Auction Sales Were Never What They Seemed But Sometimes More Than You Could Believe

NOTHING MORE FASCINATING IN THE ANTIQUE FIELD, THAN ATTENDING A COUNTRY AUCTION ON A SPARKLING SUNNY DAY

BUT I'VE ATTENDED THEM IN THE HEAT OF SUMMER, THE FRIGIDITY OF LATE AUTUMN, AND THE MUCK AND FLIES OF SPRING

     Auctions are a lot of fun. Antique dealers might not like to admit this, but it's true none the less. These venues are great for buying large quantities of antiques in a few short hours, and if purchased sensibly, can provide a very handsome return on the rebound, whether the dealers sells the purchases online, in a shop, or in the booth rented in an antique mall. Auctions, if you watch like I did for many years, were full of interesting personal interactions. Some funny, some quite weird, but always entertaining. I used to write a column for The Muskoka Sun, and I think for The Muskoka Advance, called "The Auction Roll," and I used to do a weekly overview of the sales I attended, and offered profiles of the bigger ticket items to sell. I got into trouble with several of the auctioneers, two who actually pulled their ads in our paper, because they didn't like my take on "bed bugs," and assorted wee beasties that hitchike on old matresses and upholstered items, from the seller into the homes of buyers. I was right, and it is always a sensible precaution to look for evidence of infestation, before buying second hand items like matresses. I've seem such infestations many times in the past, but the auctioneers and sales hosts didn't want to hear from me. So I wrote about them instead, and it cost us advertising dollars. So when I offer these next few blogs about auction sales, mostly of the past, I have a pretty fair amount of experience in this area; and how to annoy auctioneers, who aren't always quite so open about the inner workings of their profession. I saw a lot of stuff go on, and I did hold back on a lot of conflict issues, I probably should have addressed, but we were running out of compromises to offer auctioneers as related to my beligerant Here's a small sampling of what I used to  write about in that long-retired column, "The Auction Roll."

     I used to take Andrew and Robert on antique hunting runs all the time; even when they were quite young, I'd brave taking them to large regional auction sales. Quite frequently in fact, but only if Suzanne was in a position to run our antique shop, on upper Manitoba Street. There was a rather unusual estate auction, at a cottage near Baysville, in Lake of Bays Township, that had all the advance attributes, according to the advertisements, to be a good one for securing some better than average pieces for our shop. I thought because it was being held at a lakeside cottage, that it would be perfect for the young lads to put their feet in the water, and give old pop a chance to do some low stress bidding (without having to hold both lads in my arms for the entire sale). I must add to this, that we had a family cottage at this point, on Lake Rosseau, at Windermere, so they did appreciate the safety rules around water and docks. Add to this the fact I've been an over-protective father since they were born, so don't think for a moment I would ignore them playing near a water source of any significance, including a garden hose, or even a sewer grate. They were consumed by the Teenage Ninja Turtles, so they examined ever storm sewer and grate they came upon, looking for those big green turtles with weapons.

     At the auction, we got more than just a chance to bid on unique antique pieces. We got some exercise in, swatting insects off our bodies. Flies. Honking big flies. They were as thick as black flies, but they didn't bite. They looked like house flies on steroids, and they liked the boys' sticky fingers and faces, because that's where these critters congregated. At one point, I though Andrew had grown a beard, they were so thick. The buzz through the large audience in attendance, was that the flies had been introduced to the region, as an "unnaturally natural" way, of diminishing the tent caterpillar population, to mitigate the destruction they cause during peak periods of their cycle. But these flying fortresses were far more interested in the humans at this sale, than the few caterpillars inching along the hardwood branches. It was hard to concentrate, while bidding, and quite a few times, the auctioneer, Art Campbell, I believe it was, took bids from the audience, that were actually fly swats instead. All bidders wanted, other than the stuff up for auction, was to get the sale over with, and flee the infestation zone. I've been at auctions at all times of the year, and witnessed all kinds of curious natural disturbances, but never anything like this. I have been at deep woods auctions, in the spring, and had less problem with the seasonal pestilence, but these flies weren't repelled by the usual repellents most people arm themselves with in the spring and early summer.

