ONE OF MY FIRST COLLECTABLE PRIZES - AN EASY BAKE OVEN - ACQUIRED ON A NOT SO SAVVY TOY-TRADE
GOD ONLY KNOWS WHY I WANTED A GIRL'S TOY - AT LEAST THEN IT WAS
I HAD TO BE IN MY LATE BURLINGTON YEARS, PRIOR TO 1966. I THINK IT WAS PROBABLY ABOUT 1964, THAT I MADE THIS INCREDIBLE TRADE. SOME TOY CARS AND A BASEBALL BAT FOR AN "AS-IS" AS FOUND, "EASY BAKE OVEN." I'M PRETTY SURE IT WAS THIS BRAND. IT CAME WITH SOME CAKE MIXES, BUT BY THE TIME I MADE THE BIG DEAL, WITH ONE OF MY GIRL CHUMS, ON HARRIS CRESCENT, IT WAS A CLEARLY A HEAVILY USED TOY, WITH LOTS OF SCUFFS AND CRACKS, WITH A SUBSTANTIALLY STALE REMAINING WHITE CAKE MIX. IT DIDN'T MATTER TO ME. I WAS KING OF THE WORLD FOR MAKING WHAT COULD ONLY BE THOUGHT OF, AS A SENSIBLE, GOOD VALUE TRADE. EVEN THOUGH I GAVE AWAY MY BASEBALL BAT, WHICH CERTAINLY SCREWED UP OUR SAND LOT BASEBALL GAMES, WHAT KID WOULDN'T HAVE MADE THE SAME TRADE? WELL, FOR ONE THING, NONE OF MY FRIENDS APPRECIATED THE FACT I TRADED AWAY THE CLUB BASEBALL BAT. THEY HAD A NEIGHBORHOOD BALL, A FEW RATTY OLD GLOVES BUT NO BAT. WHAT A STUPID TRADE. THEY ASKED, AND ASKED FREQUENTLY. "WHY WOULD YOU WANT TO PLAY WITH A GIRL'S TOY?" HONESTLY, IT NEVER CROSSED MY YOUNG MIND, THAT THE BAKE OVEN, HEATED WITH AN ORDINARY LIGHT BULB, WAS FOR GIRLS ONLY. I WASN'T A BIG TELEVISION WATCHER, AT THAT TIME, SO I MUST HAVE MISSED THE GENDER TARGETING FOR THIS PARTICULAR TOY. ANY WAY, IT WAS A USED TOY ITEM, SO PRESUMABLY, THE GIRL-THING WAS ONLY ON THE INTIAL PURCHASE, NOT ON SUBSEQUENT SECOND HAND TRADING. I USE THE SAME LOGIC TODAY FOR GOD'S SAKE. IT HAS SERVED ME WELL. JUSTIFY. WHEN THAT FAILS, JUSTIFY MORE VOCALLY.
MY MOTHER WAS SHOCKED SPEECHLESS, WHEN I SHOWED UP AT OUR APARTMENT DOOR, CARRYING THE OLD WATER-DAMAGED BOX, THE OVEN WAS IN, AND HAD A LOT OF QUESTIONS FOR HER SON……WHO APPARENTLY HAD SOME INTERESTING QUIRKS SHE HADN'T BEEN TOTALLY AWARE OF, IN THOSE FIRST SEVEN YEARS OF OUR PARENT-KID RELATIONSHIP. "WHY DID YOU TRADE YOUR TOYS AWAY FOR THIS BROKEN OVEN?" SHE ASKED. "IT'S NOT BROKEN," I ANSWERED, HOLDING IT UP FOR CLOSER INSPECTION. MY MOTHER CALLED ANYTHING THAT WASN'T NEW, "BROKEN STUFF THAT NOBODY WANTED." MERLE WAS ABUNDANTLY AWARE OF MY PENCHANT FOR BRINGING HOME ODDITIES FROM THE NEIGHBORHOOD, AND BEYOND, BUT THIS ACQUISITION WAS A LITTLE TOO MUCH TO HANDLE DIPLOMATICALLY. SHE WAS USUALLY PRETTY GOOD, EVEN WHEN I BROUGHT THINGS HOME, LIKE RUSTED CAR BUMPERS FROM THE RAMBLE CREEK RAVINE. OR SLIME COVERED BASEBALLS I PULLED FROM THE CREEK, TO ADD TO MY COLLECTION OF GRASS STAINED AND RIPPED BALLS, I FOUND ABANDONED IN THE SCHOOL YARD. SHE JUST LOOKED AT THIS OVEN, AND MUMBLED TO HERSELF, ABOUT HAVING TO HAVE A TALK WITH MY FATHER ABOUT THIS ONE. AS I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANT, I KEPT BADGERING HER THAT AFTERNOON, TO HELP ME BAKE THE CAKE INCLUDED IN THE BOX. IT TOOK ABOUT AN HOUR OR SO, OF WORKING HER INTO SUBMISSION, BUT SHE FINALLY AGREED TO GIVE IT A WHIRL.
