THE LAST YEARS OF THE ANTIQUE DEALER? DO WE ACTUALLY GET TO TAKE ALL THE NEAT STUFF WITH US? ARE WE CONTENTED WITH WHAT WE'VE ACCOMPLISHED? HAVE WE ENJOYED OUR STAY IN THIS HISTORIC AND TRADITION-LADEN PROFESSION?
THE PERSPECTIVE OF OUR FINAL DAYS, MOST NEVER THINK ABOUT - IS THERE A RETIREMENT HOME FOR SPENT ANTIQUE DEALERS?
NOTE: With one toe inching ever so slightly, over the line, of the so called "golden age" of life, Suzanne and I have finally employed social media, to get our message out there. "FOR GOSH SAKES, GIVE US YOUR YOUTHFULNESS! WE'VE SPENT OURS WORKING!" Only kidding. We're just coming into our prime. That's what my magic mirror tells me every morning. Or is that just an aged inspired hallucination? I've got that mid-life crisis thing going on, but Suzanne won't let me have a motorcycle or a Corvette, and I don't gamble, and as for womanizing, well, that's not going to happen. I fall asleep in my chair at eight in the evening. Suzanne and I have followed our sons' sage advice, and launched our first Facebook page, under the heading "Currie's Antiques," which of course, is attached like a throbbing boil to "Currie's Music," operated by our wee lads, who admittedly, aren't really "wee" anymore.
As antiquarians, we are slow and plodding about our changes, and have been reluctant to increase our exposure out there, because we have always wanted to retire to a business we can manage with unspecified, but general ease. We've both run ourselves ragged in our other ventures, and have been looking forward to a gentler side of the antique trade, than when we began; hustling between our day jobs, attending estate and auctions sales on most weekends, running Woodchester Villa and Museum for the Town of Bracebridge, and raising our lads. Suzanne retired from teaching high school, several years ago, and her antique shop, was supposed to be a social / cultural recreation, more so than a late-life business, to make our first million bucks. Rather, this is the "signature" effort, of being in the antique profession, as part-timers, since we married back in 1983. At times however, and don't think me wrong-headed for being happy about a slower pace of business, we have become so busy, that we frequently now, have to recall the way we used to handle retail surges, from the days when we had a shop on upper Manitoba Street, in Bracebridge; and spent half the year never getting a day off. Fortunately the boys cover the overflow here, if we happen to be slumbering on the studio sofa, by mid afternoon; or talking for too long, to one of our antique cronies, who like to show up here now and again, to talk about the old triumphs and adventures we shared back in the eighties and nineties. (No, not the 1880's and 90's)
In order to balance this new Facebook site, I started to change my blog in the late days of December, so that I could devote the 2015 columns, to highlight, and overview the antique trade, of which we find ourselves, after all these years, still deeply immersed and seemingly forever embedded. I have given up being a political critic, because there's simply no point trying to reform or even mildly influence, those who have been elected to represent our interests, but not really! I decided to divert political angers, through my passion for antiques, and the only way politics will surface this year, is if it pertains to the operation of our business. It has happened in the past, that community politics has snuck its way into our inner sanctum; and we have had it exorcised by sensible proportion. Anyway, I've got lots of antique hunting stories to share, and Suzanne has a bundle of down-home Muskoka stories, from her years growing up in the Village of Windermere, in the Township of Muskoka Lakes. We hope this Facebook page will show our softer underside, and be the kind of cyberspace hideaway, that will provide a friendly, relaxing respite from the hustle of day to day living. We want to connect more intimately with our friends, and we're told by our high-tech kin-folk, this is the right way to go; even for old farts. Be patient with us, as we figure out this new-age, new fangled approach, of what, in my day, was accomplished by ink and paper, a stamp and snail mail. Much more to come.
In case you don't know, you can archive back on this blog site, to read any of the editorial copy published over the past four years, if, by chance, the winter is really starting to bore you. I should also note, as pertains to our business, that we are truly, and stubbornly "Muskoka" antique dealers, representing our region historically at the same time, as selling some of its unique relics with as much local provenance, as we can gather. Some of our visitors expect to see a city-style antique shop, and home decorators may be disappointed, about what we don't have, in the way of decorative collectables. Most of our pieces are gathered the result of our motor trips around our region of Ontario. We don't make purposeful visits to the east coast or west, south or north, to haul back antiques and collectables for our patrons. We feel, as veteran dealers, that to call ourselves Muskoka antique dealers, we must be true to the region, and of this mandate, we have never changed from our first shop to the present spanning almost thirty years. We are first and foremost historians; antique dealers because it's so darn much fun. So if you want to talk about local history, while shopping for some unique local treasures, well then, you'll probably think our hole-in-the-wall is a worthwhile place to visit. Hot stove league, 'history talks' are always on the go, if you listen carefully. It's who we are! We'd like to meet you! If you've read this far, you definitely have a surplus of patience, and zeal for enquiry!
