THE OLD BOOKS THAT KEPT US HAPPILY IN BUSINESS, WITHOUT A STOREFRONT PROPER
THE CLUTTER WAS MINE BUT THE MONEY MADE WASN'T BAD EITHER
I have written about my excesses as a book collector / dealer, and how I nearly sank our Gravenhurst house, with the volume of a public library. I was a fledgling bibliomaniac. Suzanne and I dealt with this before it became a serious impediment of our at-home quality of life. My book hoarding buddy, Dave Brown ignored his spouse, when she told him, at roughly 30,000 books, that he was endangering their relationship. He died with 100,000 books, but never re-married. He chose his passion for books, over a lot of other pleasures in life. He checked himself out of hospital in Hamilton, a few days before his death, to enjoy a dinner with his long-time friends, but insisted on going to a restaurant near one of his favorite old book shops. He ordered dinner, went over to the book store, and came back before the food had been served, stating with his typical air of confidence, "You never know when you're going to find a good book." He had found one. I always wanted to know the title of this book, which of course, was his last purchase. He really did find books to be his emotional protectors; his safe haven from the rigors of everything else, was his Hamilton home, filled to overflowing with what he adored. In fact, he had so many books, that ones stacked in the basement, actually became support pillars. This was found by accident, when the basement was being cleared out, ahead of ones crowding the shelves of the floor above. It was detected, the weight of books on the ground floor, would cause the floor joist to snap into splinters, without the load bearing books resting between the tops of book shelves and the support woodwork above.
As full of regret as I am, about nearly crowding my poor wife out of our house at Birch Hollow, there was a wee trace of silver lining attached, to being a book collector/ seller. I had enjoyed a successful apprenticeship with two fine fellows, in the old book and heritage-paper profession; one of course being Dave Brown, and the other being Hugh MacMillan, a free lance archivist, formerly associated with the Ontario Archives. I had about a thousand incredible tutorials from these gents over the years I knew them, and they made me appreciate the value of old books, historic paper, documents, journals, photographs and art work, as I had never known previous; despite having been in the antique business for years before I met either Hugh or Dave. Their instruction was intense, and they were both seriously dedicated to their freelance hunting and gathering. Both were highly successful in their respective areas of expertise, and I benefitted because, well, I happened to have been in the right place at the right time, to have met them in the first place.
Their influences were compounded for me, in a most positive way, because Suzanne and I soon began handling our old book and paper acquisitions, much differently, with greater focus on historic value, and attention to all the details of provenance, than in the years previous. It meant we were far less likely to make poor quality purchases, and acquiring items at considerable expense that weren't ever going to make back more, than what we had paid originally, let alone turn a meaningful profit. Hugh and Dave offered good advice about making quality purchases, of large and small collections (even down to single books and a box of documents), and they knew how to get what they wanted, by reading sellers and estate executors correctly. They both possessed a goodly supply of charisma, and weren't afraid of employing it, at whatever level was necessary, to get the job completed, and the collection loaded into their vehicles for the trip home. Some time, negotiations could last years, and both had an infinite amount of patience to wait for the deal to finally manifest to their general disadvantage. They both lost their share of collections, but they won far more than they lost. I studied them with the same level of unfaltering patience. I don't think that either fellow thought of me as their student. I was cunning in this way, because I made myself the pupil, and they didn't have anything to say about it; Suzanne helped our apprenticeship with both men, by offering them lodging and related hospitality at Birch Hollow. Repayment, you see, was to share their amazing stories of adventure, and acquisition, and by golly, it would have cost both Suzanne and I many thousands of dollars, to have paid them a professor's wage, to instruct us on the fine art of old book and paper hunting for profit. They both had different concepts about what constituted "a profit." Dave used his books for trading-up, but Hugh knew how to make a buck, finding old paper collections, determining their heritage value and connectedness, and then locating an archives or museum anywhere in the world, and selling whatever he happened to possess at that particular time. This man is responsible for a greatly enhanced archives in this province and country, because of what Hugh MacMillan's efforts of investigation, turned-up in the way of national and international history. Both were masters in their respective areas of interest, and I wanted to know their complete, worts and all biographies. I wrote Dave Brown's biography in the year 2000, and I read Hugh's three times, from the copy he inscribed for me, also released in this new century. Both men have since passed away, and I mess them very much, especially the way they took Suzanne and I under their huge wings, to give us the advantage we benefit from today.
