From The Hoarder Child To The Antique Hunter

One of the paintings we found on our regional travels.

WHY COLLECT THINGS IN THE FIRST PLACE? WAS I NUTS FROM BIRTH - BECAUSE IT WASN'T LONG AFTER DIAPERS, BEFORE I WAS PLAYING "FINDERS KEEPERS"

FOR ME, IT CAME NATURALLY, SCROUNGING AND HOARDING FOR FUN AND PROFIT

     MAYBE I'LL GET A GUEST SPOT ON THE DR.PHIL SHOW, WHEN THEY DO A FUTURE SEGMENT ON COLLECTORS, AND THEIR WILD-EYED ILK……AND HOW EXCESSES, FROM A YOUNG AGE, TURN US ANTIQUE-TYPES INTO COMPULSIVE BUYERS, AND STORY BOOK-STYLE "HOARDERS."

     AND EVENTUALLY, IF WE DO OUR JOBS CORRECTLY, ON TO THE LOFTY HEIGHT OF TELEVISION-SHOW-WORTHY, LIKE "HONEY BOO BOO,"…..WHERE WE BECOME ALMOST FICTIONAL……"SUPREME HOARDERS," WHO HAVE TO USE A LIFT TRUCK TO MOVE JUNK, JUST TO GO TO THE BATHROOM. OVER MY YEARS AS AN ANTIQUE HUNTER, LET ME TELL YOU, I'VE BEEN CALLED ALL KINDS OF INTERESTING NAMES, AND A FEW HAVE EVEN BEEN RATHER FLATTERING. WHEN I USED TO TRAVEL WITH OUR BOYS, FROM SECOND HAND SHOP TO ANTIQUE MALL, THROUGHOUT THE REGION, WE WERE KNOWN, BY VENDORS, AS "HERE COMES SANFORD AND SONS." THIS OF COURSE, WAS ONCE A SITUATION COMEDY, STARRING RED FOXX, AND WAS ABOUT A FAMILY-RUN JUNK YARD, WHERE FOXX RAN A "BUY AND SELL OPERATION," WITH HIS SON, LAMONT. I'VE BEEN CALLED CHARACTER-NAMES, FROM OUT OF THE LITERARY WORKS, OF INTERNATIONALLY ACCLAIMED WRITERS, SUCH AS CHARLES DICKENS; LIKE "OLD JOE," IN "A CHRISTMAS CAROL;" AND HAD FRIENDS, WITH SOME LITERARY BACKGROUND, REFER TO ME AS "QUILP," FROM "THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP," AMONGST NAMES LIKE "FAGAN," FROM "OLIVER TWIST," AND EVEN "SCROOGE," AS I'M PERCEIVED ON MY ROUNDS, FOR ALWAYS HUSTLING UP THINGS OF VINTAGE, WHILE APPEARING MEAN AND MISERLY. SCROOGE, YOU SEE, AS A MISER, EAGERLY CONSUMED THE ESTATE OF HIS OLD BUSINESS PARTNER, JACOB MARLEY, AFTER HIS DEATH, IN "A CHRISTMAS CAROL." I AM RESERVEDLY FLATTERED, THAT MY LIFE HAS BECOME SOMEWHAT FICTIONAL, SUCH THAT I MIGHT ONE DAY FIND MYSELF CHARACTERIZED IN A PLAY. MIGHT I BE ASKED TO PLAY MYSELF? MIGHT IT EVEN BE A LEAD ROLE? WOULDN'T THAT BE NEAT? "THE ANTIQUE GUY!"