I admit it without embarrassment! I do wonder, and quite frequently, what it will be like at the end of my days as an antique dealer. Outside of the old and crusty part, which I've already achieved, according to some of my friends and family, what will I have to show for all my years, hunting and gathering relics of the past? I have this fascination, you see, that like the movie "The Quartette," which is about a retirement home (manor house) for opera singers, and musicians, in rural England, there is some grand leftover (like my values) of Victorian architecture, here in Canada, designated for retired antique dealers. Wouldn't that be swell? Unless you're not an antique dealer of course. Us old farts of the profession, would sit around playing euchre, or crokinoles, with our knobbly arthritic fingers, sharing, over and over, our tales of great hunts and rare discoveries. We'd each brag about our "Indiana Jones," style adventures, before falling asleep, and possibly face-planting, in respective bowls of tepid gruel. Let's not forget the singing jags, where we can perform some of those great Irving Berlin tunes, that we listened to on our treasured Victrolas; and look forward to any opportunity to perform in the staging of "The HMS Pinafore," or "My Fair Lady." Ah, the spoils of a long, hard life in the antique trade. The 'what ifs' drive me wild. I can hardly wait to retire! Gosh darn, I was daydreaming again, wasn't I? You see, there's a bit of a problem when it comes to antique dealer retirement. First of all, there is no designated and exclusive "Old Antique Dealer's Paradise Hotel." Second, antique dealers usually die on the job. Sometimes getting squished beneath a toppled flat-to-the-wall cupboard, moving it for a customer, or run over by an out of control penny-farthing bike, being haphazardly delivered to the shop. As an informal, in house rule, we antique dealers don't retire; at least before life catches up with us, at that pinnacle of reflection, about how great a life it has been?
I have met only a few antique dealers in my near forty years in the profession, who actually, and without even the thinnest connection to the trade, retired to leisure, or took on the challenges of yet another field of interest. Even though an antique dealer may cease to own a shop, or have a booth in an antique mall, most today can stay in the field, by selling either from their homes or online, via ebay as an example. I have known five collector / dealers, all highly skilled and experienced hunter-gatherers, who worked up to the very end of their lives, and both knew "the end" was coming down the pike sooner than later. They had no interest in meeting Mr. Reaper, feeling sorry for themselves about his coming "knock on the door". They loved their profession and collecting interests so much, they never gave the reality of their imminent demise, more than a side glance, while they pursued their interests. It's sort of why I selected this profession, and working as a writer, because there is no retirement necessity. Possibly, I will do the same as my colleagues, and go out of this mortal coil, with one hand on this keyboard, and another on a rare book, I might have just located on a field trip, to local antique haunts. But I thought the issue deserved a little exposure, on the other side of the proverbial coin, by taking a look at the retirement of British Antique Dealer, Reginald Way, a rather unique fellow, I've been writing about for the past week. There's an interesting chapter in his 1957 biography, "Antique Dealer," that addresses what he required in his retirement years, which unfortunately, was altered somewhat from what he had planned for, by the loss of his eyesight. Here now in the words of the good Mr. Way, is what retirement represented to him; one of England's highly regarded dealers who had begun early in the 1900's, working as a dealer apprentice with his father.
ANTIQUE BUSINESS WAS CHANGING CONSIDERABLY POST WAR
"I am afraid my post-war clients were very disappointed with the meagre stock I carried at that period but, truthfully speaking, I never recovered from the panic of the slump of 1930, and I have vowed to myself that never again would I be caught with a large and expensive stock, should another slump come. So during the years 1945-50, although I acquired a great number of fine pieces, I always turned them over immediately, most to the trade. I found the antique business was changing considerably, and the leisured happy days of the past were gone. Little shops were opening everywhere, selling all sorts of rubbish which were called antiques. There were simply hordes of dealers at every auction sale, and to cap it all, came the 'Regency-craze.' Young gentlemen dealers from London in their high-powered Jaguar cars, called on me and said in their drawling voices, 'I'm only interested in Regency, what can you offer me?' And then the 'wide' boys, who thought you were a mug, and who asked for that 'ugly cheap stuff inlaid with brass,' as though I did not know that at least eighty percent, of Regency furniture, is inlaid with brass! Both Gladys and I were becoming rather tired of it all. There was, however, one special occasion in the spring of 1950, that helped revive our flagging interest in the trend in the antique trade. For the Bath Assembly that was to open in mid May, four Bath antique dealers, Mrs. Angell, Douglas Bird, Andrew Dando and myself, were asked by the Bath Festival Committee, to arrange a loan exhibition of antiques, to be held in the Banqueting Room of the Guild Hall, during the festival. This room was built in 1776, and is one of the finest examples of Georgian decoration, probably in the whole of Great Britain. The room is eighty feet long, and forty feet in width. The walls have the graceful, fluted Corinthian-topped pillars, each supporting a cornice of the heads of rams, with garlands of husks. On these walls are full-length portraits of George the Third, Queen Charlotte, William Pitt, and many other famous people. From the ceiling three of the most wonderful cut-glass chandeliers hang beneath a series of magnificently designed circular panels."