     This was a fantastic estate auction, with a large quantity of really unique and valuable pieces, of heritage glass, china, jewellry, and furniture. As for what we call "smalls" or "bric-a-brac," it was one of the best sales I had ever attended to that point. I could have filled our station-wagon, with boxes of collectables, perfect for our style of antique enterprise; which is very much a "smalls" friendly shop. We have never been major dealers of antique furniture, mostly because we've never had a huge amount of space to accommodate big cupboards, harvest tables, and sideboards. We always have a few fine pieces, if only to put the "smalls" on top. Our sales of small antiques and collectables have always been strong and profitable enough, to convince us to stick with what works, just as we practice today in our Gravenhurst store. My point being, I could have made a huge profit that day, if it hadn't been for the fact, these flies were making an otherwise perfect day, at lakeside, a misery for most in attendance. I looked at Robert at one point, and his arms were almost black with these huge winged insects, and for a moment, it looked like he was wearing a long sleeve shirt that was moving on its own. We just got to the point, that it was too uncomfortable, and hot, to be cloaked in these flies. Now folks, this is a bonanza situation at an auction. When people don't like the environment, inside or out, and decide to leave early; it makes acquisition a wonderful, and inexpensive windfall. Even before I left that day, I managed to purchase enough small pieces, to more than justify attending, and please our customers when Suzanne processed them later that day, and set them out in the shop. It's what dealers and collectors watch for, and mildly hope will happen, (not just flies either), with the exception of a tornado or earthquake that threatens life and limb; occurrences that will make competing bidders head home early. The final bidders, on this day, would have been able to take advantage of amazingly low prices for high quality pieces. I was getting scared the flies were going to carry Robert away. He had popsicle hands, you see, and the flies were dining on the syrup residue.

     I bought Suzanne a little present as well, being a beautiful Victorian era china coffee pot with a green floral pattern, that was a real keeper piece for the china lover. The very next day, it was sitting on the breakfast nook counter, at the back of our Golden Beach cottage, in Bracebridge, and I was talking with my hands; Suzanne hates when I do this, like a band conductor. It just happened that, with a coffee cup in my hand, I came in contact, ever so lightly, with one of these hand-movements, and all I heard was a tiny tinkle of china, and the awful noise it made (in a collector's sensory perception), when it hit the arborite surface below. I didn't have to look, but Suzanne had to know what that clink and thud was all about. Well there you go. The life of an antique dealer who talks with his hands way, way to much. We still own this piece with its glued-on handle. 

     The tin barn episode. There was an auction sale on the Muskoka Beach Road, in Gravenhurst, one rainy September afternoon, and I knew the auctioneer seldom did sales without substantial quantities of antiques. It was raining off and on, and at this time of the year, it does limit the audience size. Also, there weren't many upcoming sales and we needed inventory bad. When I arrived, I immediately walked over to see two harvest tables near the entrance to a large metal barn, used for housing the farm's horses. It was empty during this sale. One of the Victorian harvest tables, had its thick spindle legs cut down, probably due to rot, from having been stored in a damp space. I knew this was a piece that would go for a low price, because it could be compared to a good example of the harvest style, situated, by good fortune, right beside it, with legs intact. The fact that the damaged table was long, and a foot lower than it should have been, with some surface damage on the top boards, meant the selling price would be low. It would make a hell of a coffee table, very few people that day, would appreciate as a good thing. A lot of collectors won't touch items like this, but home decorators will. I had a lot of professional decorators as customers, back in the early 1990's, and I knew this kind of project piece, would be perfect for a large house or open concept condominium. I wanted the other harvest table, but my initial appraisal was that it would sell for a minimum of two hundred dollars. I think it went for more money than this. There were quite a few furniture pieces that day, most of them being in as-is condition. I wasn't a great handyman back then, but I could do minor repairs, and some refinishing. I just didn't like stripping heavily painted tables and chairs, especially those dreadful pressbacks. It took forever to get the paint cleared out of the grooves, deep in the engraved design on the chair backs. I loved staining and varnishing furniture pieces but it became very expensive, and necessitated larger sale prices; versus leaving them in as-is condition, and hoping that the lesser price, would encourage bargain hunters to put in the restoration work themselves. We still do this. As I suffered many injuries while stripping furniture, this works real well for me. A lot few trips to the out-patient department.