THE CARDBOARD BOX SMELLED MUSTY. EVEN THE PLASTIC STOVE SMELLED OLD, AS MERLE SAID, BECAUSE THEY PROBABLY HAD STORED IT IN A WET BASEMENT. WHEN I HANDED THE CAKE-MIX PACKAGE OVER TO MERLE, I KNEW IT ALSO SMELLED LIKE THE STOVE AND THE BOX. MUSTY. WELL, BLESS HER SOUL, SHE MIXED UP THE CAKE IN THE LITTLE BOWL PROVIDED, AND WITH MY ASSISTANCE, DRAINED IT INTO A SMALL TIN CAKE PAN. THE STOVE WAS PLUGGED IN, THE LIGHT TURNED ON, AND THE CAKE PLACED IN THE OVEN TO COOK. WE DIDN'T HAVE A MANUAL WITH THE STOVE, AS IT HAD APPARENTLY LIQUIFIED, WHEN THE BOX WAS HIT BY INCOMING WATER IN MY FRIEND'S BASEMENT. IT WAS THERE ALL RIGHT, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE BOX, BUT IT WAS NOW PART OF THE CARDBOARD LINER ITSELF. SO WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY, IS THAT WE WERE FOLLOWING STANDARD BAKING RULES, NOT THE METHOD FOR COOKING IN THIS CHILD'S OVEN. SO A HALF HOUR LATER, THE CAKE WAS STILL A COOL LIQUID IN A TIN PAN, IN THE LIGHT OF A WEAK BULB. WHAT WE FOUND OUT LATER, IS THE BULB WAS ON ITS FAREWELL GIG, AND WAS OPERATING AT MUCH LESS STRENGTH, THAN WHEN IT WAS NEW. OR AT LEAST THAT'S WHAT MY TRADING PARTNER TOLD ME THE NEXT DAY…….WHILE I WAS LICKING MY WOUNDS, FOR BEING A LOUSEY TOY TRADER, AND HAVING MASSIVE BOWEL ISSUES; POSSIBLY FROM THE LEFTOVER CAKE MIX, THAT MERLE FINALLY HAD TO COOK IN HER OWN OVEN, TO PLEASE HER IMPATIENT KID. WELL SIR, WHAT SMELLED MUSTY, ALSO TASTED MUSTY. I ATE MOST OF THE CAKE, WITH MUSTY ICING, AND EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, I BECAME A FREQUENT POOPER…..AND I'M PRETTY SURE IT HAD SOMETHING TO DO WITH A BAKED GOOD I REALLY SHOULDN'T HAVE CONSUMED. MERLE ONLY HAD A TASTE, SO SHE WAS SPARED. THE POOPING CAPER WASN'T AS MISERABLE, AS IT WAS TRYING TO RE-TRADE THE OVEN BACK FOR MY BALL BAT, SO WE COULD GET A GAME GOING. "YEA, BUT YOU'VE EATEN THE LAST CAKE," MY FRIEND RETORTED, LOOKING DOWN INTO THE MUSTY BOX. "NOW IT'S JUST A PLASTIC BOX WITH A LIGHT IN IT……WHAT GOOD IS THAT," SHE ASKED, BATTING HER EYES AFFECTIONATELY, STOPPING MOMENTARILY, TO USE HER BASEBALL BAT TO KILL A BUG CROSSING THE ROAD. I HAVE NEVER, EVER BEEN GOOD AT TRADING, AND IT IS OUTLAWED IN OUR SHOP EVEN TODAY. THAT WAS MY FIRST AND LAST TRADE, AND IT GAVE ME THE TROTS…….SO THAT WAS MY IDEA OF DIVINE INTERVENTION; "TEDDY CURRIE…..THOU SHALT NOT BE SUCKED-IN TO STUPID TRADES FOR THINGS YOU DON'T NEED." CONSIDERING I HAD A FLOATING IDEA OF WHAT "MY NEED WAS," AT ANY GIVEN TIME, I JUST DECIDED TO BUY WHAT I WANTED, WHENEVER FUNDS WERE AVAILABLE. SUZANNE CAN ATTEST TO MY GREAT AND ENDURING FEAR OF TRADING ANTIQUES AND COLLECTIBLES, EVEN THOUGH IT'S DONE THROUGHOUT THE INDUSTRY, AS IT HAS BEEN TRADITION SINCE BIBLICAL TIMES. THIS IS ONE CASE, WHERE I'M GLAD TO BE DIFFERENT.