According to Mr. Way, "We eagerly agreed to do our utmost to make this exhibition a success. All the owners of fine antiques in Bath, and the nearby country, were approached, and we received willing co-operation from them all. Treasures were promised for exhibition from the great houses; Badminton, Longleat, Corsham Court, Ammerdown and many others, and when these were assembled, it was undoubtedly one of the finest exhibitions ever shown outside London. Many of the magnificent antiques had never been on view to the public before, and the beautiful setting of the Banqueting Room, showed them off to the best advantage. We arranged for two double-sided stands to be erected, each stand to contain a group of furniture of one particular period. There was a magnificent collection of old English silver, not only from private houses, but also the ecclesiastical plate, from the Anney and other Bath Churches. There was, too, a superb collection of Bow and Chelsea figures, and groups. As the entire packing, both to and from the exhibition, was done entirely by the four dealer-organizers without a single breakage, the tremendous amount of work and anxiety involved can be imagined." He writes, "As soon as the exhibition was over and I had helped to see all the exhibits safely returned to their owners, Gladys and I both dead-beat, went for our usual month's holiday to Fowey. Whilst we were there we went to an auction sale in mid Cornwall, being so far off the beaten track, we found conditions like the old days. There were some very good antique items and not more than half a dozen dealers. We thought to ourselves, why shouldn't we leave Bath and live in 'Whitehouse,' our Cornish home? In place of the large dilapidated greenhouse, there was room to construct a store, and a small workshop. We could carry on an antique business there, but in a more leisurely manner. So we made up our minds to do this, and, by the end of the year, we had sold the Gay Street business premises and stock; at the beginning of 1951 we set out for Fowes. We found great relief in getting away from a city antique business. For forty years I'd been at the call of an electric bell, and Gladys for only ten years less; it was pleasant to think that we'd finished with this for ever.
"Within a week, we started buying a few antiques and soon had quite a good selection ready for any dealer who might call. I also secured a valuation for a couple, who were going to live in Australia. Things were going along very happily and we were feeling we'd made a wise choice in leaving Bath, when I was suddenly taken ill. After a thorough medical examination, it was found that I was suffering from diabetes. For two months I was too ill to continue any further business, but by July, I seemed to have made a good recovery, and I spent a lot of time boating and fishing. At the end of August, I was disturbed to find that the sight of my right eye had become very poor, so I obtained an appointment with an eye specialist in Truro. Here I received a terrible shock. He told me I was suffering from an acute glaucoma, and must have an immediate eye operation; in fact, he made an appointment there and then for me to go into a small hospital in mid Cornwall on the following Monday. In due course, I arrived at the hospital and was put into a large surgical ward, where there were about thirty beds. A tall, blonde nurse took charge of me, and told me, that I would be operated on, the Wednesday afternoon, and, after shaving off my eyebrows and cutting off my eyelashes, I was free to do what I liked during that day and the next; though not, of course, free to leave the hospital. I'd never been in a civil hospital before, not even to visit sick friends, as all my life I'd felt an absolute horror of hospitals. Now, being forced to be in one, the sensible thing seemed to be to take an interest in the place. I walked round the ward helping to serve meals, and I became friendly with some of the patients, mostly men who had all their lives been working on farms. Their cheeks were still ruddy with the fifty or sixty years, they spent in the sweet Cornish air. Their puzzled and bewildered expressions were pathetic to see; they couldn't understand the breakdown of the human machine."