     MY BOYS JUST CALL ME "DAD," AND SUZANNE CALLS ME "TED," OR, "COME ON, YOU OLD FART, WE'LL BE LATE." BEING REFERENCED TO LITERARY AND HISTORIC CHARACTERS COMES FROM MY LONG TIME OVERLAPPING PROFESSIONS, OF BOTH WRITER AND REGIONAL HISTORIAN…..AND LATELY, ARTIST BIOGRAPHER. AFTER SUZANNE AND I RAN WOODCHESTER VILLA AND MUSEUM FOR FIVE OR SO YEARS, AND THEN THE BRACEBRIDGE SPORTS HALL OF FAME, I WAS FREQUENTLY CALLED "THE CURATOR." WHEN I WAS ATTENDING REGULAR MUSKOKA AUCTIONS, NOT ONLY DID THE AUCTIONEERS HAVE NAMES FOR ME…..SOME WERE OKAY, OTHERS NOT SO MUCH,….. BUT FELLOW AUCTION-GOERS HAD TITLES FOR THIS WRITER / DEALER. IF I BOUGHT MORE QUILTS AT ONE AUCTION, THAN USUAL, I WAS KNOWN FOR THE REST OF THE SALE SEASON, AS "THE QUILT MAN." NO KIDDING. I ACTUALLY CONFIRMED THIS RECENTLY, WITH ONE OF THE LADIES I USED TO STAND BESIDE, AT THESE SAME AUCTIONS TWENTY OR MORE YEARS AGO. SHE CAME INTO OUR NEW SHOP, HERE IN GRAVENHURST, AND CONFESSED THAT SHE WAS, INDEED, ONE OF MANY, WHO HAD TITLES FOR THOSE WHO HAD HABITUAL BIDDING CHARACTERISTICS. WHEN I STARTED BUYING OLD CHAIRS TO RESTORE, SURE ENOUGH, I BECAME THE "CHAIR MAN OF THE BOARD." I WAS THE "TABLE MAN," WHEN I WAS CHASING PINE HARVEST TABLES, "THE BOOK MAN," WHEN BY OPPORTUNITY ALONE, I BEGAN BUYING BOOKS REGULARLY AT AUCTIONS. I'D KNOW WHAT THEY WERE CALLING ME, BECAUSE THEY DIDN'T WHISPER. WHEN I WON A BID, SOMEONE WOULD SAY, "OH, BY THE WAY, THE QUILT MAN JUST BOUGHT THEM ALL," REFERRING TO THE FACT THAT IF I BOUGHT ONE, I COULD JUST AS EASILY HAVE BOUGHT TEN. I VERY SELDOM LEFT ANY BEHIND OF A COLLECTION, BECAUSE SUZANNE AT THE TIME, WOULD SCRAP POOR CONDITION QUILTS, TO PROVIDE VINTAGE BLOCKS FOR OTHER ONES, IN NEED OF REPLACEMENT WORK. VINTAGE QUILTS, FROM THE SAME HOUSE, USUALLY HAVE A SIMILAR AGE AND PROVENANCE, MEANING THERE'S A GOOD CHANCE THERE WAS A FAMILY CONNECTION OF QUILTERS, AND AS WELL, FADING AND AGE OF THE FABRIC BLOCKS COULD BE ROUGHLY THE SAME. THIS IS OF COURSE, IMPORTANT FOR MATCHING REPLACEMENT PIECES, AND IT'S ALWAYS BETTER IF YOU CAN USE VINTAGE FABRIC VERSUS NEW. THE SAME CAN BE SAID FOR FURNITURE REPAIR. OLD WOOD USED AS REPLACEMENT FOR TABLE-TOPS AND DRAWERS, INSTEAD OF TRYING TO AGE NEW WOOD.

