Dog Eat Dog Profession, Used Book Dealers

BY DEFINITION IN A DEMANDING, DOG EAT DOG PROFESSION, WE ARE BUT SIMPLE COUNTRY, RUN-OF-THE-MILL, USED BOOK DEALERS

WE WON'T COMPLAIN ABOUT BEING THE BASEMENT DWELLERS OF THIS HISTORIC, AND SCHOLARLY PURSUIT OF THE WORLD'S OLDEST BOOKS

     A friend and regular reader of this blog, patted me on the back one day, a few months back, and said, "You know Ted, you should really write a book about your exploits as an antique dealer. A sort of trade book of 'believe it or not' episodes. It might make a perfect television sitcom". For a moment I was flattered, and was about to respond, in kind, until he added, "you know, about all the things, not to do as a successful dealer." It was one of those moments when your soul shrugs at the same time as your physical self, and you begin, at the same time, to shrink down into your winter boots, feeling both embarrassed and humbled by the anti-compliment. Writing a book about my misadventures would be kind of humorous, I suppose, because it has been, most definitely, full of folly and anecdote, which I've worn like a badge of honor for all these years. The only time I get serious about anything these days, other than having fun, is when I'm debating local governance protocols with town hall. I like our business too much to get too serious about it; other than what the accountant tells us about upping our performance, in sales, to balance what we spend to make it better.
     Possibly, but without apology, I might dwell on my book mentor friend, Dave Brown, more than I should. After all, the man has been dead a long time; since before the turn of this present century in fact. I should have another mentor by now, or confess that I no longer need a mentor at all. Or even a side-kick! With Dave Brown I had a kindred spirit, side kick, teacher, who understood my own capabilities as a genuine, all Canadian scrounger. As I was inspired and motivated by him way back when, I'm still very much influenced by his legacy, in the area of old book hunting, but in the contemporary sense of course. It takes a scrounger to know a scrounger. Read on!
     Dave Brown looked as if he had just jumped off a box car, part of the passing afternoon freight train. Suzanne, my darling bride, suggests that on most days, I look the same, and if I had a bindle-stiff over my shoulder, they'd let me into the local hobo jungle without any secret signs being exchanged. Except what kind of hobo have you ever known, or seen, who wears a Titleist golf hat? I dress comfortable, and so did Dave, and when he and I went book hunting together, dealers and sale vendors thought we were hobos, and gave us things for free (even the coffee); thinking we were down on our luck. Hey, whatever works for you, right? Dave was a highly intelligent chap, and he loved it, when someone hosting a sale, or a shop owner, would treat him as an inferior because of his appearance. Big mistake. Dave was a horse-trader but not with livestock. He could fleece an antique shop dealer without any dishonesty whatsoever; initiated by a vendor's assumption, that to be dressed poorly, meant you must also be the village idiot. They'd give Dave any deal he wanted, just so he'd leave their shop, or sale.
    I studied that man as if my future depended on knowing everything about him, and his craft, of getting people to feel sorry for him. You know, he worked it so well, that I don't think he ever paid for a single vacation in the latter years of his life, because he was so capable of wangling free meals, lodging, and any antiques the homeowner was prepared to give him; even to the point of loading up the back of his Ford half-ton truck, while Dave was still eating breakfast. He was a master at making friends quickly, and becoming a mainstay for years after, if he happened to be travelling in the same area and needed a place to crash. For Suzanne and I, it's how we met Dave, under the most casual circumstances at our former shop, and how we stayed friends for long and long, and indeed, how I began my apprenticeship on the cheap, with one of the most clever book collectors I have ever met.
     Suzanne killed a spider scooting across her kitchen floor. My book collector friend, Dave Brown, was having his bacon and eggs at the kitchen table, and chastised her for killing the hairy little beast, that he claimed, did more good in the household than harm. He was an authority on these wee critters, as a highly accomplished Outdoor Education teacher and, not to forget, a well known Ontario summer camp instructor. "I don't care Dave, I don't want spiders in my kitchen," she replied, while scooping up its few fragmented remains off the tile. I knew we were about to hear a story about spiders, because Dave loved to talk about nature, when he wasn't telling tales about his adventures in quest of old books.
     Knowing that I had about twenty thousand books of my own, at Birch Hollow, (more or less at times), he began explaining to Suzanne how important spiders of this variety (which she had just flattened), were to general insect control throughout the house. He knew that the spiders he protected in his own house, would eat a wide variety of indoor insects that could cause damage to paper items, even old books and the heritage paper he had stacked to the ceiling. We understood the part about spiders catching their prey in elaborate webs, but never really thought about their hunting ambitions throughout the house. It made sense, but we just never thought that our books were in danger from predator insects. "I don't care Dave, I don't like spiders, especially here in my kitchen where I'm cooking," she added, before sitting at the table, next to Dave, who had started to laugh. "You're scared of them (spiders) aren't you," he asked. "Yes I am, but I'm not scared of you, so watch it," as she raised a serving fork, warning him gently that he wasn't going to force her to like spiders in the house; no matter what the argument. "I'd understand removing a dangerous creature that could cause grief, but these are not Black Widow spiders that could injure you; and even if you found one that did bite, it wouldn't add up to anything more than a pimple-sized mark." "Dave," she said, menacing once again with the fork, "eat your breakfast and let me get along with the spiders in my own way." Dave was perceptive enough to take another big helping of home fries, when she offered, and two more strips of bacon from the platter. "We've all got to get along on this planet," he said, returning to the pleasurable task of cleaning his plate.