Mr. Way recollects that, "The Wednesday afternoon when I was to have my operation arrived, and, as visitors were allowed in the ward at three o'clock, my nurse said she wanted to get me ready before the visitors arrived. First I was garbed in a cotton sleeveless blouse, which was put over my head and tied round my waist; then I was made to wear a long pair of very thick white woollen stockings. 'Are you taking me to the North Pole?' I asked. The nurse laughed, 'No, these are to keep you from getting cold feet,' she said. This done, I was placed on a stretcher, and then on a trolley, which was wheeled away to the centre part of the ward, and was surrounded with screens at the top and sides; but the space at the foot of the trolley was left open. When the visitors arrived they had to pass this open space, and they soon spotted me lying on the stretcher. Soon a little crowd, one of three deep, were gazing at me with morbid interest. Now in our family we're an hereditary trait of small bouts of sneezing. My grandfather, mother and elder sister and myself, have all been afflicted with this complaint. In my own case, I usually have a bout once every two or three days, and it nearly always consists of eight sneezes, the first two following each other rapidly, about as close to one another as the firing of a double-barrelled gun. As I lay there, I felt a prickle in my nostrils which I knew heralded the arrival of one of these attacks, and within a few seconds it arrived. Bang, bang, went the first two sneezes, to the great alarm and astonishment, of my spectators. They looked at me fearfully, as sneeze followed sneeze and, as I could not get at my handkerchief owing to the operation blouse, all I could do was to stifle the sneezes as far as possible; this only resulted in my making the most curious noises and grimaces. The people soon moved off and presently a nurse came running round to ask me if I was all right, as a visitor had reported to her that I was having convulsions. I told her, with a laugh, what had really happened. Shortly after, two orderlies came, and wheeled me down to a small room at the side of the operating room. The tall, blonder nurse took charge of me, putting more drops in my eye, and mopping over my face with surgical spirit. As she was doing this I thought of my sneezing attack and the startled spectators; this made it very difficult to suppress my laughter. On seeing my shaking, she asked if I was quite all right, so I told her of the episode and allowed myself to have a good laugh. 'Well, Mr. Way,' she said. 'I've prepared hundreds of patients for operation, but I've never had one in here laughing before.'
"It was several days before I laughed again. When in due course the bandages were removed from my eye, I found that I had very little sight, and, in spite of all the treatment I received, both in hospital and at home, the sight gradually faded out and I became blind in my right eye. I didn't feel well enough to attempt any antique business until November, but by then I thought I would see how I fared, with the use of only one eye. An antique dealer can really do with three eyes, and I found that looking at articles with only one, was rather a strain; but I attended auctions at St. Austell and Truro, and bought a few items. At Christmas Gladys and I went to Bath, and spent a happy time staying with Peggy. We started back to Fowey on New year's Eve, and by the time we had driven ten or fifteen miles from Bath, I mentioned to Gladys how very foggy it was getting. She said there were a lot of grey clouds but that it was quite clear. It was at that moment that I realized it must mean my remaining eye had become affected. This blurred vision cleared away later in the day, and as it didn't appear again for several days, I thought perhaps I'd made a mistake. However, on waking up five days later, I found my vision so blurred that I could scarcely see across the bedroom. Gladys - God knows what her feelings were, rang up the eye specialist who told her to bring me to Truro hospital at once. We went and when he'd examined my eye, he said that as I hadn't responded to the first operation, the only alternative left was for me to come into hospital and try diathermy electrical treatment." He writes with considerable regret, "Through the efforts of a lifelong friend, I was examined by one of the greatest eye specialists in Great Britain, but he had to break the news to me that he could do nothing for me. And so my life as an antique dealer was ended."
"Now here I am (1957), and I say as happy as any man can be in the circumstances; my sister Violet lives in the flat below and keeps me company while Gladys is out, and through my frequent visits to Fowey, in past years I have a large number of friends amongst the fishermen, boatmen and pilots belonging to the port, and amongst both, local tradesmen and private residents. All these people call on me from time to time, to talk over topics of mutual interest. Amongst the newcomers to Fowey, I have become friendly with a neighbour who recently retired, an ex-captain of one of Britain's greatest lines; he pilots me on our morning walks with as great care, as he ever did when taking his great ship across the Atlantic. He is keenly interested in antiques, and I have always loved the sea, so it can be imagined the happy times we spend together. I am also frequently visited by old colleagues in the antique trade, both from London and the provinces, and two of my greatest friends in Bath, come over during the summer and take me out on fishing trips, which I particularly enjoy. And there is always, of course, a blind person's greatest friend - the wireless set. Sometimes however, someone broadcasts a song which brings a lump to my throat. It's called 'A Room With A View.' From the bay window of my little room in Cornwall, there's one of the finest views in England. The waters of Fowey Harbour lap the walls of my small garden; straight across and exactly opposite, in a high, embracing arm of land, lies the beautiful old village of Polruan. Slightly to the left is Pont Creek, whose steep banks are covered with gorse, bracken and bramble. The water fronts of the houses extending to Fowey quay, can be seen from one of our windows; moored off there lies the Fowey lifeboat, gaily painted in red, blue and yellow, ever ready for her errand of mercy. From another window there's the view of the mouth of the harbour, flanked on either side by the picturesque ruins of the old castles, built centuries ago, to protect the ends of the great chain boom, that was stretched across the harbour in troubled times, to keep out the foreign invading warships. And, beyond the harbour mouth, the open sea stretches away to the horizon. A room with a view - but alas, I cannot see it."