AN EARLY START AS A COLLECTOR MADE ALL THE DIFFERENCE

     Some times, when I'm talking to a customer or friend about the antique profession, I get this biography in mind, and I vow, in silence, to organize my thoughts, one day, in manuscript format, about the pre-occupation I've had, since my early days; and bloody-well set down to write a book about it…..before I get so muddled-headed that I forget how it all began. It's what I want to tell people, in conversation, but it seems awkward to all of a sudden, interrupt the conversation, to tell the formerly eager listener, "say, you know what……I want to start from the beginning….you know…..how did I get sucked into this obsession with old-stuff and collecting it?" And then, as they roll their eyes, I might ask them, "so, how much time have you got……because it's a long story?" By the way, I don't do this, as a rule, because if I did, I would suck all the air out of the room, and without intending to…..sound ridiculously pompous….more than usual; and seem as if I'm trying to dodge the question, of whether or not, I could be described as an "out of control collector," or gads, the worse case scenario….."A hoarder." But there's no way of explaining how I got to this stage, in the antique trade, without offering some insights on the way it all began for me. It wasn't the result of trauma, a drop on the head, an unusually long period wearing sleepers, and believing in the Easter Bunny, or having domineering parents who wouldn't let me have stuff. Truthfully, I was born this way. I had a perfectly normal upbringing, first in Toronto, then Burlington, Ontario, and further north, by my early teens, to the District of Muskoka. Hometown then, was Bracebridge, Ontario. I liked everywhere we lived, although I don't remember much about my Toronto stint, as you might expect of a two year old's ability to retain these household scenes. Teachers thought I was shy, and withdrawn, and reluctant to participate. If they had been asking who wanted to go out in a canoe, or on a hike, or to go over to the arena and play three periods of shinny, I was always ready to fly-out of the classroom, like a liberated bird from a cage. If I was given an opportunity to participate in group work, crap, that didn't inspire me at all. Accept, I footnote, if there was a girl in the group I had a crush on, and back in those years, if it wasn't for the frequent crushes, I'd have quit school in Grade five. It kept me going when nothing else did. I hated school for every year I was enrolled, and then married a teacher. Talk about your strange coincidences.

     I have little idea what emotional / mental stimulus occurred, on the first day, on the way to Lakeshore Public School, in Burlington, that inspired me to pick up old metal, and heavy iron chunks, nuts and bolts, pieces of chrome bumpers from old accident scenes, and shiny rocks, I found in the Ramble Creek frolic, whenever I had free time in those halcyon days of childhood. I used to come home, after school, with my pants half-pulled down (by weight not fashion), with pockets loaded, and sometimes even with found livestock, like crickets and other curious bugs, along with some frogs and toads, found in the tall grasses of the creek valley. Merle would meet me at the door, if she happened to be home, and I had to stand out on the lawn, and empty my pockets……like it was a police check. My mother had a "no wildlife" policy in the house, but I did get through the check-point with limestone slabs with fossil imprints of ferns, etc., and some shiny stones. The metal pieces never got into my room, unless she was working, which then, was at a bank in Hamilton. My second mother, and babysitter supreme, was Ann Nagy, who was the landlord of the Harris Crescent apartment block, where we lived, and she would shake me down roughly the same. "Teddy, don't make me turn you upside down, to shake out those pockets," she'd say, while gesturing, a sort of airborne cleansing ritual. They both addressed the "coming home with junk" syndrome, by making sure I was frisked, but it didn't stop me from doing the same thing the next day, and all the days after that…..right up to the present.

     Of all the names I've ever been called, "Scrounger," was the most appropriate……and the one I felt was least offensive, to what I actually did on a day to day basis, whether at school, at the local arena, ball field, or playing in the woodlands; or just riding our bikes along the streets of town. If I spotted something that clearly (in my mind) didn't have an owner, I could dismount off the bike, like a rodeo star, and scoop up the ball, bat, car part, or empty pop bottle, without missing much travel-time with my mates. At that time, If someone had interviewed me, asking why I pursue this "hunt and gather" recreation, I would have just looked at them, and assumed they were talking to someone else, beside me, behind me, or anywhere else around me. I didn't think that what I was doing, was significant enough to even have a point. I do recall however, this insatiable feeling of a subject piece's "worth," and not in monatary terms. That came later. Possession of an item, was like a small pirate booty. I watched a lot of pirate themed movies as a kid. And westerns with gold and bank heists as themes. I wasn't a criminal apprentice, or a tomb raider emerging, but a kid who found a lot of things worth possessing. I'm not sure if I thought they were status items. I don't think so, except the "sliver" and broken shafted hockey sticks from the arena, that I cherished as a kid. We used to play with those half-busted sticks, because we usually didn't have ones ourselves. Times were lean, and we lived in a modestly appointed, affordable rent neighborhood. So the only stick I had, was the one I could find, tossed over the boards, that may have had a tiny bit of blade left, or a third of its shaft remaining…..which was good for driveway shinny. I also went nuts for pucks over the boards, and in fact, the first name I was called, as a collector-hanger-on, was at the Burlington Arena, when a staff member pointed at me, one morning, suggesting another kid missing a toque, go and as the "Rink Rat," over there, if he's seen it. Again, as it happened many times, I looked around me to see who he was calling "Rink Rat." Well sir, I must have been a full fledged rink rat, according to this guy's standard, because I did have the kid's toque stuffed into my pocket. "Finder's Keepers," I wanted to say, because it was a Maple Leafs toque, and I didn't have one. Well I did temporarily, but I gave it back to the kid. He'd left it on a bleacher seat, and I was just cleaning up as usual.