     The sale had only just gotten underway, when the rain began falling once again, and the auction helpers had to run with tarps to cover some of the furnishings, that would have marked-up badly with the moisture. Auctioneer, Peter Green, formerly of South Meadow Farms Antiques, of Gravenhurst, was an old friend, and writing colleague; and I can't recall how many hundreds of sales I attended, where he was responsible for settling farm and estate clear-outs. Peter was well seasoned in the atmospheric catastrophes that could thwart an auctioneer, and bring a sale to a sudden halt. He used to run sales on the property of his Barkway business, which certainly afforded more escape options, when the weather suddenly turned ugly. On this day, he couldn't read the weather at all. Just when everything was tarped over, and the auction suspended like a baseball game, for a few moments, the sun would emerge and the blue sky would again stretch to the horizon. The inventory of auction items would be untarped once again, and about twenty minutes later, a small patch of black cloud, would start raining on his parade as if a curse had been attached to that day's sale. It was if the spirits were definitely on the outs with this country auction, on such a scenic patch of Muskoka farmland. Finally, he decided to take the event indoors. There seemed to be no way to beat the inclement weather, for any more than a half hour at a stretch, so he directed his helpers to move as much inventory as possible, into the empty barn with its large concrete floor space. The delays were really annoying Peter, and the auction staff, and the sale was well behind schedule. A lot of folks had just decided to abandon the sale, and head back to their shops, or get on with their Saturday chores. Once again, this was good for me. Less competition. The problem for Mr. Green? The weather just kept throwing curves at the poor chap, all that afternoon.

     There is a famous film clip, shot by the Global Television camera crew, at a turkey farm where feature host Bill Bramah, was doing a pre-Thanksgiving story; yes, all about this particular farm getting the turkeys ready for the holiday market. The out-clips were better than the feature story; so much in fact, that if memory serves, these hilarious moments were also included in the short film. You see, every time Bill began his introduction, with microphone raised to his mouth, the turkeys as a collective, "gobbled" so loudly, he was drowned out. Take after take, the turkeys seemed to be trying to trip the veteran interviewer up, by calling out just as he began to speak into the microphone. Well sir, this is exactly what happened to Peter Green, except the interuption didn't come from turkeys. It came from the inclement weather. I felt sorry for Peter, but gosh it was funny. After all the auction items were re-positioned in the metal barn, and all the helpers took their places, ready to help Peter register bids, I noticed another black cloud moving overhead. Just as the auctioneer began to call for bids on a group of chairs, or maybe it was a turn of the century sideboard, the rain came down like it did with Hurricane Hazel. The sound of the torrential rain, hitting the metal roof, was like standing next to a jet airliner, getting ready to taxi down the runway. You couldn't hear anything over the roar. So Peter had to stop in the middle of his auction call, until the rain subsided. Then, in fairness, he had to start all over again, because the bidders forgot what they had run the sale price up to, just before the heavens opened. I have never seen such a debacle as occurred this day, no fault of the never-say-never Mr. Green, who just stood on his little podium, looking out the barn door, as if praying for the day to end better than it had begun. It didn't. He made it part way through the sale items, and I was able to purchase one of two harvest tables, (one with the legs cut down), for a very acceptable price. I think I had the company van that day, so I probably hauled home another few items, including press back chairs, and at least one vintage book cabinet. Yes, all for very affordable prices. Not so good for the auctioneer and his client however, who had the very real disadvantage of an unsettled weather pattern, as an auction partner.     Honestly, I felt bad for these sales folks, Peter especially, who couldn't get a word in edge-wise without some wild natural intervention, that either threatened to ruin the items for sale, or a deluge that pounded down on that metal roof, with an echo off concrete that was deafening. I haven't experienced anything similar to this, and I've stood outdoors in frigid temperatures and even snow, in order to bid on antique pieces that caught my fancy. I've even stood in a foot of mud during a spring auction, with both rain and snow, to buy Suzanne a dozen vintage quilts. But nothing to parallel the great rain and thunder event, of that Muskoka Beach Road auction. I sold that harvest style "coffee table" after a paint restoration, for a sizeable profit, to a home decorator who had the perfect, large size livingroom, suited a six foot, very low, farmstead relic on cut-down turned legs. The kicker to this? The table was so damp, from wherever it had been stored, that it took months to dry enough, so that I could re-paint it; and actually expect the paint to dry. The first coat of paint had to be wiped off, because it refused to dry. The water in the wood, was actually rising through the table top, to the surface, and there was no way of taking any acceptable short-cut, to just allowing it to dry of its own accord. Nature won out that day, no doubt about it! Peter had to cancel the rest of the sale, because most people had left, and his voice couldn't out-muster nature's intrusion.

