Antique and Collectable Dealers Take Their Profession Seriously

ANTIQUE AND COLLECTABLE DEALERS TAKE THEIR PROFESSION SERIOUSLY -

AND IF WE HAVE TO USE OUR INVENTORY TO TEND NET, WELL, SO BE IT!

     One minute we might be trying to load Texas longhorns into the van, on top of the Victorian cupboard, sitting beside a military cot from the First World War, shortly after fastening down an old canoe with a wonky bow, mounted on the roof racks. Whenever someone asks me what I find so compelling about the antique trade, that I would pursue it over a lifetime, I get a little overwhelmed trying to put a big story into one or two sentences. It always turns out to be an hour spiel about the relics of history and how much we want to own them.
     On one outing, I might be fortunate enough, to find a couple of old stamp albums full of postage, or a painting that has a second, better art piece, used as padding directly behind. We could also take advantage of a couple of square timbers, being given away at roadside, by a resident farmer; or find room for the retired and damaged church pew left over after a fundraising sale, or the huge copper kettle after the corn roast, that no one else wants to haul home. The quilt with the big hole in the middle, being sold for fifty cents, at the rummage sale is definitely coming home with us, because Suzanne, a sewing maniac, will have a plan for it down the road. I was once offered a wooden grave market with inscription, but Suzanne wouldn't give me the hundred bucks to complete the transaction. A child's coffin complete with window. Suzanne wouldn't give me the two hundred dollars to seal the deal. But I get more than I lose, and the variety is nothing short of incredible for general antique and collectable dealers like us. It's what enthralls all of us in this family business. Don't get me started on the old electric train set that we might never be able to part with, cause we're having so much fun running it around the track.

