It's All About History When It Comes Down To It!

ONE PROFESSION HAS FUELED THE OTHER TWO, AND IT'S ALL ABOUT HISTORY WHEN IT COMES DOWN TO IT!

     Who are antique dealers anyway? What makes them special guardians of our heirloom articles? Are we the kind of characters at our task, as might have been penned for fiction by Charles Dickens or Washington Irving? In my day, of initial apprenticeship, the answer would have been a resounding "yes," because most of the mom and pop stores I visited, were the sanctuaries of eccentricities with an atmosphere of history and legacy; such that a tadpole like me would have been abundantly fortunate to have been chosen as a worthy candidate for an apprenticeship. Many were scholars in antiques, no doubt about it, and it took many visits to these hole-in-the-wall dens of antiquity, to be accepted as a student of the lifestyle. Just so you know, being a truly successful antique dealer demands it as a lifestyle, not solely a day time business. You marry the profession, quite simply, and I recited by oath of allegiance before I was twenty. Yes, I suppose, I might also be considered as having a Dickensian character, but Suzanne refers to me as the very image of "Old Joe," the author's choice as the second hand dealer in his book, "A Christmas Carol." I'm okay with that reference.
     Along with this however, comes a few eccentricities that some people find quite annoying. Other dealers of tenure understand our quirks. Consider this small one as an example. We have a lot of heirloom and gift possessions that were given to our family as keepsakes and inheritance that we do not wish to sell. But, we do very much desire to share them with our patrons, because we are, by experience, former exhibit curators at the Bracebridge Sports Hall of Fame and Woodchester Villa and Museum. We don't have hundreds of "display only" pieces, but maybe fifty or so, that include some preserved critters, like a fox and squirrel, and a small dinosaur bone kept in exhibit showcases. Andrew has some very old percussion equipment on a special shelf about five feet off the floor, and we have some vintage art and photographs that we have clearly identified as for display only. A lot of our customers are okay with this, and are thankful to have had the opportunity to view them. This pleases us, as it is a credit to not only our family but to the fine folks who have donated these pieces for display. But in the mix, we get quite a few individuals who will ask for a price on items clearly identified as being "not for sale." When we inform them that these items are not up for grabs, they will retort with great hubris, "Everything is for sale for a price!" Wrong thing to say to folks like us, especially the historian side of the business. This is when we walk away and get on with the business of the day.
     Just a few moments ago, a customer took down a vintage picture hung high on the wall, and brought it to the counter to enquire about the asking price. The "not for sale" sign was clearly posted on the top of the picture, and actually fell in a flutter as he lifted it down. He was insistent that he wanted to acquire the photograph, which was given to us as a gift by the way, and offered a considerable amount of money. The photograph has some age related problems, and in terms of valuation, it wouldn't be worth even half the amount offered. Suzanne refused the offer, based on the fact it was a gift, and the very obvious intrusion on our privilege to have display-only pieces in our shop. Son Robert just placed it back on the hook over the studio door where it has been since last Christmas season, when it was presented to us by our neighbor antique dealers. It's where it will remain until, that is, the next wise acre decides to test us on the theory that "everything is for sale for a price." Untrue. And this short story should prove this once and for all. We are a business after all, and money should tempt us, right? Well, we also have our privilege to over-rule a customer on this matter. In return we're called all kinds of nasty names, and told we'll be out of business in a few months, and "then we'll be able to buy these things at the auction you'll being having to fundraise." We let them know their right to an opinion on the matter, and move on with the work of the day.
     Maybe we are unique in this regard. We offer no apology however, and don't have any intention of changing our point of view on the issue of offering our customer items "on exhibition-only". There's no admission fee so it's bargain priced. This isn't to suggest that our family wouldn't consider a later period donation to a museum or archives, as we have done this in the past. On several occasions we didn't even get a thank-you note, but at least the public, in those communities where the museums were located, benefitted from our donation. At least we like to think so.
     My background is a tad unusual in this regard, and the items I am drawn to are usually of an historic characteristic; which does often put me in the precarious position of owning important ephemera, being documents and journals dating back as far as a century or greater. I use the material most of all, for the development of feature stories for the media outlets I've been connected, such as Curious; The Tourist Guide. I have a large archives at my beck and call, and considering the amount of writing I do on regional history, I can't afford to donate them at this time. I am very cautious about preservation of these materials as a former museum staffer, so there's no worry they will disintegrate in my custody. Suzanne was a school librarian as well, for the final years of her career, and handled a great deal of heritage paper work.  
     There was an opening segment to the Ray Bradbury Theatre shows on television, quite a few years back, that always reminded me, well, "of me!" It shows his desk and office, and all the neat things he had collected, and had on display, close beside his typewriter. A well known writer and specialist in the science fiction genre, he claims in the introduction, that he could never be without inspiration, or bored for that matter, being surrounded by all this clutter of interesting collectables. You should see my office clutter. It's also quite true, that I am seldom without the inspiration of these strange inanimate objects. Here's why this has always been important to me.