Suzanne and I are not yet ready to hole-up in a lakeside chalet, on Golden Pond, to reminisce all the live long day, about our glory years in this business. We kind of hope to have a few glory years yet to go. But we do appreciate, the importance, of enjoying each day in this profession, in this, our chosen path, to stop and visit, mix and mingle, and yes, to smell the coffee.
TOMOROWS' BLOG - YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE A JOHN DEERE TRACTOR OWNER, OR COLLECTOR, TO ENJOY THE DETAILS OF A 1906 "(JOHN) DEERE" CATALOGUE, THAT WAS FOUND ON THE PROPERTY OF "PIONEER FARM, IN FORT MCMURRAY, ALBERTA, CIRCA 1947." IT'S A LITTLE ROUGH AROUND THE EDGES, BUT A GREAT BOOK, SHOWING A HUGE VARIETY OF AGRICULTURAL EQUIPMENT MANUFACTURED BY THE JOHN DEERE COMPANY, CIRCA 1906. THE CATALOGUE WAS MY BEST FIND THIS WINTER SO FAR, AND I WANT TO SHARE IT WITH YOU FINE FOLKS, SO DROP BACK FOR A VISIT.
A MEMORIAL TRIBUTE
I HAD WRITTEN THE TWO BIOGRAPHICAL REVIEWS, JUST NOW PUBLISHED, EARLY LAST SUMMER, AS A ROUGH DRAFT CHAPTER; HAVING PLANNED THIS ANTIQUE HUNTING BLOG SERIES ALMOST A YEAR IN ADVANCE. I HAD JUST FINISHED PUTTING THIS LITTLE TRIBUTE TOGETHER, WHEN I RECEIVED NEWS HUGH HAD PASSED AWAY SUDDENLY, IN OTTAWA. IT WAS ON JULY 21ST, 2012, THAT CANADA LOST A REMARKABLE, STORIED CHAP I WAS VERY FOND OF. FOR YEARS, I'D GET MY CHRISTMAS NEWSLETTER FROM HUGH AND HIS WIFE, AND ABOUT EVERY THREE MONTHS OR SO, HE'D CALL ME UP, AND WE'D TALK FOR ABOUT AN HOUR. I NEVER TIRED OF HIS STORIES. I BELIEVED ALL OF HIS STORIES. I LOVED TO HEAR THAT GRUFF VOICE ON THE OTHER END, ASKING WHAT I'D BEEN UP TO HERE IN MUSKOKA. I REMEMBER HIS VISITS HERE TO BIRCH HOLLOW, OUR TRIPS OVER TO SEE A CANOE-MATE, BILL RATHBUN, OF GRAVENHURST, AND HIS FRIEND AND BIRCH BARK CANOE EXPERT, RICK NASH, OF DORSET. I REMEMBER HIM HOLDING ONTO NORMAN BETHUNE'S BRONZE HAND, ON THE STATUE ELEVATED IN THE GRAVENHURST OPERA HOUSE SQUARE, AND TELLING ME ABOUT HIS VAST KNOWLEDGE OF BETHUNE FAMILY HISTORY. WHAT A FOUNTAIN OF INFORMATION HE WAS. HE WAS A FRIEND OF MY AUTHOR ASSOCIATE WAYLAND "BUSTER" DREW, AND A HISTORICAL MATE OF MY LONG-TIME BUDDY, DAVID BROWN, OF HAMILTON, BOTH GENTS ALSO DECEASED. I JUST CAN'T THINK OF HUGH'S LIFE FORCE BEING EXTINGUISHED…..SO I WON'T.
THE MISUNDERSTOOD AND MISREPRESENTED VALUES OF HISTORIC PAPER / DOCUMENTS
HUNTING, FINDING, RESCUING, CONSERVING AND BENEFITTING FROM HISTORICAL DOCUMENTS
FROM AN HISTORIAN'S PERSPECTIVE, NOT HAVING ENOUGH INFORMATION IS ALWAYS A DRAG ON A RESEARCH PROJECT. A "HAIR PULLER!" I HAVEN'T BEEN INVOLVED IN A SINGLE HERITAGE PROJECT OR BIOGRAPHY, THAT I HAVEN'T, AT SOME NARROWING OF THE PIPELINE….THAT FEEDS INFORMATION, SCREAMED SILENTLY ABOUT THE SHORTFALL. COMPLAINING THAT WHAT COULD BE AN EXCEPTIONAL, HUGELY INSIGHTFUL RESEARCH MISSION, IS WHACKED DOWN IN ITS TRACKS, BECAUSE OF SOME UNFORTUNATE SHORTFALL OF INFORMATION……THAT MAY EXIST, OR WAS SOMEHOW DESTROYED OUT OF NEGLECT. AS I WORK ON ARTIST BIOGRAPHIES THESE DAYS, IT IS SUCH A DETRIMENT, TO GET SO CLOSE TO THE HEART OF THE STORY, BUT HAVE TO SLUFF IT OFF OR GENERALIZE, BECAUSE A HUGE WHACK OF THE SUBJECT'S LIFE IS UNDOCUMENTED. AS IS THE CASE, THE SUBJECTS OF THESE BIOGRAPHIES ARE DECEASED, ADMITTEDLY THE RESEARCHER COUNTS ON FAMILY AND FRIENDS FOR THE BULK OF THE RESEARCH MATERIAL. SOME TIMES THIS ISN'T THE CASE, AND SUZANNE AND I HAVE TO EMPLOY GREATER EFFORT AND EXPENSE OF TIME, TO SEEK OUT SHREDS OF BIOGRAPHICAL MATERIAL ALL OVER GOD'S HALF ACRE, WHICH IS NORMAL EXERCISE FOR HISTORICAL-TYPES, BUT ALSO IMPOSES A HIGH DEGREE OF DIFFICULTY THAT CAN SERIOUSLY DIMINISH THE FINAL STORY-LINE. THE MORE INFORMATION, THE MORE RESPONSIBLE THE END RESULT.