     You see, it's like this! I'm a follower and I offer no apology! Paul Rimstead, or as he was better known, "Rimmer," had a bigger impact on me, than just the clever opinions he hammered out on his typewriter, for a daily column; in those years of the 1970's and 1980's, when he worked at the fledgling Toronto Sun.
    Well beyond his accomplishments as a newspaper columnist, he inspired me, and quite a few other lowly newspaper types, looking to make their jobs a little less boring and predictable. During his heyday, he encouraged these bored, uninspired, open-mouthed, wide-eyed, green journalists, to promote themselves in their respective communities. Often, of course, in outlandish ways, to get public attention to their work. He was a master at raising public profile, and would dress up in top hat and tails himself, just to attend a Monopoly competition, or set up a tent and portable office, a couple of weeks early, to be the first one in line for a grand opening, like Toronto's Ontario Place to name one.
     Back in my own days with the weekly press, my columnist colleague, Brant Scott and I, copied the Paul Rimstead handbook, about how to raise eyebrows and muster a few bucks for a good cause. We got away with this wild promotional stuff, because it raised a lot of money for community groups. The publisher wasn't fussy about this kind of outreach for a traditionally conservative newspaper, but he liked the successes, and new readership, that came with trusting us. Most of our efforts were centered around The Herald-Gazette Rink Rat Hockey Team circa the 1980's. Back then, our public relations efforts went to support the Bracebridge Blades Precision Skating Teams, coached by good friend Harold Sher. We also gave money back to the Town of Bracebridge, to help fund a new ice resurfacing machine for the arena. The Rink Rats are still playing and hosting fundraisers, such as the Loveable Losers Hockey Tournament every March. Rimstead gave us a lot of tips on how to make the most of our dance with celebrity, as media personalities. So excuse me, because this is exactly what I'm up to at this moment. Taking advantage of some found objects and my ability to recall sports history; even my own, which was less than flourishing.
     If I get called-up to the big leagues, I want to at least look the part. I figure I could make it through the first five minutes, before collapsing under the weight of the equipment and the ice spray, raised from forwards sharply stopping in my crease. How fitting to my profession. I have that retro look, and by golly, it's true to my own hockey biography. Even the part about letting a lot of goals in and being called "Sieve." I've sent a message to the Toronto Maple Leafs, specifically coach Mike Babcock, to let him know, that if Johnny Bower doesn't want the job, I'm willing to take the position of "back-up to the back-up" goalie. Third string's a pretty good gig if you can get the work. It's true, the press might hammer Leaf management for bringing-up a goaltender who is sixty years of age, never once played in the National Hockey League, and whose only claim to fame, outside of being on a few minor league championship teams, was being named an Honorary Flying Father, the result of playing those Catholic rascals, in a benefit game, back in the early 1980's. The only other qualification would be a more literal situation, of having written a large portion of Roger Crozier's hockey biography, back in the mid 1990's. Roger, a former Detroit Red Wing All Star, told me, when I was working on his biography, (for a Muskoka Publications special issue), that I was considered an National Hockey League prospect when I was fourteen years old. "What the hell happened after that Ted," he asked, one day at lunch in Delaware, where he was working with MBNA (a major American bank), wondering why I left netminding after showing so much potential (I nearly choked when I heard this), to take-up writing about goalies instead.
     Looking at some vintage goalie equipment we purchased this morning, from a local second hand shop, I know why I got out of the netminding business. I was hurt a lot of the time, because of what the padding didn't cover, or protect adequately.
     In the past twenty-four hours as an antique dealer doing his due diligence, I've repaired a one hundred and fifty year old sideboard, done a few hours of archival work, researched and written a blog, fixed an old Monopoly game board, set up three book displays, moved three cupboards in the shop, stripped an 1860's wooden document box, to house a new book display case, and yes, I even found the time to don the goalie equipment we just purchased, from a local second hand shop. Well, first of all, I treated the leather with a tannery solution, before I strapped them onto my knobby knees. It's what I have always loved about our line of work. Diversity. Seeing as we seldom know ahead of time, except when we make appointments to see certain collections, what we are going to find out on the traditional hunt and gather adventures, we are always surprising ourselves with what we are able to purchase, to add to our shop inventory, or our permanent exhibits. Today, Andrew found a small but well preserved collection of goalie equipment, from the late 1950's, early 1960's. Man oh man, have they ever inspired flashbacks, to the days when I played net in both the Burlington and Bracebridge Minor Hockey systems. The photograph with today's blog shows the vintage equipment, all of which paralleled what I used way back when; which is also the reason I was hurt a lot of the time. The equipment goalies had to wear in those days, was designed more to stop rebounds, than to protect our bodies. The slapshot era evolved quickly, with the fascination for curved stick-blades, thanks to Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita of the Chicago Black Hawks, but the changes in goalie equipment evolved much more slowly. I had the welts to show just how inefficient the pads and gloves were, to steer away booming slapshots, some that would lodge the puck in the grill work of my backcatcher's mask so firmly, that the referee would have to bang-it-out by hitting it against the goalpost; a mask rescued from minor softball, that I was forced to wear, because there wasn't anything else available. There was another plastic style mask that left half my forehead exposed and most of my chin. I was glad for the full coverage of the backcatcher's mask, although it was hard to kept in on my head when play became rigorous. Backcatchers can flip it off fast to catch a fly ball, but a goalie has to stick with the mask despite the fact it often slid up and down and to the sides, during a scrum in the crease.
     I couldn't resist this morning, after we got back to the shop, trying on the goal pads first, and then the blocker and catching mitt. Made me feel like I could get back on the skates and put in three periods of play. I knew this was a ridiculous situation when I was exhausted, after wiping the pads and gloves down with a tannery treatment. The daydream as short as it was, made me feel pretty good. I got Suzanne to take a promotional photograph to go with my blog today, with the equipment we just purchased, which by the way was from Bolsover, Ontario. I even had my favorite books close by, including the biography of Johnny Bower and Foster Hewitt. The great thing about our profession, is that we get to play with our purchases first. And, even when it's for sale in the shop, and unsold at the moment we desire some daytime recreation, it's considered our fringe benefit. We take full advantage let me tell you, even running around the shop wearing a Canadian Pacific Railway Conductor's hat, a top hat if one of us happens to be feeling high and mighty, and a pith helmet if we feel adventurous and wish to do some exploring around here. Maybe you've seen both films about staying "overnight at the museum". It's a lot of fun having a chance to interact with inventory as if it is our personal toy room. It's a perk of the business, but sometimes, it promotes daydreams during working hours, and I'm sure our customers wonder why we get pretty silly by late afternoon. When I worked with the weekly press, I used to leave work hateful and suffering from heartburn. At the end of the business day, Suzanne and I often stick around to enjoy our collection more fully. Suzanne likes to fire-up her old sewing machines, and might decided to stay an hour or two later, to switch her machines, and play with one she hasn't worked on for awhile. For me, well, I might just strap on the goalie pads, and don the gloves, and put on an old Hockey Night In Canada record, and relive the play by play of Foster Hewitt. The only way I'll get hurt this way, is tripping over an ottoman, or pile of records in the back shop.
     There are a lot of folks out there, who think being an antique dealer is pretty dull stuff. I beg to differ. Just look at me. Ready to tend the pipes if needed. But as Suzanne pointed out, I look like the Armchair Critic I've always been. Actually, she was a fan of my second newspaper column, "From the Bleachers." Truth is, being injury prone in sports, being in the Bleachers, or in this case, the Armchair, keeps me out of the hospital.