     I remember, one evening, quite a few years back, Suzanne calling me to report my son's school indiscretions. Now Andrew was a good kid, and we never had any serious problems with his behavior…..except for the time he bit a fellow sand-box user, over a toy possession "difference of opinion;" then when he called another kid "bum head," because he had a physical deformity; and the time he hurled a snowball right in front of a high school teacher, no more than five minutes after the warning was issued….."those throwing snowballs would be suspended from school." On this occasion, back in about Grade four, he had come home with a number of items in his school bag that didn't belong to him. One item, was a large battery, from some device we knew nothing about. For more than two hours, we worked every angle, to try and ferret out the truth…..how he had come by these items, some more interesting and useful than others, when we knew, that we hadn't bought them for him. Finally, his brother Robert whispered in my ear, "Dad, he found them in the garbage at school." By golly, how does that song go…."Cats in the cradle…..?" Andrew was doing exactly what I had in the late 1950's and early 60's, first at Lakeshore Public School and beyond. The garbage was my favorite spot to hunt and gather. So here, after all those years of being habitual myself, my kid was working the angles himself, and raiding the trash bin, inside the classroom, in the hall, and outside. What we found in his bag, was just the catch of the day. "My boy had turned out just like me."

     As this is my first major biographical attempt, for family posterity, I have to begin this far back in my collecting life. For those who know me, on a day to day basis, in the shop, I can now answer their questions about my involvement in the antique profession, by sending them to this blog-site for clarification. It goes this far back, and is indeed, this strange. So when someone asks honestly, how I got started in the collecting business, it's entirely necessary, to point out, that some of us in the antique trade today…….began just as I did……and may have even been called "scroungers," at a young age…..because they too came home with overflowing pockets, of shiny things, chestnuts, and those lovable frogs and toads who came along for the ride. Some times, when I'm asked these questions, about how I got started in antiques, I think there is a simple explanation. If I think about it for more than a minute, I can only answer, "It's complicated……but it's who I am." I'm sure my mother worried about my penchant for picking up stuff, and hauling it home, and I know she found it a logical turn of events, when in 1977 I opened my first main street antique shop, in Bracebridge. She and my father were minimalists. I think she found that most unusual. How did she give birth to a "scrounger" antique dealer. I think she asked family members if we had any rogue hoarders in our family tree, that would explain my interests. Eventually she just gave up trying to reform me, and that worked out for both of us. She liked to tell people her son was "an Antique Dealer and Writer!" She always put more weight, in conversation, on the "writer" aspect, as this is what she had really wanted me to excel at in life. She thought antiques were anchoring me down. Actually, at times, it has been the exact opposite. The most liberated I can feel, is when I'm on the road, with no particular place to go…..lots of fuel, and no schedule to adhere…….on the hunt for antiques.  More to come.

     Bless you for joining this old antique hunter today, to share some stories of how it all began…..and where the hell it's going to end. One thing is for sure. The life of an antique dealer isn't dull. You'll find this out, as we progress this humble but unique biography……that I guarantee you, is different than any other trade biography you might have read in the past. Not that I'm above the rest……just someone who has made notes along the way…….some that I can't believe today, for some of the outrageous behavior and good fun I had. Please come back for a visit real soon. Thanks again for your ongoing support of this blog.