     Dave was not a model book collector, although he was a damn fine book hunter and buyer. Dave, like me, was a lot less concerned about financial investment in old books, and more consumed by the information contained within. It was the reason he stayed away from works of fiction, although it is known, he was a big fan of the animal stories for children, written by Thornton Burgess. He bought books for content, and was much less concerned about the condition of the texts. He stored them this way as well, and did very much count on spiders to help keep harmful insects at bay. But he didn't place his precious texts in the kind of secure environment that they deserved, to protect them from the variables of household climate; being the fluctuations of humidity levels which can destroy paper faster than insects can eat it! Much of the time, I also buy books for content, because my specialty is regional history, and often, it's better to have a title in poor condition, than no book at all. I have sold thousands of compromised books, because of what they contained, in important content; they weren't being purchased as investment books, but as heritage resources that provided the needed hard copy to serve the purpose. On the rebound however, Dave's books didn't sell at auction, for what they might have, if they had all been in excellent condition; which was the case for at least part of his collection, when they were originally acquired by Mr. Brown. When you store books improperly, such as stacking them like I was famous for, or jam them too tightly into a shelf space, you can damage the integrity of the spine and boards, and cause the book to appear off centre, or askew, from what it should look like. Dave was a bibliomaniac moreso than an antiquarian book collector. He was an historian more than he was an old book lover, and his resources were in active use; when he could find what he was looking for, in a bungalow stuffed with over a hundred thousand books. He made compromises and it did cost him in book valuation down the pike, but by that point, he was pushing up daisies; he would approve of that reference as he was a realist when it came to death and transition. There were books that were ruined as well, because of Dave's lack of due diligence, as far as looking after his collection, and pretty much leaving the entire responsibility of safe-keeping up to the resident spiders.
     Dave Brown was a book scrounger by absolute definition. I was a born scrounger, who began hustling stuff in our Burlington neighborhood when I was five years of age. Apparently I was pretty good at it, because my mother had a full time job vetting my room of all the relics I hauled home from my many neighborhood adventures. Once I began going to Burlington Public School, five days each week, gosh, I could fill my room up in a month with found objects I felt were unique and potentially valuable. I often wonder, if my parents thought their child had been switched at birth, because I was so different than any of my family members on either side, going back generations. I did have an ancestor on the Jackson side of our family tree, who, in the mid 1800's, used to speculate on resources harvested from the tropics, possibly some liquid in the form of demon rum, and there were rumours he was a schooner savy adventurer who did pretty well for himself. He was kin to a kindly, sedate Minister of a Church near Liverpool, in England. It was on my grandmother's side, being the Vandervoort's, of New York, that most of the best of family lore is embedded. When I found out about these folks it made me feel a little more connected, and even if one of my kinfolk had been a privateer, I would have felt somewhat more validated, for all the hustling I've done in a lifetime, to maintains myself in the antique profession in one form or another.
     What I'm trying to explain, with far too many words already, is that I am not now, nor have I ever been, a book investor, being so knowledgable about rare and antique books, that I would be entitled membership into a society of old book dealers and collectors. Yes, I hunt, buy and sell what are by definition old books. Some are used, and only a few years old. I make exceptions for book condition, just so that I can acquire a copy, and benefit from the information within, despite the fact it may be in a sub-poor state with an almost non-existant cover. I don't make a habit of hob-knobbing with collectors of rare and antiquarian books, and if I was in the line-up to attend one of their gala events, I would be handed the keys to cars, in order that I might park them like a good valet should. I don't look like an antiquarian book dealer, or collector, and I certainly don't appear in any way, the kind of fellow who would own a ten thousand dollar first edition of anything. It doesn't mean I couldn't find a ten thousand dollar book, just that I wouldn't be able to afford the insurance to keep it in my house. If you have antiquarian books, that are worth big bucks, you need the climate and moisture control in your abode, and have proper cabinets and shelving to protect them from any contamination; even from spider poop. And yes special insurance in case they were stolen or damaged in a fire or flood. No,if I found an exceedingly valuable book, I would look through it, read it, hold it next to my heart, and then sell it as quickly as possible, because keeping it would make me nervous. I am the same with art and significant antique pieces. I would like a "selfy" with it, but honestly, the money would suit us better.