I'VE NEVER RUN INTO A RESEARCH PROJECT, WHERE I COMPLAINED THERE WAS TOO MUCH INFORMATION. I MIGHT COMPLAIN ABOUT BEING UNDER-STAFFED TO SCAN THROUGH IT ALL, OR THAT I MIGHT BE UNDER THE GUN IN TERMS OF BUDGET OF TIME, BUT NEVER BECAUSE THERE'S A MOUNTAIN OF AVAILABLE RESEARCH MATERIAL. WELL, THANKS TO ARCHIVIST, PAPER SLEUTHS LIKE HUGH MACMILLAN, IN OUR COUNTRY, HUGE AMOUNTS OF ARCHIVAL MATERIAL, FOR RESEARCHERS, HAS BEEN RESCUED FROM ALL OVER THE CONTINENT, (AND SOMETIMES BEYOND), THAT HAS INFILLED OUR COUNTRY'S CITIZEN HISTORY; WHICH AT TIMES, WAS ACQUIRED ONE DOCUMENT, ONE JOURNAL, ONE LETTER AT A TIME. IT'S ALL ABOUT TIEING UP LOOSE ENDS OF THE STORY, WHICH LEFT UNDONE, AND INCOMPLETE, DRIVES HISTORIANS NUTS. WHERE THERE HAS BEEN AN OBVIOUS VOID OF INFORMATION IN A STORY, OTHERS THOUGHT WAS A FINAL CAPPING, HUGH MACMILLAN, TIME AND AGAIN, PROVED THEM WRONG, BY FINDING A STASH OF HISTORIC PAPER NO ONE ELSE KNEW ABOUT……OR COULD HAVE IMAGINED; ULTIMATELY AND EFFECTIVELY ADDING THOSE IMPORTANT NEW CHAPTERS ON STORIES THAT PRESUMABLY, AND PREMATURELY HAD BEEN CONCLUDED.
HIS WAS A JOB, UNDER THE MOST TRYING OF CIRCUMSTANCES, THAT HARDLY EVER EARNED HIM GREAT PUBLIC ACCOLADES; EXCEPT OF COURSE FROM HIS PEERS, WHO REVERED HIS SENSE OF MISSION, AND MANTRA, "SUCCESS AT ALL COST." THE ARCHIVIST PROFESSION SELDOM STRETCHES BEYOND THE COMPLETION OVATION, "SUCCESSFUL, BUT STILL WORK TO BE DONE!" THE WORD "UNSUNG," COMES TO MIND, AS WOULD BE EXPECTED OF THE GRUNT-WORK BEHIND THE SHOW LIGHTS…..BEYOND THE MAIN STAGE WHERE THE FINDS ARE THANKFULLY CELEBRATED. THE FOUNDER OF THE EVENT? WELL, HE'S GOT NO TIME NOW TO BASK IN ACCOMPLISHMENT. THAT WAS THE GOOD FEELING YESTERDAY. TODAY THERE'S ANOTHER MOUNTAIN OF PAPERWORK TO BE SORTED AND CATALOGUED. TO SAY HUGH MACMILLAN WAS INTREPID AND STALWART ABOUT HIS WORK, WAS OF COURSE AN UNDERSTATEMENT.
