN ORDER TO SURROUND HIMSELF WITH NATURE, HISTORY AND ARTIFACTS. ONE OF HIS BIGGEST PROJECTS INVOLVED WHAT WAS KNOWN, I BELIEVE (BUT ALWAYS STAND TO BE CORRECTED BY THOSE WHO KNOW BETTER), AS THE "TURTLE CLUB," A LARGE LOG CAMP BUILDING ON THE NORTHERN EDGE OF ALGONQUIN PARK. DAVE HAD BEEN VISITING THE ABANDONED BUILDING FOR YEARS, AND BY SOME ARRANGEMENT WITH A PARTNER, WHO WILL NOT BE REVEALED BY THIS WRITER, THE BUILDING WAS TO BE TORN DOWN, THE LOGS NUMBERED AS TO THE LOCATION OF THE BUILDING THEY CAME FROM, REMOVED TO A STORAGE SITE, AND THEN RE-BUILT AT ANOTHER CAMP SITE IN THE DORSET AREA…..OR THIS IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN LED TO BELIEVE. DAVE DID TALK ABOUT THIS ADVENTURE WITH AN ANTIQUE BUILDING, BUT REVEALED VERY LITTLE ABOUT THE PARTNERSHIP THAT WENT SOUR.
IN THE SUMMER, THIS PARTICULAR YEAR, DAVE WAS TO COMMENCE, WITH HELP PRESUMABLY, TEARING DOWN THE LOG STRUCTURE, AND COMMENCING THE NUMBERING IDENTIFICATION. IT WENT OFF WITHOUT A HITCH, AND WHEN THE JOB HAD BEEN COMPLETED, AND THE LOGS SHIPPED TO A YARD NEAR DORSET, THERE WAS TO BE A SETTLING OF ACCOUNTS BETWEEN THE PARTNERS. I HAVE NO IDEA OF THE PAYMENT SCHEME, OR IF THERE HAD BEEN SOME OTHER ITEM FOR BARTER, ON THIS ADVENTURE. BUT DAVE WASN'T REIMBURSED ACCORDING TO THE TERMS OF THE AGREEMENT BETWEEN HISTORIANS……. AS THEY BOTH WERE WELL KNOWN IN THEIR PROFESSIONAL LIVES. AMONGST BEING OCCUPIED IN OTHER PROFESSIONAL CAPACITIES AS WELL. IN SHORT, DAVE FELT HE GOT STIFFED FOR A SUBSTANTIAL AMOUNT OF SOMETHING…..MONEY OR PIECES USED AS TRADE BAIT.
LET ME PUT IT TO YOU, THIS WAY. SHORTLY AFTER DAVE'S DEATH, A SMALL JOURNAL WAS SOUGHT OUT BY THE SURVIVING PARTNER, THAT CONTAINED THE NUMBER CODE OF THE LOGS, THAT HAD ONCE MADE UP THE ARCHITECTURAL INTEGRITY OF THE FORMER TURTLE CLUB. FOR YEARS AND YEARS THE HARD FEELINGS WERE ALLOWED TO FESTER, BETWEEN TWO FORMER FRIENDS, AND THE LOGS SAT ROTTING WHERE THEY HAD BEEN DEPOSITED, AS A RESULT OF THE FINANCIAL GRID-LOCK. TO MY KNOWLEDGE, HAVING BEEN CLOSE TO THE EXECUTORS OF THE ESTATE, AS DAVE'S BIOGRAPHER, HE HAD DESTROYED THE NUMBER CODE MUCH EARLIER……..TO RULE OUT ANY POTENTIAL, THAT IN THE EVENT OF HIS DEMISE, FIRST, HIS PARTNER WOULD GET THE WEE BOOK. FINALLY WINNING THE BATTLE OF WILLS. JUST THIS PAST YEAR, THE PARTNER PASSED-ON AS WELL, WITHOUT THE MATTER EVER BEING SATISFACTORILY RESOLVED.
On one weekend, the summer season before his death, Dave arrived at the house particularly animated. He was on the brink of getting a major paper collection, of very old business journals, from the late 1800's, that he had been called to look at, and appraise somewhat, by a Hamilton jeweler. There were about five or so books in the small lot, but content wise, the material was quite significant for local historians. While the jeweler had the books, they had actually been left in the building by a former owner, and the ledgers contained inventory and sales records from a general merchant's business, that had been kept in an old safe. The former business owner didn't care about the old books and receipts from the retired general store, but to Dave, they were a precious find. But here's the thing, once again. The jeweler didn't want to sell them. He wanted a rough idea what they were worth. Dave knew he had his work cut out for him, but was optimistic he could eventually seal the deal with a nice, fat, cash offer. Dave was a cheapskate, of that there's no doubt, but when he really wanted something, like these books, he could definitely make a substantial and alluring offer. So for hours, Dave ran ideas past Suzanne and I, to create a master plan in advance, that would convince this jeweler to unclench the paper heritage. He wasn't being dishonest about it, but once again, the collector-Dave was obsessive about getting what he wanted, with a "take no prisoners" point of view.
