Dave Brown and I Shared An Interest In The Civil War; Old Books Made Us Feel As If We Had Time Traveled

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.

1869 Compendium of The Literary Magazine, "Bow Bells", The Book Dave Brown Wouldn't Have Purchased

1869 Compendium of the literary magazine "Bow Bells"

DAVE BROWN PART 2  - THE BOOKS HE WOULDN'T HAVE HUSTLED TO PURCHASE, I MOST DEFINITELY DESIRED

HOW DO BOOK COLLECTORS DECIDE WHAT'S HOT AND WHAT'S NOT?

     When my book hunting buddy, Dave Brown, passed away, I confess to feeling my relationship with the old book industry was also over. He was a brilliant man, and had meant a lot to my sense of well-being in a very precarious field of collecting. Few book collectors and dealers would disagree, about the degree of difficulty, becoming profitable and successful in this mine-laden profession. Dave was my guide through those early years, and like the parent who takes off the training wheels, from the bicycle, at least fifty percent of the time, a crash is likely to occur as a direct result. Of this, probably another half, crash their bikes because of a feeling of instant insecurity, and actually bring the bike to a sudden halt by their own actions; not the result of being unable to ride a two wheeler. Mind over matter stuff, but powerful none the less. Dave game me the security I craved, and validated my efforts, even if I wasn't making the big scores he was, at estate sales and auctions. I did eventually figure out, that I was still riding the bike on my own, without any major crashes. It just took the better part of the next year, to figure this out for myself. The training wheels were off. I had survived the post apprenticeship period.
     I really don't need to continue validating my respect, and sense of intimate kinship, with the late Miles David Brown. I was his biographer for gosh sakes. That's pretty intimate, wouldn't you say? And I can tell you, that researching and writing the book, put me even closer to the man I had to admit, at its conclusion, I hadn't known as well as I thought. It might seem to the readers of this blog, that Dave Brown was as close to me, in our heyday together, hustling books, as if he was a member of my own immediate family.
    There is something you need to know about collectors of almost anything, just in case you're not of our ilk. When we find a kindred spirit, a mentor, a confidant, it is most wise, to take full advantage of the opportunity to network, gain and infuse knowledge, as if a fountain that never ceases to flow no matter how cold or dry it might get. Dave Brown had been collecting books for most of his life. While he died in his sixties, he had tripled his years by jamming each day with three times more activities, accomplishments, and creative enterprise, than most of us could possibly undertake without collapsing from exhaustion. I knew early on, Dave Brown was never going to reach what we generally consider senior status. He was locked-in at fifty, and for the years I knew him, the only time I saw him age at a natural pace, was in the final year of his life. Then, it was a quick and obvious decline, but I was not allowed to know what was making him sick. Dave told Suzanne what was ailing him, and it was mortal, but not me, his future biographer. I suppose I did give the appearance of being the tag-along kid, looking up to a big brother figure, as being the key to my future. I was likely to take his death badly. I did. I won't mislead you. While I didn't make a dime writing and selling Dave's biography, which sold out and at least covered costs, what I learned from researching his book hunting stealth, and acquisition techniques, has given me a huge advantage out on the hustings, even when facing-off at an estate sale with other ardent, skilled collectors.
     As you will read in the companion blogs, that generated from the published biography, in 2000, Dave and his student, me, began playing off one another almost immediately. I was the Muskoka spotter, and it was my job to ferret-out sources of old books, and let him know, whenever there was an important sale upcoming in our locale, that would inspire him to come up from Hamilton to spend a weekend with us, at Birch Hollow in Gravenhurst. In this region, there were very few competitors for old books, at the time, and no one with Dave's capability to uncover the proverbial pots of gold; that most book owners, selling their collections, mistakenly under-recognize in terms of rarity and condition valuation. I didn't endorse some of his methods and I had some problems with the cunning he used to get what he wanted. Sometimes he used it on me, to weasel a book I may have purchased elsewhere, that he had a use for, or a friend looking for that title. The difference between us, was the fact Dave didn't buy in order to re-sell his finds. He was known to trade-up for other more desirable texts. He knew what other collectors desired, and he would use these books as bait, to secure histories of which he had particular affections. I was a book dealer at that point. Not a collector. My catchment area was relatively small, compared to Dave's, which was pretty much a two hundred mile radius from Downtown Hamilton. I couldn't afford to have my name, or our company, associated with anything that seemed we had conspired to get a lower price, at the owner's misfortune. I wouldn't get involved in any of his schemes to buy entire libraries or otherwise large collections, especially from estates, where executors were often vulnerable to the manipulations of experts, and those with big wads of cash in hand. Dave wasn't the guy to call to evaluate books. He didn't really care about market value. But he knew about how precious some books were, because of what information they held between their leather cover boards.