BEHIND THOSE MAJOR PAPER FINDS WERE REMARKABLE, NEVER-SAY-DIE HISTORICAL TYPES LIKE HUGH MACMILLAN, WHO BECAME A LEGEND AS THE COUNTRY'S FIRST FREELANCE ARCHIVIST. WAS HE DESERVING OF THE LIMELIGHT FOR HIS ACCOMPLISHMENTS? HONESTLY, I DON'T THINK HE NEEDED THIS KIND OF RECOGNITION, TO FEEL GOOD ABOUT THE HISTORY HE RELEASED FROM ATTICS, BASEMENTS, OLD SHEDS, BARNS AND OTHERWISE RUINS, TO BENEFIT THE ONGOING WORK OF CANADIAN HISTORIANS IN THOUSANDS OF DISCIPLINES. HE KNOWS THE GOOD HE'S DONE, BUT AT THE SAME TIME, I KNOW IT BOTHERS HIM PROFOUNDLY, TO REALIZE THAT OUT THERE, SOMEWHERE, A LARGE PILE OF IMPORTANT HERITAGE DOCUMENTATION, IS BEING RUINED BY NEGLECT; OR TOSSED OUT BY AN UNCARING FAMILY MEMBER…….NOT RECOGNIZING WHAT EVERY ONE SHOULD. BEFORE HISTORY IS WRITTEN INTO A MANUSCRIPT, IT HAS TO BE SUPPORTED BY INFORMATION……LIKE THE MATERIALS BEING THROWN OUT FROM ESTATES, OR DESTROYED BY SHEER NEGLECT OF ITS HISTORICAL IMPORTANCE. I AM PROUD TO SAY, I HAVE HUNG-OFF HUGH MACMILLAN'S EVERY WORD, FOR MANY YEARS NOW, AND I FEEL THAT THE BEST EDUCATION I RECEIVED IN CANADIAN HISTORY, DIDN'T COST ME A DIME OF TUITION……..JUST A WEE BIT OF HOSPITALITY, AND AN EAGERNESS, ON MY PART, TO LEARN FROM SOMEONE WHO HAD EVERY CREDENTIAL AS A PROFESSOR, BUT DIDN'T LIKE BEING CONFINED TO ONE PLACE…..WHEN THERE WAS SO MUCH TO BE GAINED BY TRAVEL AND EXPLORATION. IF AT TIMES, I BLUR THE LINES BETWEEN HISTORIAN, WRITER, COLLECTOR AND ANTIQUE DEALER, PLEASE EXCUSE MY ENTHUSIASM TO DABBLE IN EVERYTHING THAT AMAZES AND ENTERTAINS ME. IN PART, I GOT THIS AS SOURCE INSPIRATION, FROM GOOD FOLKS LIKE HUGH MACMILLAN, WHO THANKFULLY INVITED ME INTO HIS WORLD, MANY YEARS AGO, TO SHARE THE TRUTHS OF WHAT MAKES HISTORIANS THE CENTER OF ATTRACTION. THE WORK OF ARCHIVISTS, THE HUNTER-GATHERERS OUT ON THE HUSTINGS, MAKE HISTORIANS LOOK GOOD. SO IF I OCCASIONALLY GET CREDIT FOR SOME HERITAGE PROJECT OR BIOGRAPHY, THE FIRST NAME I OFFER AS A FOUNDER OF MY SUCCESS, IS HUGH MACMILLAN. I WILL NEVER CHANGE THIS OPINION. HE HAS AND CONTINUES TO BE A MODEL IN MY PROFESSION. AS FAR AS COLLECTING GOES, I COULDN'T FIND A BETTER ROLE MODEL IF I LIVED ANOTHER FIFTY-SEVEN YEARS IN THIS OLD BODY. MOST OF US IN THE HISTORY AND ANTIQUE PROFESSION, HAVE FOND RECOLLECTIONS OF OUR RESPECTIVE MENTORS, OUR TUTORS AND INSTIGATORS……THOSE FOLKS WHO HELPED US MOVE FORWARD IN OCCUPATIONS AND PREOCCUPATIONS THAT PEAKED CURIOSITY IN OUR YOUTH. THAT'S OUR SPECIAL PROVENANCE. IT'S HOW WE GOT FROM THERE TO HERE, AND WE WON'T FORGET THE CONTRIBUTION THEY MADE……
NOR WESTER TALES POST ARCHIVIST YEARS
"My job title of Ontario's official liaison officer was abolished in 1989, but my paper sleuthing didn't stop; in fact it just continued. As is obvious from all the foregoing chapters, treasure hunting for manuscripts, relics and ephemera is a vocation, avocation, occupation, preoccupation, and a game I will continue to enjoy as long as I live," wrote Hugh MacMillan, in his book, "Adventures of a Paper Sleuth," Penumbra Press, 2004 (hardcover). "From the moment I retired until today, I have continued this lifelong interest as a part-time dealer in antiquities."