What it all means, is that we have refined, according to advice especially from Hugh (Dave was excessive about collecting books), what we seek out to purchase, and what materials possess more value, at the compromise of less space; at home and at the shop. In other words, our secondary business, is in this area of archives-significant paper-works and heritage art, which we launched quite a few years back, that we maintain as a sort-of post retirement source of fun and income. There are many documents and related ephemera especially, that we could never sell from our shop, due to low exposure, in part due to a seasonal economy, to the customers looking for such specialty items. In a flash we can expose these items and collections to a world market, online through our various sites, and even through ebay, where we have been both buyers and sellers since the first years of this century. I can't imagine we would have had the inspiration or acquired knowledge, to concentrate business in this fashion, if it hadn't been for the advice of both collectors. We run our day business on the main street of Gravenhurst, but our interests in historic documents, including art and photographs, can be moved about, in a briefcase. The rent's very affordable. Thus, we have taken advantage of a more efficient way of doing business, especially so, if and when Suzanne and I finally decide to retire from shop keeping in the traditional sense.
I came to learn this more efficient approach, because I was forced to deal with my excesses. Dave had helped a lot in this regard. After his death, I began to appreciate why Suzanne had been calling me Dave Jr. for years. I had originally thought it was something she had picked up from Stuart McLean's Vinyl Cafe, heard on CBC Radio. Nope. Dave Brown. Our dearly loved book collector.
She was rightfully, calling me a hoarder. I was. But this must not be considered, in any way, disrespectful to my book buddy, Dave, because what he taught me about buying the most important, and valuable books, in the field of non-fiction, was immeasurable to what we have honed from our lessons, for our own used today. The difference, of course, is that Suzanne knew when to stop my excesses, before it became the anchor it had for my friend. But I will never forget the lessons learned from two fine mentors. The fact they didn't know we were their eager students, well, we like to, at the very least, think they enjoyed their stays at Birch Hollow, and Suzanne's unbelievable roast beef dinners.
A DAY TO TRAVEL, SEEK AND FIND
ALAS, I AM A SLAVE OF MY PROFESSION - THE WRITER - NOT THE ANTIQUE COLLECTOR
I'VE GOT A BIG WELT WHERE I KEEP PINCHING MYSELF. IT'S JANUARY. NOT APRIL. THIS IS A PERFECT SPRING-LIKE DAY TO HIT THE OPEN ROAD. OF COURSE, I WOULD BE DOING SO, ON MY OWN, AS THE BOYS HAVE TO OPEN THE SHOP, AND SUZANNE'S AT WORK. YOU SEE THAT'S ONE OF THE PROBLEMS ASSOCIATED WITH THE HOME-ALONE OFFICE, WHICH I'VE BEEN WORKING FROM SINCE ANDREW WAS IN HIS THIRD MONTH. I OPTED TO STAY HOME AS A MR. MOM, WHILE SUZANNE RETURNED TO TEACHING. I STAYED ON WHEN ROB WAS BORN, A COUPLE OF YEARS LATER, AND IT'S WORKED PRETTY WELL UP TO AND INCLUDING THE PRESENT.
OF COURSE, IT'S A LITTLE GENTLER AND QUIETER HERE NOW, WITH THE BOYS ALL GROWN-UP AND ALL. I DON'T HAVE TO BREAK UP FIGHTS OVER TOYS, OR INTERCEPT A TOSSED PEANUT BUTTER AND JAM SANDWICH, THAT ONE OF THE LITTLE DARLINGS MAY HAVE TOSSED AT THE OTHER. SO OUTSIDE OF LOOKING AFTER THE FAMILY PETS, AND WORKING ON FURNITURE RESTORATIONS, ON SOME NEWLY ACQUIRED ANTIQUE PIECES, THIS KEYBOARD IS THE BIGGEST REASON FOR ANY PRE-OCCUPATION AT ALL. IN FACT, I NOW HAVE ENOUGH EDITORIAL PROJECTS LINED-UP, TO HONESTLY SAY……"I COULDN'T GO ANTIQUE HUNTING TODAY DEAR, BECAUSE I HAD TOO MUCH WORK TO DO." IT'S ALWAYS BEEN THE OTHER WAY AROUND.
