The Strange, Strange Stories Beyond The Story

PART TWO

THE STRANGE, STRANGE STORIES BEYOND THE STORY, OF BUYING AND SELLING ANTIQUES

THE ALCHEMY OF THE MAIN STREET SHOP

     When we get to within a few minutes of opening our shop each morning, while looking out at the few people waiting to get inside, we jointly ponder as a business family, a tad nervously, what we'll be challenged with first-off in the succession of always intriguing events thereafter through the work day and beyond. It's more than a little daunting at times, because we are frequently met by situations that are difficult, if not impossible to prepare for, and usually too complicated to resolve even over the long term. You probably wouldn't think an antique and vintage music shop would have to deal with such complicated and intimate issues, and precarious proposals, brought to us by either angry or stressed-out customers, needing immediate resolutions. Needing money more than anything else is a sort of mainstay event on their part, often to our general disadvantage. We get alot of individuals trying to sell us materials for more than we would actually sell them for on the shop floor. They will, if you can fathom this, tell us in no uncertain terms, that we are going to buy the items from them, case closed. We get a few nasty comments in return, for our refusal to play-ball as they say. We've become pretty good at saying "no" to these sellers, but you never get used to be called down, with colorful language, for performing our business due diligence.
     "One of the great problems of our commercial beginnings was the construction of an outside display stand for the secondhand sale. This operation required our presence for more than five minutes, during which we were exposed the looks of passersby; we had to carry out trestles, the case, then the books and the reviews which were old things that had come for the most part from family libraries. The first time that we made that display we were aroused to the point of anxiety, and when the last pile had been arranged, we escaped hurriedly into the back room of the shop, just as if we had played a bad trick on the passersby; we looked through a gap in the curtain at what was for us an extraordinary spectacle, the formation of a little group in front of the books; the faces that appeared behind the shop window sometimes made us burst out laughing, sometimes shiver with apprehension; if those people were to come in, address words to us! And here was an old lady who took a volume from the display and prepared herself to accomplish that grave act of becoming our first purchaser; one of us decided to emerge from the back room and stammered a ceremonious good day to the lady, who, with a very natural manner, showed what she had chosen - it was Henry Greville's 'L'Avenir d' Aline (The Future of Aline), marked at seventy-five centimes; she had the kindness not to haggle; if she had haggled the situation would have become painful; we would have been torn between the temptation to give her the volume, so that the deal might be more quietly settled and the duty of maintaining our really very modest price to show her that we were serious booksellers who did not charge too much. It was necessary all the same to wrap the book, tie it up with string, take the money, give change out of a franc, thank effusively. That old lady at last perceived the extraordinary emotion that she was provoking; she went away more troubled than she wished to let it appear and did not come back."
     The passage above was taken from the memoirs entitled "The Very Rich Hours of Adrienne Monnier," who operated the legendary Paris book shop, known as "La Maison des Amis des Livres," which of course was across the road from "Shakespeare and Company", owned by American bookseller, Sylvia Beach. Those two important Paris book shops, went on past their opening jitters, to host some of the finest writers of the time, during the literary and artisitic boom years between the First and Second World Wars. If there is any model to aspire to, it is the book culture Sylvia Beach and Adrienne Monnier cultivated on that storied street, Rue de l'Odeon.
     The antique and collectable business, especially on the "mom and pop" level, of more intimate retail operation, which is all I knew during my apprenticeship in the profession in the 1970's, has a strange parallel to the role of a barkeep in a tavern. You can't be in the public's face for long, before an antique shop clerk becomes well acquainted with customers. When you're dealing with materials that have belonged to a succession of owners, down through history, it means death and the settling of estates has had a lot to do with the inventory you're trying to sell. It often puts us in a strange personal relationship with individuals and family history, if, in fact, we are in discussions with a customer about purchasing antiques owned by their now deceased family member. If we have to make a home visit, as you can imagine from you own dealings with such issues, the aura of sadness usually prevails and makes the negotiations rather painful for both sides of the equation. It gets worse if it is a forced sell-off, such as with an estate where there are many family members as beneficiaries of money raised. I hate these situations with a passion, as our own family had to deal with a forced auction to settle my father-in-law's estate, in the early part of the new century. You have to watch as others buy your family heirlooms, and at the time, we didn't have enough money to get everything we wanted, and that made us mad for years after. So we understand what kind of emotional stresses occur in such cases, but it doesn't make them any easier to deal with on site, while tears are flowing and anger welling-up.