     It's been noted previously, that of my careers, I became a collector before I turned to writing as a profession. I became a regional historian quite by accident, largely because of my early association with the Bracebridge Historical Society, and then Woodchester Villa and Museum, of which I was one of the founding directors. When I became employed at around the same time, with Muskoka Publications, the oldest newspaper in South Muskoka at the time, I was provided access to a huge array of old newspapers and piles of Herald-Gazette produced histories which we sold over the front counter, at 27 Dominion Street. Coupled with this, was the fact, as editor, I had a huge volume of white space to fill in our newspaper each week, and the back editions of our papers, dating well back in the century, inspired me to work my way through them, on the weekends, finding all kinds of feature material for re-publication. It was like sitting on a community archives, in the former Herald-Gazette building, and there's not question, this was my humble researcher's beginning to a pretty long stint as a local historian.
     Thus, I had an antique shop at the same time as I assisted the creation of a community museum, being Woodchester Villa, and my employment there, gave me unlimited access to almost the entire history, in written form, of the District of Muskoka. I utilized every morsel of information, and the stories that were generated from the huge piles of old papers, filled thousands of pages over ten years of work, in the Herald-Gazette, The Muskoka Sun and the former Muskoka Advance. And as a result of this cultured exposure, I was then turned-on to the books turned out by The Herald-Gazette Press, and then of course, to any book with a Muskoka heritage theme and purpose. All these years later, I'm still collecting these books, but now it's for our Muskoka collectors, who cherish these titles as much as I have for all these years.
     There reason I offer this information, is to somewhat explain that my obsession with local history had an honest start, and it didn't come about due to some type of trauma, or childhood disappointment. Here's the thing, and it's a big one for me. I have never, except for an hour or more, suffered from writer's block. I always get a kick out of the scene from the movie "Funny Farm," with Chevy Chase, who plays a sports writer who abandons the city, for rural digs, in order to write a novel. He can't get past the title which is "The Big Heist." Something always comes up to distract him from the white paper rolled into his manual typewriter, on the desk in his writing room. Even the birds chirping upsets his creative balance, such that he throws coffee at the feathered interloper.
     On the other side, his wife, feeling rather dejected in their new rural neighborhood, buys a stuffed squirrel in a small antique shop in the community of Rosebud, and it becomes the main character in a children's book, which is accepted for publication by the same firm that had given her husband, the professional writer, a significant advance to write a novel. It comes down to the stuffed squirrel, she names Andy. It was a collectable purchase from an antique shop, that went on to star as the main character in a successful book for children. It represents about a thousand pages from my own story, because as it turns out, my inspiration to write has always had something or other to do with the stuff I have surrounded myself with, from about the age of six. Like Ray Bradbury, I have kept these small, strange sources of inspiration close to me, because they make me feel good. That's the long and short of it, and I can make money selling them off to collectors, when I've found replacement pieces; which is pretty much weekly in my profession. Would I be unable to write if I was without these creature comforts. Well, even on my office desk at the former Herald-Gazette, I had a plethora of objects important to me, and when I wrote from the loft of the former McGibbon House, on upper Manitoba Street, the attic space was jammed with articles destined for our store inventory, in the shop space on the first floor. I have never tested myself in this regard, and considering, like most writers I am fearful of writer's block, I make sure there's enough collectable material, that suits my interest, in place, all of the time. Even now, in the studio of the shop, I am surrounded by neat and storied things to look at, so yes, it means I will have a prolific day on this keyboard. If I have work to do at home, to finish a story, I've got even more to look at, in terms of paintings, spinning wheels, my oil lamp collection, and did I mention, Suzanne vintage sewing machines. I enjoy the look and operation of these old units as much as Suzanne enjoys working on them.
     So when I'd attend an auction, in the early going before opening my first shop, I'd haul the items home, and load them into my bedroom or workspace. In the evening, sitting a listening to the radio (my other calming tool), I'd pull down the old Smith-Corona manual, from the shelf, and spend a couple of hours writing short stories. When we opened our first antique shop, in Bracebridge, I had a back room as well, where I kept a portable typewriter, and a larger unit on a desk in the attic; by a wonderful window that looked down on the beautiful Norway Maples lining Memorial Park on Manitoba Street. Honestly, the former home of Dr. Peter McGibbon, back in the late 1970's, was a most incredible nurturing ground for antiques and writing. It was also the first meeting place of the soon-to-be formed Bracebridge Historical Society. When I feel the necessity to explain my background in antiques, writing, and local history, I really find it above-all, to credit the warm and inspirational background of Dr. McGibbon's fine homestead; that was most definitely haunted but in a most positive sense. I began working in three professions because of that early century home in the middle of the urban community. I've made sure ever since, to build somewhat the same environment wherever our family has come to live and work. It's when my background qualifications are challenged, and it's assumed that we just arrived in this community a few years ago, from the urban jungle, that I feel best keeping the peace, asking these folks to do an online search of my name; so much more expedient and thorough than me trying to explain it all verbally. If I put you to sleep via this story, I won't see you head tilt to the side, and eyes close. In person, I get to watch sleep overtake the listener, because it's not a very exciting tale. It's just a necessary backgrounder, and it does represent our credibility in the antique profession, at a time when competition locally is at an all time high. The bottom line here, is that I've earned my stripes as an apprentice for almost forty years. I'm still learning because our business demands this afterall. There's always something more to learn. Some of our contemporaries believe it is as simple as throwing out a shingle with "antiques" scribbled onto the surface, to qualify as an antique dealer. It just isn't that easy, and they find this out, unfortunately, when collectors and true antiquarians challenge the authenticity of their inventory. This happens a lot in our industry, making it necessary to know you stuff or face the consequences.