SEEING AS I'M VERY ORGANIZED, AND A PROLIFIC WRITER, MOST DAYS I CAN DO ALL THE WRITING JAGS NECESSARY, AND BE FREE BY LUNCH…..WITH TIME FOR A LITTLE TOODLE TO A SECOND HAND OR ANTIQUE SHOP. I GOT MYSELF INTO TWO NEWS SERIES OF FEATURE COLUMNS FOR SEVERAL PUBLICATIONS, TO RUN OVER THE YEAR. I NEED THE SUMMER MONTHS TO HIT THE ROAD IN QUEST OF ANTIQUES, SO IT MEANS I HAVE TO GET EVERYTHING DONE WELL IN ADVANCE. I HATE WRITING IN THE HEAT, AND I DON'T LIKE MISSING SUMMER DAYS WHEN SUZANNE HAS TIME TO ROAM. SO IT'S TYPICALLY THE CASE, THAT WITH STORMS HOWLING OUTSIDE, AND SNOW DRIFTING AGAINST THE DOORWAY, I DON'T FEEL SHORT-CHANGED AT ALL, TO SIT HERE IN MY OFFICE, WORKING AWAY AT THESE WRITING PROJECTS. I DON'T FEEL I'M MISSING ANYTHING BY BEING INDOORS. EXCEPT FROST-BITE. TODAY IT IS JUST THE OPPOSITE, AND I MAY WIND-UP HEADING DOWN THE ROAD LATER THIS AFTERNOON, JUST FOR A SHORT DART, IN AND OUT OF THE RE-STORE, ONE OF MY FAVORITE LOCAL HAUNTS. I'LL LET YOU KNOW IF I CAN BREAK THE CHAIN OF OBLIGATION, TO FOLLOW THE ALLURE OF THE OPEN ROAD.
DAVE BROWN AND I SHARED A LOT IN COMMON - LIKE THE HONEYMOONS WE TOOK WITH SPOUSES
DAVE BROWN AND HIS WIFE HAD THEIR HONEYMOON ON THE BATTLEFIELD AT GETTYSBURG. I KNOW THAT ONE OF YOU JUST BLURTED OUT, "GEEZ, THAT WAS ROMANTIC!" SUZANNE AND I HAD OUR HONEYMOON AT COLONIAL WILLIAMSBURG, WHERE I SPENT MY QUALITY TIME HOLED-UP IN THE OLD PRINT SHOP. YEA, I KNOW BEFORE YOU THINK IT. I'M NOT A ROMANTIC. SUZANNE ACTUALLY HAD TO STRONG-ARM ME OUT OF THE BUILDING, WHILE MUTTERING SOMETHING ABOUT MAKING A TERRIBLE MISTAKE, AND THAT SHE SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO HER MOTHER.
DAVE AND I WERE BOTH HISTORIANS. OUR SPECIALITY WAS CANADIAN HISTORY BUT WE BOTH DABBLED IN AMERICAN HISTORY; AND MOST DEFINITELY REGIONAL HISTORIES THROUGHOUT NORTH AMERICA. AS FAR AS BOOKS GO, THAT IS! WE BOTH MARRIED GALS WHO UNDERESTIMATED JUST HOW CRAZY IT COULD GET, BEING MARRIED TO HISTORY HOARDERS. DAVE'S WIFE TOLD HIM MANY TIMES, DURING THEIR SHORT MARRIAGE, THAT HIS BOOK COLLECTING WAS GETTING OUT OF CONTROL. SHE COULD LIVE WITH THE WEE BEASTIES HE BROUGHT HOME, LIKE SWAMP REPTILES IN THE BATH-TUB, PART OF HIS OUTDOOR EDUCATION WORK, BUT THERE HAD TO BE A LIMIT ON THE BOOKS STACKED ALL OVER THE PLACE. AND FROM WHAT I'VE HEARD FROM NUMEROUS SOURCES, SHE GAVE HIM A CLEAR CHOICE, BETWEEN CARRYING-ON WITH THEIR MARRIAGE, OR CONTINUING WITH HIS BIBLIOMANIA. DAVE BECAME A SINGLE MAN, WITH A HELL OF A LOT OF BOOKS.
MR. CURRIE, ON THE OTHER HAND, WAS WARNED ABOUT BOOKS, OTHER THAN ACTUAL COOKBOOKS, GETTING INTO RESTRICTED AREAS. THEY COULD NOT BE SHELVED IN THE KITCHEN, BATHROOM, OR HER BEDROOM. SO I FILLED EVERYTHING ELSE, AND HER BEDROOM. I DID MAKE MAJOR AMENDS THIS PAST SUMMER, BY REMOVING THE TWO THOUSAND TITLES FROM HER BEDSIDE, LEAVING ONLY A COUPLE OF HUNDRED ADJACENT TO MY CLOSET. IN FACT, COMING TO MY SENSES, OVER THE PAST THREE YEARS, I'VE GOT RID OF THOUSANDS OF BOOKS THAT WEREN'T OF ANY GREAT USE, ACKNOWLEDGING AT THE SAME TIME, I'D GOT A LITTLE TOO PASSIONATE ABOUT COLLECTING STUFF. I WASN'T GOING TO LOSE MY WIFE OVER SEVERAL THOUSAND BOOKS, LIKE DAVE DID. COMPROMISE WASN'T SO HARD. I ACCUSED HER THE OTHER DAY OF BEING A WOOL HOARDER, BECAUSE OF THE LARGE INVENTORY OF MATERIAL IN RESERVE, FOR HER THOUSAND AND ONE KNITTING PROJECTS. SHE WAS NOT AMUSED. "AFTER HAVING TO LIVE WITH YOUR EXCESSES FOR THE FIRST HALF OF OUR MARRIAGE, TELL YOU WHAT……SUCK IT UP BUDDY, THE WOOL STAYS," SHE CALMLY REMINDED OF HER STAKE IN THE MATRIMONIAL HOME……INCH BY INCH APPARENTLY.