     There was another auction, on a residential street in Bracebridge, that introduced me to an auctioneer I hadn't dealt with previously. I was used to the same-old, same old, as far as auctioneers went, and whenever I was forced to deal with an auctioneer I wasn't familiar, it was usually while travelling outside of Muskoka; and usually, the only reason we attended out of the area auctions was as tourist-recreation; more so than as dealers, conducting business. We often had limited cargo space, and as I was apt to buy harvest tables I liked, Suzanne made it a family bylaw, that all auctions beyond the Muskoka boundary, were for nothing more than "antique smalls," that could easily fit in the trunk or hatch of our car. I take a lot of time to warm-up to auctioneers, new to the region, and I've had a few bad experiences with the learning curve thing. It takes a while, of in-progress study, to figure out the quirks and habits of each auctioneer. Can they pick-up a "nod of the head," or a "wink of the eye," and register your bid, without the necessity of having to bark out bids for public scrutiny. Most dealers and collectors like to remain anonymous for as long, in a bidding for special items of interest, as possible, because it staves off those who like to draft-on to those they suspect are in-the-know about valuable articles up for sale. Some auctioneers are poor at picking-up subtle signals, to advance bids, and others seem to be in your head, with access to your decision at the precise time it is made; long before it becomes a public signal of exchange. On this particular day, the estate sale was moving at a snail's pace, but there were thousands upon thousands of bits and bobbs, that suited our customer interests. I convinced Suzanne to stay around a little past her idea of a fun visit, (she can't abide standing for long periods at these sales), because I found on my box-quest, dozens of interesting cups and saucers in pretty fair condition. We don't sell a lot of cups and saucers any more, but we never allow our stock to deplete entirely, because we sell about fifty pairings every year regardless.     She had a chance to go through them as well, and agreed, that for a decent price, it would be sensible to acquire them for the select few who still collect them.