OUT OF THE ORDINARY - COMES AN UNDER-SUNG COMMONPLACE OF DEALER KIND
I have made every attempt to read antique profession biographies. I have an insatiable appetite, to find out about my peers, and all those who have made a name for themselves in this historic tradition of buying, selling and yes, trading antiques. I have never found one yet, that was a story that I could honestly relate to, or see something of myself having manifested first, in someone else. Most of the biographies, worth publishing, I suppose, are about highly successful folks, who made well more than a million bucks in their careers, and became household names in the antique trade, internationally. I haven't read one of these biographies, that I didn't feel like a tool. A short, dumpy tool. Someone who crowds the profession, with his unsightly scrounging about, as if half-man, half fictional character, preferring to rummage about at church sales and flea markets, and wherever else there are shadows and crowded, narrow corridors at thrift and charity shops. I have never read one of these biographies and felt empowered. I have always finished the last chapter, feeling unworthy of even owning such a book. As for self help, not really. I started out as a poor collector of interesting heritage pieces, and I'm pretty much of the same heart and soul, as when I began as a kid of six or seven, hustling for Easy Bake Ovens on the rebound, and broken hockey sticks, that had a value other than cash. I have never read an antique dealer biography, that made me comfortable in my own skin. I have often offered a silent apology, to the author, at the end of each book, feeling that I wasn't much more than a mudlark, unfit for such story finery. It was even more apparent, through these stories of high finance, and acquisition of major art and antique pieces, that I was something less than successful, but not a total failure. After all, I had enough money to invest in their stories. Actually, truth be known, I only ever buy these biographies from thrift and charity shops, because I'm a frugal consumer. A lot of attitude adjustments were made, as a direct result of the oven-cake debacle.
The point is, I am writing a biographic piece, that is about as far away from hoity-toity as you can get. Nothing pretentious or uppity, snobbish or boorish……and acknowledging that there are millions of us antique dealers, who might also define themselves as other mudlarks, scroungers, hunter-gatherers without pretense; and folks who just like to buy and sell old stuff without the burden of having to prove social standing, to earn a prestigious placement within the profession. I wanted to put something together, that lowers the bar, to be honest, and a story that would appeal to those of us who are still a million bucks shy of being millionaires, but who love their enterprise none the less. Indeed, like Charles Dickens character, Old Fezziwig confessed, "There's more to life than money!" Sometimes the whole "fun" aspect of our industry is lost, because of this arrogant side, where wealth of the collection, and client list, becomes not only the end-all, but the bragging right as a kick to our collective asses. As I started in the antique trade, without two coins jingling in my pocket, but with a child's vigor for adventure, I've carried on this way ever since. My purchasing budget has always been modest, and my accountant is also my bride. Before this wonderful union, I would take twenty or thirty dollars to a Saturday auction, as a single guy with time on his hands, and see how much neat stuff I could acquire. I surprised myself a lot of times, coming home with some neat pieces, even a small number of antique furniture items, with enough coin left over for a sandwich and a beer at the local pub. I have been self-restrictive in this sense, insisting on sticking-to-budget, when we go to auction sales, and travel the antique and flea market circuit looking for inventory, for our present shop here in Gravenhurst. It's true, and Suzanne will smile ear to ear, knowing she has succeeded in convincing me, to rely far more on my ability to scout for excellent buys, than the way I used to over-spend, according to her standard of business operation. She wants to know what I've spent, and to see first-hand that I got good value for my investment. I do the same with her purchases. This doesn't mean we won't shell out for a pine flat-to-the-wall or a hoosier cabinet for five hundred to a thousand dollars plus, depending on circumstance……just that as a rule for our retirement business, we buy responsibly and pass on decent, well looked after pieces to our customers, for a fair market value. This has meant a lot more stress on the antique hunter, but I've made it a game, as I once did, to see how much I can buy of a collectible nature, and still come back with lunch money for the both of us.