     On the plus side, I just enjoy being a humble, low-key book seller, even to the extent of offering "used" books, which to antiquarian dealers and collectors, would make our inventory nothing more than a pond to fish in; versus a colleague to share information with, as a kindred spirit and associate. I have never aspired to be this accomplished, and while it might seem as if I have kept my sights on mediocrity as being an adequate pinnacle of my own success, the truth is much less dramatic. I love old things, and I like being surrounded by what other people, in previous generations, enjoyed and benefitted from, and truthfully, antiques don't have to be valuable to be unique, or of immense interest to the new possessor. Dave Brown validated my efforts as an antique and book scrounger, never once making me feel a lesser professional in the field, because I didn't have a big wad of bills in my pocket, to buy whatever I wanted without the burden of consequence; of having a family needing food, clothing and shelter. Simply put, I could be an antique dealer and old book collector / seller, when the budget prevailed upon me, a few extra coins each week. And I have no regrets that I have lived and worked as a scrounger for all these years, and in the model of my mentor Dave Brown, who was the kind of character Charles Dickens might have written into one of his books. "Oliver Twist" perhaps, or "The Old Curiosity Shop." Had he known him, that is! But it's what drew us together. We both had to work on the cheap because we operated on small budgets. Dave was a horse trader like actor Will Rogers, and he always looked as if he was down on his luck. But he used it to his advantage.
     Dave used to wash his clothes while still on his body. If he was at the lake, camping, this is exactly what he would do! The all-in-one laundry load. The he would drip-dry in the sun. So when he entered your shop, he smelled a little musty, and he shoes made a sloshing noise, leaving water marks when he moved along the book shelf. He looked like he had just left the hobo jungle and he smelled bad; often like sour woodsmoke, if he had been camping. Now, when he was teaching with the Hamilton School Board, he had better clothes and smelled a little less like the great outdoors. I've even seen photographs of Dave in a suit for a special Board function. But as a book buyer and auction goer, he certainly didn't impress anybody with his general deportment; although in his home region, most of the collectors knew him well, and respected his eccentricities. He knew his stuff, and they watched him like a hawk, because, even though he didn't know it at the time, he was mentoring more folks than just me. Collectors watch other collectors, and when they ask them questions, they pay attention to the advice given. Dave didn't realize I was his student until the last few days of his life, when he finally admitted to Suzanne, in a phone conversation, that he hoped his influences had rubbed off "on Ted," chuckling at the same time; it was thusly acknowledged that all the questions I had asked during the years of our friendship, had been to hone my skills as a better hunter / gatherer. And in this regard, Dave was legendary, and although many rare book shops didn't like to see Mr. Brown sluff his way into their shops, his wealth of knowledge alone, made him a VIP customer; and if he wanted a book, for his collection, he would finance it, even if it meant re-mortgaging his house.
     It is known of Dave Brown, that he had many friends in the old books shops of Chicago and New York, where he often travelled with friends, who were more interested in attending ball games than book hunting. He used to tell me about these curious book dealers, and how much he knew about their lives and work previous to owning old book shops. I loved hearing his adventure stories as they related to the hunt and gather of old books. He made it all seem so much more exciting, when it had something to do with his adventures in bookland; even his misadventures were epic.
     Dave had a strict policy of never announcing to vendors or sale hosts, that he was a book collector. He knew this would set off alarms, and the valuations of books he wanted would go up, if they knew he was a pro; and not just a homeless person with a reading compulsion. Outside of writing this blog, and assorted pieces for the media, (including our business facebook page), I don't make a habit of telling vendors that I am a book collector, let alone book dealer, for roughly the same reason that Dave liked to fly under the radar. I don't want to make any dealer nervous, while I look through their book shelves, because inevitably, they will assume that if I buy one, I will be making a huge score at their disadvantage. I've actually watched antique vendors, remove certain books from their booths and shop tables, when they have seen me coming into the shop or mall. If they know I am a book specialist, in advance, all they can think about, is that I will find a big ticket book, that they have priced way to low, and flip it for ten times more in my own shop. I also will get asked to appraise books for other vendors, which I am reluctant to do, because it sets a precedent for all my future dealings with this dealer.
     Like Dave, both Suzanne and I love scrounging about the countryside, and it is more like recreation than actual work. I mean, we are both supposed to be retired now, like Dave was for those few years when we really got to know him. We might be considered sharks ever-lurking to snap up deals, but it's not like this is something new. I was making shark attacks in the second hand market, when I was a snotty nosed kid, making the neighborhood rounds; it's how I got an Easy Bake Oven on the cheap, trading the owner something I found for something I wanted. Suzanne, on the other hand, is just plain frugal and hates to draw attention; which works perfect, considering I don't look like someone you should ask for an autograph.
     Dave Brown refined the scrounger-me, and validated my efforts of being resourceful to get more of what I wanted. Seeing as I didn't have the money to be a big shot at sales, or blow the wad, as they say, at auctions, it's true that on more than one occasion, I benefitted from auctioneers who begged me to help take some of the leftover pieces off their hands. Like boxes of books for example. Dave was doing the same thing, but in the Hamilton area of the province. Coming together as we did, the summer day in the early 1990's, when I found him hanging out of the trunk of my car, at our Bracebridge shop, looking through the boxes of books I was I was in the process of moving inside. Suzanne had given him permission to have a browse, and by golly, it was quite a sight, of him, and his fat, hairy legs protruding from the trunk, as if an animal was eating him head first. There was no ballet involved, when we were hustling books. Please join me tomorrow for another adventure in old book hunting.