     Over the counter we get a lot of stories, and pretty much confessionals, about missed opportunities, family hardships, break-ups, love-lost, the dearly departed, and so much more, that goes well beyond what an antique shop clerk's job should be, under perfect circumstances. Well sir, this is the pivotal point. When it comes to heirloom pieces, and emotional values, there is no way to prepare in advance, for what the very next story, sad as it may be, will represent to us in a business day. We have to be part time therapists, soothsayers, and crisis managers, just to navigate the truly precarious cases, where we suspect a customer is having a melt-down at our counter, about having to sell their family heirlooms for a variety of reasons. We've had many of these sellers in tears, handing over pieces we've negotiated to buy, and on these occasions, it's true! We'd like to be in any other business than this. The one we hate the most is when someone has to sell off an important piece, with considerable history attached, because they need the money. We get a lot of folks treating us as a pawn shop, wanting a temporary loan in return for possession of some item of perceived value. Either way, it sucks to be us, because frankly, we can't possibly give these people the money they're hoping for, to get them out of a jam. I've written about this in dozens of editorial pieces before, so there's not need to repeat these stories, but suffice to say, you never, ever get used to the emotional roller-coaster of being an antique shop clerk; when it comes to being approached by those who have no choice but to liquidate what, in some cases, belonged to their great-grandparents. But it's still the character of our business, to have to deal with such unfortunate situations. There are many transactions that are positive and contenting to both buyer and seller, but when economic times are difficult, as they are now for many citizens, the average seller these days is doing so under duress.
     Now add to this, the very real fact, that a small but significant number of sellers, when asked about the provenance of pieces they're offering us, can't offer anything to validate why they have the items in their possession. You wouldn't believe the tall, tall tales we hear, when these questions of ownership are asked, and sometimes repeatedly in a short conversation. We dispatch a half dozen of these folks just about every week, on an average, because they are trying to fundraise from the sale of stolen property. The greater the social problems in a community, the more adverse the local economy, means a greater frequency of these patrons, with a plethora of watches, jewellry, and sometimes, musical instruments. Mostly guitars. When a seller with a guitar shows up, who can't play a chord, or explain where it was acquired, we quickly reject the offer to purchase, and send them on their way. We often get information about such stolen materials, and we react accordingly to report the most recent event across the counter.
     Most of our customers would have no idea about some of the adversity antique shop owners face, day to day, in order to keep up a saleable inventory of quality pieces, while at the same time, selling them successfully to happy patrons thrilled to get an item, big or small, that has, to that point, evaded them. But in order to build such an inventory, there are many obstacles to overcome, and chasms to bridge-over, and even when we feel that we've met the challenge, there's always the residual crappy feeling we have to live with, that someone had to die to free-up several hundred collectable pieces; or that a financial shortfall forced a customer to part with an heirloom, left to them by a family member for future safe-keeping. It's not always the way we acquire antique pieces, because we shop at many locations around the region, where there are no stories attached, and no encumbrances to get us emotionally worked-up. Yes, this is a preferred way to secure stock for the shop. Although we do attach a lot of importance to having provenance with the pieces we acquire, and there is really no better way to achieve this, than to buy off the people who know a piece's history best.
      We don't object to chatting with our customers, even when it is casual, and has nothing at all to do with acquisition, or even an imminent sale. We talk history here with great enthusiasm. But like the stories heard by the barkeep, we do hear some heartbreaking stories, especially when a customer talks about everything from house fires, when their heirloom pieces were destroyed, to the loss from severe storms, to marital splits, where assets including antiques had to be divided as part of the respective settlement. I've had an elderly friend of ours, who used to come in at least once a week, break down in tears every time he saw something in the shop that reminded him of his mother. He never mentioned his father, but by golly, he sure had fond memories of his mother. Put yourself in our position, and consider the best reaction to deal with such visible emotion, caused by the very articles from which we make a living. This kind of reaction happens more than you would imagine. History brings back memories, and a large portion of that rekindling has a very sad impact on the heart. We sometimes well-up with tears at the same time, simply because we feel sorry for the individual, who might have just told us about the recent passing of a loved one. I think these folks believe that to be in our profession, which is a sort of next step after the undertaker's work is complete; the dispersal of the good old stuff that they remember from childhood. Geez, it makes us feel terrible that the aura of our shop evokes such adverse reactions with some of our clientele.
     Being sympathetic is the only way to operate a business such as ours; being sensitive to the emotional upheaval many of our customers experience, having to part with cherished pieces for any number of reasons. One antique dealer I knew, callously referred to this as "benefitting handsomely from the misery of others." It is true we benefit, but the misery is shared, let me tell you. But if we stopped participating in these transitions, obviously we'd have a lot less to sell, and much less profit to deposit in the bank. So no matter how difficult it can get, we do provide some elementary services to folks in this situation, of having to reduce their possessions. It means we have to be patient listeners, and confidants always. I think that if we ever find ourselves becoming indifferent to these circumstances, we will know it is time to close-up shop and find something else to do with our spare time.