To the best of my knowledge, the jeweler never relented to Dave's many forays, and unless he didn't tell me about it, my guess is he struck out on the books. He probably had to settle for a first-refusal kind of agreement with the chap, that if he was to ever sell the records, Dave would be asked to make a bid submission. He was not a good sport when it came to such things, but in all honesty, this kind of relationship with a "maybe" seller, has been a damnation to many of us in the antique trade. I'm reminded of the nice old timer, who invited me over to his house, to look at some antique furnishings he wished to sell. I was pretty green as a dealer, and very poor as a business man, and the gentleman's pieces were way, way beyond my budget…..for the whole year. They guy was a jerk, and made me feel quite inadequate as a dealer, and offered the smart-ass comment, before I left, that "I knew you wouldn't be able to afford my stuff. I just wanted to hear what your appraisals would be, so I could compare with the other dealers I've spoken with." I left with a nice pellet gun, I bought for five bucks. Geez, I had to buy something to justify my time. I did think, God forgive me, about winging a pellet into the guy's buttocks, but then I'm too good looking to go to prison.
Dave had an uncompromising determination. One day, a friend of his, with a cottage on Clear Lake, east of Bracebridge, was getting rid of an old stove that had been in the vintage cottage, from its original construction. Dave used to stay for weeks at the island cottage, even by himself, and when his owner friend told him about changing over the old wood stove, for a new one, of course the wheels started turning. Dave thought he'd like the stove for a display he had planned for the small museum exhibit space, he maintained, at the Hamilton Board of Education Administrative Centre. I'm betting the stove was made at a Hamilton foundry. So the plan was to ship the old stove over to the mainland car-park, by available watercraft…..say a small aluminum boat.
I knew Dave was going to do this, because he had dropped in on the Friday night, here at Birch Hollow, just to say hello. So when he came into our antique shop, on the main street of Bracebridge (at the time), I asked him right-off, how the big stove move went. He just stood there, with hands on hip, covered in mud and bits of plant life from the bottom of the lake, and two great big cuts on his bare legs. The light colored shorts were no longer so light. Kind of mud-hued. I didn't have to ask a second time. Dave had a wonderful way of introducing a story…..that he had obviously honed as a career teacher. He described the process of getting that old iron stove out of the cottage, down the rocks to the dock, into the the perfect spot to then drop it down into the moored boat. To hear him tell the story, was hilarious but if you laughed, he could fire off like a triple loaded musket…..flames shooting out his nostrils. Well, it went badly, and that was obvious, looking at the wounds on his legs. "I was working with people who didn't understand the requirements of patience and balance," he said, while picking debris out of his waist band. "I told them to wait, wait, and be careful, and they just dropped the stove into the boat. It flipped us over in half a second, and the stove hit me on one leg, the dock on the other, and we all went swimming at once."
Another time, he arrived at the store wet and covered in mud, and frankly smelled like swamp. "For God's sake man, don't you know how to paddle a canoe?" I inquired. "Oh I know how to paddle all right, Ted. But the mud on me isn't from capsizing. I meant to jump into the swamp," he smiled with a wink of the eye. "Why Dave?" I asked. "I found a huge preserved end of a white pine log, at the bottom of this swamp, and I could see the imprint of an old logging stamp." To Dave, a logging historian himself, this was a big deal-find. The actual iron stamps are very expensive to purchase, if you can find one at all. Here was the result of an iron stamp, from a Muskoka based company, imprinted into the log. I believe it was attributed to the J.D. Shier Lumber Company. The irony here, is that my father, a career lumber salesman, had moved us to Bracebridge in the mid 1960's, to work at Shiers.
So Dave got a large section of pine log……weighing about three hundred pounds on dry land, up from the muck of the ages, and into his canoe. He got the log secured in his canoe, and then walked through a large portion of Muskoka swamp, pushing the canoe toward shore. And yes, should you be wondering, he was covered in leeches. Yummy. That explained the suction marks and blood on his bare legs. His plan, as the owner of the pine chunk, was to put it on display at the school board's offices, as part of a new logging exhibit he had planned for later that fall…..with a selection of logging artifacts, including the iron logging stamps from his private stash. I have his drawings for the set up, that the estate afforded me after his death, to use as graphics in his biography. Dave was not adverse to pushing the envelope, if and when he had an opportunity, and the plan to pull it off. I asked him, sometime later, if he had any plans to haul up that old wood stove that had been unceremoniously dumped into Clear Lake. "No Ted, that one's for the fishes!"