     Dave was an accomplished historian, but it wasn't what he taught at his Hamilton School. He was enormously well educated about natural heritage, and it worked well for him, as an outdoor education teacher. He was well known throughout the province, for his amazing Outdoor Education facility, abutting the Botanical Gardens, and as a mover and shaker for improvements in the program generally. I was a regional historian here in Muskoka, so let's just say, that our social get-togethers were about books and history, and Suzanne would often abandon us on the front verandah, until she would eventually poke her head out the door, to tell us she was heading to bed. The differences between us were fundamental. I couldn't afford to be a collector of books. I had to buy and then sell, to fulfill the mandate of the accountant, my wife, to enhance the cycle of the retail trade. No profit, no shop! Secondly, I got extra money's worth from the old books I did purchase, if they happened to contain information I could use as an historian; especially in write-ups for the local press, such as The Muskoka Sun, that was using huge amounts of my editorial copy every issue at that point. When I quoted from the book all that I needed, then it was presented to my book customers at our Bracebridge shop. I used them and then profited from them in monetary terms. Dave really didn't know that I was scanning the books for more than the obvious, face value, subject priorities, that appealed to our collector senses. Over the years, I became pretty good, at finding value in the books he decided not to purchase from these private sales; and he would even chastise me for buying what he saw as a bad investment. I used to ignore him, and buy a goodly percentage of what he brushed off, as being of much lesser significance to the collector-kind. What he didn't always grasp in the heat of the moment, the so-called pinnacle of the hunt, was that I was buying books based on what my customers at the shop were interested in, because that's what paid the bills, and put a few bucks in my pocket. He was just going to haul his books home, and stuff them into his already jam-packed Hamilton bungalow.     Dave had morphed into a bibliomaniac, who even took out a mortgage on his paid-off house, in order to satisfy his collecting urges. I knew this about Dave, and tried desperately to distance myself from the "mania" aspect of the hunt and gather of old books. I did slip in the years after his death, and began collecting way more than my capability of selling them. I would probably have only sold one book for every twenty I brought home. Nineteen of these were being kept for future posterity, and or future reference needs. I'm sure you can see what kind of disaster this could represent after five or so years of weekly purchases. Our house was in danger of sinking into the landscape, because of the excesses of a fellow out of control.
      An example of a book that Dave Brown would have rejected, was an 1869 compendium of literary magazines, known as "Bow Bits," seen in the graphics published above. This fair overall condition text, in large format, being "A Weekly Magazine of General Literature," begins with a colored black and white illustration of two ladies, above the caption, "Paris Fashions." The art work was created by E. Bracquot. The next page begins the collected journals, bound within, the first "BOW BELLS," being the issue of Wednesday, June 2nd, 1869. It was priced at "ONE PENNY."  The internationally recognized magazine, contained a quantity of stories which are all well illustrated by many internationally recognized artists. Dave Brown would have thought about other collectors he could have traded the book to, in exchange for something better, but most of his colleagues were fully into non-fiction. So to be hit in the face with a colored illustration of elegant French ladies, in current attire, would have made him close up the cover, and move on to the next book in the pile up for sale. But here's the thing! I always look for all the redeeming qualities of any book, whether it is the art work, the quality binding, the notoriety of the authors who penned the published pieces, (and if there are any first edition offerings by certain popular artists). Additionally, books like this, of many hundreds of pages, require page by page investigation. Dave had bad eyes but refused to wear glasses. He was eccentric in so many ways, it was a separate chapter in the book. He would not have expended the time, to even flip through the pages, because time was always of the essence to him, and he would have justified, that in the time it took to look closely at the subject text, he might have lost better and more historically rare books. At large book sales, this would be true. In Muskoka, the competition wasn't the same, when we attended sales together.
     In this book, are many smaller articles, of a non-fiction quality and quantity, that are highly significant to history hunters, including a particular account of a surveyor, in Western Canada, caught in the ugliness of a brutal winter climate in the early 1860's. There are hundreds of similar inclusions, about explorations and nature discoveries, based on successful expeditions, and much more, if one was to read a book as it is supposed to be consumed. Dave was a "scanner" of books, more so than a reader. He hated to be asked how many of the books he acquired, he planned to read; or how many of his 100,000 book collection, he had consumed as, a voracious reader. It's what one naturally thinks when watching one load fifty boxes full of books into the back of truck. At auctions, where he got most of his books, he had to field all kinds of similar questions, such as "Well, there's ten winters worth of reading in the back of that truck, wouldn't you say?" And, "Hey, are you going to build a house with all those books?" Dave would actually get insulted by comments like this, and turn his back disrespectfully, and carry on his enterprise, of piling boxes.
     Here now are a few more stories about my old book collecting buddy, who really did give me my start in book selling in earnest.