     I had built-up a pretty substantial pile of boxes, after three hours of standing and listening, with small social encounters, killing at least some of the boredom, usually assorted with the auctioning-off of modern housewares by the thousands. The auctioneer and his helpers were getting mad about the reluctance of the audience to place opening bids, but honestly, much of the wares being auctioned, should have been hauled to the landfill site instead. I always pay close attention to the mood of the auctioneer, because if by chance, impatience starts to show its face, the speed of the liquidation habitually increases; job-lots often get bigger because of time limitations. And the obvious fact, a lot of people were leaving this sale, before the auctioneer could begin selling off the better quality items, kept until the end. I was trying to figure out the auctioneer's habits, but three hours wasn't enough. When he got agitated, at not getting the opening bids, when he hit the area of the tea cups, he then, possibly out of anger, began making huge, huge job-lots, by measuring "from here to there," with his outstretched cane. There was no possible way of being exact about this invisible line, defining job-lots, and winning bidders were getting mad, because other item buyers were adjusting the lines to suit their interests; meaning that they were removing boxes that belonged to someone else, due to the auctioneer not clearly separating the lots by table space. Thus a number of arguments broke out in front of us, and honestly, I felt the auctioner had caused the problem, because he lost his patience with the audience. You can't let this happen, but it does occur rather frequently, and there's always a loser in every tussle. We waited, and waited, listened and learned, and finally, I won the next three bids, and when we went to retrieve what we believed to be our purchases, representing about six full boxes of vintage kitchen-ware, and cups and saucers of course, the auctioneer picked up his podium, and moved to the area of the sale where the better furniture was lined up. A lady came up to us, and asked if we would allow her to purchase one glass item out of one of the boxes; she went to one box that we didn't believe was ours. She and a couple of other auction goers agreed, that we had also purchased another ten fulls boxes (of crap) to the end of a rather long table. We argued with them, but the woman who had purchased the lot, just before our three successful bids, had already removed her purchases, and there was no one else in line to assume ownership of these overflowing containers. And there was an auction policy at this sale, that everyone must remove their purchases by no later than an hour after the end of the sale. Suzanne was furious with me. Add to this, that we had just purchased a brand new Dodge van, and every single one of the sixteen or so boxes, had been water damaged and smelled gross. Even the box that we had to use to transport the cups and saucers, was dirty and half falling apart. There were no substitute containers, but auction helpers offered assistance, hauling the junk to our van. (just so we wouldn't take off without our purchases) Well, I won't lie to you. I was in the dog-house big time. By time we loaded the van, it looked like the Beverly Hillbillies truck. We had boxes tied to the roof racks, and we had to drive all the way back to Gravenhurst with the windows open because of the smell.

     So why didn't you just go to the landfill site and toss the garbage in the bins? Well, one of the reason we used to buy job-lots for a small price, is that we always quadrupled our investment, and on occcasion, made a several thousand percent profit, because we could find everything from rare hockey and baseball cards, stuffed into old cookbooks and magazines, and all kinds of jewellry, some of it gold and silver, but also lots and lots of ephemera that can sell for a king's ransom, if it happens to be a cruise-boat menu, or postal covers often tucked into dictionaries and Bibles. This is a good subject for another blog later this week. The point I'm trying to make, is that we know full well, that it is necessary to conduct due diligence, as far as searching through all boxes purchased at these sales, in this fashion, knowing what can be found at the bottom of old storage boxes. Although we had sorted through them before the bidding began, and decided on only a small portion of them, as being worth hauling home, we didn't have much choice other than the infraction of driving away fast, leaving the boxes sitting on the table. They had our names, as we had paid by cheque. Therefore we just decided to load them into the new van, and suffer the ill wind for ten miles, or so, until we could unload them in the driveway of Birch Hollow. We did make money from the boxes, and because Suzanne had sold several items from the boxes, even before we left the sale, the purchases that day cost us half what we had paid by cheque. There were enough small but interesting relics in the damaged boxes, to pay off the other half of the pay-out. It means we got the cups and saucers, and a lot of other kitchen collectables for free. Well, we did have to air out the van for the rest of the day, and get a deodorizer to hang off the rear view mirror. That's a bare minium for a full auction sale experience; it gets a lot worse, believe me. Sometimes, especially in old cabinets, and ones that have been sitting outside for a period of time, at these estate sites, the unsuspecting auction bidder, can wind-up hauling home some rather shocking livestock, including mice, rats, and even a snake or two. And then there are the bed bugs. Stories for another day.

     I love any opportunity to attend auctions. Unfortunately in South Muskoka, during the past decade, there has been an extreme shortage of auctions, and auctioneers, especially since the death of well known auctioneer, Wayne Rutledge, and much earlier, Art Campbell. I began attending auctions when Wayne's father, Les Rutledge was calling. Thanks to Les, cutting us some deals, Suzanne and I were able to furnish our first apartment. Auctioneer Peter Green, gave us the opportunities to furnish our first house. In fact, we were at South Meadow Farm Antiques, the day before son Andrew was born. We were looking for a pine cradle for the little fellow. Auctions were great social forums, and there was quite a following of regulars, who travelled sale to sale with their favorite auctioneers. And we judged them by the food served at these sales, by some outstanding short order cooks.