Which brings me to my point. We are, like many who dabble in the antique and collectable profession, of modest income, and more modest expectation. We like the association with the trade, and very much enjoy doing most of the same things, more financially capable dealers are able to perform and provide for their customers. We just do it with a lot less money. There are times folks, and I mean this, that the hobby dealers, who used to be called "attic dealers" in the profession, made better finds than those of grander accomplishment……with urban trendy shops, in the high rent district. When I think about parallels, I wander back to my years in sport, and recall stories about the truly great hockey players, for example, who never played in the major leagues, because they were happy doing what they wanted to……in either the semi pros or the minor leagues. I have known many hugely talented athletes over my years in newspaper reporting, who could have easily made a living by turning professional. They just didn't want to get that serious, and spend their lives living out of a suitcase. Even in our region of Ontario, I could probably name ten hockey players, who just wanted a low key existence, and to have fun playing. Then same goes, believe it or not, in the antique and collectible profession. I wouldn't trade the life I've enjoyed, collecting, buying and selling, or the tiny shop we co-op with today, joining our sons Andrew and Robert, who run a successful vintage music shop here in Gravenhurst. If a benefactor arrived at my desk in the next two minutes, to give me a million dollars, I would be a hypocrite, and a liar, if I was to tell you, I wouldn't have a near orgasmic experience…….and nod and thank my benefactor whole-heartedly. I would like that money for security. Most of us would feel the same. But it wouldn't be used to enable us northerners, to lay in the sun, some place tropical. Instead, we'd be able to buy ourselves some of the vintage and antique pieces we have always wanted for our home……and a few select pieces for the benefit of our customers…..which we simply wouldn't afford today, because it would tap-us-out. We have lived so long in this profession, it has become a lifestyle we find endearing; and so challenging to the mind and body every day…..every outing……each adventure, that always starts off the same……without a set down direction, but with a sensory feeling, about the right way to go.
In the weeks to come, I will share many more antique hunting stories. What is important to establish, in the early going of these biographical sketches, is that this is very much like a "Festivus-For-The-Rest-of-us," (borrowed from the Seinfeld Show), and is probably most appropriate for those who: A. Don't take themselves too serious; B. Who can't sleep soundly the night before a big auction or yard sale Saturdays; C. Routinely visit the "Re-use-it" sheds at local municipal landfill sites, and D. Those who don't measure success by bank balances alone…..but rather by the amount of unfettered fun they have, living well. This is not an analysis of the entire profession. It is a humble, honest attempt, to portray my life in the antique business, on a tight budget, and how I was able to find the perfect mate, to partner in the business…..and share all the odysseys inherent, to the ongoing mission of hunting and gathering for profit…..but mostly fun. I hope, mixed through this series, you will find reason to chuckle at the misadventures…..and find some meaningful parallels between the antique hunting you prefer…..and what Suzanne and I have been able to accomplish, as collectors and dealers, after a lot of years traveling, spending, meeting folks, and enjoying one of the most beautiful countries and regions on earth. We've never had an antique outing yet, that wasn't a fifty-fifty split. Business and pleasure. Arguably, most of the time, pleasure makes up most of the proceeds, and we offer no apology.
Please join me for more tales of the antique collector / dealer, in future blogs. I think you will find some interesting stories, as this biography unwinds from the tight coil pressed against my heart. I have been imbedded in the profession for so long, yup, we're inseparable. Thanks for joining me today. Wasn't that a nice day by the way? Sunny and mild and it's coming up to the middle of January. I've got just enough snow to make it look wintery here, at Birch Hollow, and of course insulate the ground to keep waterlines from freezing. I worry when the snow gets too thin, and we hit the minus 30 mark some night. I've known lots of urban waterlines to freeze, because of poor installation. As I didn't put our lines in….well, I don't know if they were installed deep enough or not. Honestly, since 1989, and our arrival in Gravenhurst, it hasn't ever been an issue. So I'm hoping this year will be the same. Please come for a visit again soon. Thank you for your kind support. It means a lot to an old writer on these last chapters of a long and prolific career…..to have some mates aboard, to share some crusty, dog-eared stories, that mean a lot to me. See you soon.
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