He writes, "Not simply a matter of having in my possession items of historical interest, the obsession also includes trying to solve historical mysteries, locating art treasures, and find the best destinations for certain valuable historic items. Shortly after my retirement party, when I related some of my misadventures to friends, and relatives gathered at the Arts and Letters Club, in Toronto, Muriel and I set to work on our own business called Nor'Wester Partners. With Muriel as editor, we have published four catalogues so far, listing items ranging in value from $25 to $85,000, and the chase continues in the 21st century. We chose the name Nor'Wester Partners because though we have branched out considerably, we originally intended to specialize in finding and selling reproduction trade silver, and publishing journals about the North West Company. We operated fur trade canoe brigades for pleasure, provided costumes for heritage movie footage, organized tours to historical pageants and fur trade canoe races, and personal slide shows and lectures on the history of the fur trade. We also conducted tours to Scotland, following our interest in Glengarry antecedents."
"Through all these related activities, we built a network of history buffs and developed useful leads to manuscript collections. Similar to the original North West Company, our Nor'Wester Partners Company is a commercial venture. The original Nor' Westers explored much of Canada, as they conducted the fur trade; we explore the same territory while conducting our trade in papers and objects of historical value. Some museum archives and other public institutions, miss important collections because of poor rapport with intermediaries. I discovered early on that establishing good relations with dealers in antiquities benefits the public archives and all those who use them for research," writes Hugh MacMillan. "Every item that has appeared in our Nor'Wester Partners catalogues is a story in itself, from the very start up to yesterday's acquisition. Our first major coup was acquiring the Lambart Papers. Hyacinthe Lambart (1904-1988), a woman to be reckoned with, had a regal bearing and spoke her mind freely. In 1973, she took offense at something I said, didn't speak to me for ten years, then suddenly phoned to apologize and offered to sell me some manuscripts. These were letter books from the old Hamilton Brothers Mill, at Hawkesbury across the Ottawa River from where she lived in Cushing, Quebec. They had considerable historic value so I bought them for the Ontario Archives. In 1990, two years after Hyacinthe Lambart died, her executors got in touch with me to offer Miss Lambert's family, business and personal papers. They revealed much detail of this illustrious family, a real coup for our new antiquarian company. Hyacinthe's great-grandfather, the Earl of Cavan, had brought his son Octavius Lambert to Canada in 1874. Hyacinthe's father Frederick, son of Octavius, became a surveyor in Canada and built Vine Lynne at 7 Rideau Gate, across from the Governor General's residence in Ottawa, which is now used as a residence for visiting VIPs."
"The letters in this collection define Hyacinthe Lambart as a fascinating Canadian. At McGill University, she studied under Hugh McLennan and Stephen Leacock. One of Canada's first female pilots, she corresponded with Amelia Earhart," notes historian, Hugh MacMillan. "In 1932, Hyacinthe Lambart, flew her Gipsy Moth aircraft to Quebec City, landing it on the Plains of Abraham. A striking photograph shows her wearing a stylish tweed suit, standing beside the plane en route to Holland to attend an international aviation conference. A photograph in the same collection shows her as the only female, still wearing her tweed suit, amidst a group of sober looking male aviators. During World War II she was secretary to the Association of Canadian Flying Clubs based in Montreal. Hyacinthe went on to historical research and writing. We eventually placed her family papers, some 2000 items spanning four generations, with the National Archives in Ottawa, where they can be read by interested researchers. Included in the collection were papers from her two brothers, Arthur and Edward Lambart. Arthur left the RCMP for special duties with the RAF and was killed early in WWII. Edward was with the Royal Canadian Horse Artillery, in Italy, when he was killed by a German sniper. An unusual item in the Lambart collection was a fine sleeping robe made of lynx paws. Her father had brought it back from the North where he took part in the Yukon / Alaska boundary survey. This item is now with the National Museum of Civilization in Gatineau."
It's possible you might be able to find a copy of this book by consulting the Advanced Book Exchange, online, and typing in the title and author.
I want to thank you once again, for taking the time out of your busy day…..and on the brink of another winter storm, to visit this interesting biography of archivist / historian, Hugh MacMillan, who taught me some hunting and gathering tips that have served me well for many years. Just because antique dealers don't usually write tell-all books, or regional / general histories, doesn't mean they don't play the role of historian. Just ask them a question. You might be surprised how far their knowledge extends, past the neat little shops they operate during the daytime. Please come back for a visit, as we carry on our antique hunting adventures. Be careful driving out there.
"As I close this collection of stories illustrating my never-ending search for historical papers, I must reiterate my mission statement: We must remain vigilant in seeing to the preservation of written and pictorial records. Make sure that those letters of your aunt, mother, or other relatives are saved. Let an archives or museum decide if those memorabilia are worth preserving. It is unnecessary - indeed impossible - to save every scrap of old paper; just make certain that the worthwhile material is not discarded. Paper sleuthing has been called an addiction, even a disease. Whichever it is, I, for one, will never be cured."
No comments:
Post a Comment