Dave Brown liked his independence. An only child, the son of a well respected Hamilton physician, Dave liked being able to disappear when not teaching, and explore places he'd never been. But with the exception of the United States, he stayed pretty much in Ontario, where he found enough adventure to feel fulfilled. He loved to camp on his own in some very wild places, and when I asked him about the intrusion of bears, and wolves, he said there had never been anything to worry about. I always suspected Dave was part wolf anyway, and when his anger rose to the surface, let me tell you……it was best to stand back. He wasn't a loud objector, but with Dave you always kind of wondered if he might give you a crushing bear hug or something. He told me once, that he had been attacked by what he referred to as a wild dog, encountered at an isolated farmstead in Southern Ontario. He was able to get out of its way by climbing a nearby ladder. The dog wouldn't let him get down. "I was up there about two hours, trying to make friends with the animal, but he would have nothing to do with it," Dave told me. "It was getting late, and as it was in October, the darkness was closing in. I couldn't sleep on the ladder, and I knew this creature was going to bite me if I tried to make a run for the car." "I took my hammer, and thought well, I've got one shot, so I better be able to knock him out, because there's nothing else but car keys to fend him off," said Dave. "I really didn't want to hurt the dog but it was him or me. I got as close as I could, without getting in his mouth, and threw the hammer. It hit him right on the head. He looked kind of stunned, got glassy eyed, and just fell over. Gone. I killed him with one throw. I felt bad because I like dogs. Just not this one." I never knew if Dave was kidding me about this, but as conservation-minded as he lived, truth was, he'd have likely hurt himself badly, eventually falling off that ladder. I'm pretty sure I would have, with genuine reluctance, followed the same course of action. Just now, Bosko looked at me, with eyes of concern. It's like she knew what I'd just written. This dog may be smarter than I thought.
THE ESTATE BOOK SALE
Dave had many connections in the book world. Truth be known, Dave had known connections to the underworld. As a result of his moonlighting work with large construction firms, that gave him permission to scavenge old architectural (heritage) pieces, from demolition sites, Dave knew that some of the associations he kept, put him under police surveillance. It got to be a joke around school, that Dave could make people he disliked disappear. I remember the night he said this to Suzanne and I, while toasting our friendship, with a glass of wine. For a couple of moments, Suzanne and I looked at each other, and pondered silently whether the guy on the sofa was a sort of teacher-Soprano mobster. "Don't worry Ted and Suzanne, I like you guys." Most of this story is true. He did have friends in unusually high places, and the cops were watching him. He said it was often the case, especially after an underworld incident, when police would show up with cameras, watching who was coming, going and hanging around these sites. Knowing Dave, even mobsters couldn't deter him from the salvage job, to save architectural heritage. Dave never had a bad word to say about his mates either.
One night, sitting out on the deck, looking over the gardens with hummingbirds flitting about, and bees still buzzing around the spring lilacs, he told us about his recent experience, at an estate book sale, on the eastern seaboard of the United States. I presume it was in New York State, though I don't remember him mentioning the community itself. Just the circumstances of the sale. Dave had a lot of American colleagues, and whether it was Chicago or New York, he knew the old book sellers. Whenever he could, he took off south, because it's where he apparently got the best deals on the books he most desired. On this occasion, a book dealer friend took him to an estate book sale, run by a charitable group that often hosted these type of dispersals, to benefit a cause. The book seller and Dave went to preview the books being placed for sale, on the day before the event was to open. It was also the time when you had to get a number, as a patron of the sale. That's how regimented and well attended the events were. I don't know how they managed this, but they were able to get four or five reserve tickets, which would cover five individuals to get into the sale…..in sequence. The organizers, you see, would only let so many buyers in at one time. Other dealers were doing the same thing, and a few were getting as many as ten reservations. I'm not sure if they actually cost something, but possibly they did. So here's what happened on the morning of the sale.
When Dave and his book dealer friend arrived, there were quite a few people already lined up for the opening. They gave their numbers to the organizer, and slotted into place. Dave could see, as far as the numbers went, that there was a shortfall of bodies. It worked this way. If only ten or twenty people were admitted to the sale to start with, there may be only four or five buyers making up the first 20 numbers. This meant that despite the few number actually prepared to shop for old books, organizers went by the ticket numbers, and not the bodies present. What they believed mistakenly, was those absent would soon show up, once the door opened, and for the half hour allotted, these would be the only folks allowed in. But there were no bodies attached to the numbers. The dealers, to minimize the competition, applied and received extra numbers, to push competitors further back. So when Dave got in, during the first round, there were only a few actual buyers mucking about inside. Despite protests, it was on a number basis, bodies or not.
Dave didn't find many books he wanted, but was satisfied with a few natural histories from the early 1800's. He saw an interesting pile of books in a corner, and decided to have a look-see. As he was going through the first five or six books on the top of the pile, he saw the feet of another shopper, push toe-first in toward the book stack. "What are you doing with my books buddy," asked the gentleman attached to the feet below. "I'm just looking at them," answered Dave. "Is that a problem?" When he looked up to see who was addressing him, the chap was patting the side of his jacket, while glaring. "I'm sorry. I didn't know they were your books," Dave replied, backing slowly away from the corner stash. The man nodded his acceptance of Dave's ignorance, and soon began asking about what Dave had found at the sale. It didn't take too long, as was Dave's inherent talent, to win the guy over completely, and before the half hour was up, they had agreed to have lunch before he had to return to Canada. Dave told me, the reason the chap was hitting his coat, was to indicate that there was a side-arm underneath, should Dave have had plans to remove any books off the pile. He said that the dealer had just recently suffered a big loss of books, at a similar sale, when another buyer scoffed his entire pile of books he intended to purchase. So the weapon was going to be used as a persuader, you see, to encourage the next interloper to back off. Is it a true story? Seeing as Dave passed away more than a decade ago, I really can't prove it beyond reasonable doubt, just like the assertion he had once killed an angry dog, or that he could make people disappear. But as his biographer, I tried to cross reference as much as I could. I had to trust Dave's word on this one.
The reality is, that many rare books can fetch a king's ransom, that's for sure. The gentleman may well have lost ten or fifteen thousand dollars worth of books, to the competitor who claimed his book stash. The right books, on the right subjects, with potentially the most desirable autographs, can certainly help you buy a new car, a new house, and a really nice vacation. But these books are from special collections, wealthy estates, and are not by any means common finds on the thrift shop shelf. On occasion you can pick up a decent autograph, and a twenty dollar-plus out-of-print book, at a second hand venue. Just not often. Which explains why these estate book sales were so competitive that they required small arms protection. If there was a first edition "Alice in Wonderland," well, that would be worth a substantial wrestle, to come out on top. I haven't once felt the necessity to wrestle a single soul, for the treasures offered by the local second hand shops. Good finds are not the same as "money" finds, in situations like Dave experienced, south of the border.
There was only one occasion of this happening, when Suzanne, picked a hundred dollar book from the mountains of library cast-offs, during a fundraising sale here in Gravenhurst. She did it right in front of Dave and I. Well sir, Dave was not impressed by the rookie's big win. I tried to speak to her, eye to eye, something that would have sounded, if spoken, like "for God's sakes Suzanne, the man can make people disappear. Give him the damn book." Dave was moody this way, and told me he was going to head back to the city sooner than anticipated. He wished us good afternoon, took off to Birch Hollow to pick up his gear, and then headed home to Hamilton. Later that night, he phone Suzanne to offer an apology for his hasty retreat. Dave was the kind of bloke who didn't like to lose, at what ever project he was occupied. But he was the kind of tutor I needed, in the profession, because frankly, I was too much of a pacifist for my own good. Dave inspired me to be a bit more of a hustler, a little more of a trail blazer, and a lot more adventurous as an antique hunter, no matter what the circumstance.
How tough and determined was Dave Brown. Only days before his death, and knowing full well the reaper was close by, he left the hospital on a pass, to have dinner with a teacher friend. He insisted on going to a restaurant that happened to be close to one of this favorite book shops. He went in, and nodded to his chum, "you never know when you're going to find a good book." He did. He found one. Alas, he never finished reading it. But he benefitted a lot of book lovers in the end, who very much recognized, in earnest, the qualifications of this curmudgeon book hound.
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