DAVE BROWN AND THE AUCTION COMPETITION - DAVE 1 HISTORICAL SOCIETY 0.

SOMETIMES AUCTIONS BRING OUT THE BEAST WITHIN

I WOULD HAVE PAID DAVE BROWN TO MENTOR ME IN THE FIELD OF ANTIQUES AND COLLECTING IN GENERAL. I WOULD HAVE OFFERED HIM FOLDING MONEY, LOTS OF IT, TO LET US KNOW HOW TO BE THE BEST BOOK COLLECTORS, THE MOST PROFICIENT ANTIQUE HUNTERS, THE MOST THOROUGH HISTORIANS, AND HOW WE COULD IMPROVE OUR ACQUISITION TECHNIQUES. I ADMIRED HIM THAT MUCH! IT WAS UNDERSTOOD, HOWEVER, THAT PAYMENT WAS ALWAYS THE SAME. A PLACE TO SLEEP ON TRAVELLING WEEKENDS, FOOD AND CONVERSATION. DESPITE WHAT DAVE MIGHT HAVE LED US TO BELIEVE TO THE CONTRARY, HE WAS OFTEN QUITE LONELY, AND JUST LOVED SOCIAL OCCASIONS TO TALK ABOUT LIFE AND TIMES. MOSTLY HIS. I DIDN'T MIND. THAT'S WHAT DINNER AND LODGING PAID FOR. ON MANY OCCASIONS I EXTENDED THE LENGTH OF DAY JUST TO GET ONE MORE HOUR OF CONVERSATION OUT OF DAVE, BECAUSE HIS STORIES WERE FABULOUS. AS HE MAY OR MAY NOT HAVE SAID…..I DIDN'T HEAR IT THOUGH, "NEVER LET FACT GET IN THE WAY OF A GOOD STORY." DAVE NEEDED US, AND WE CERTAINLY APPRECIATED HIS COMPANY. I'M PRETTY SURE HE KNEW I WAS STUDYING HIS STORIES, LIKE A UNIVERSITY STUDENT HANGING ONTO THE WORDS OF AN ECCENTRIC PROFESSOR…….NOT SURE WHAT IT ALL MEANS, BUT NOT TAKING ANY CHANCES; EVEN THE CRAZY STUFF, WILL PROBABLY FIT SOMEWHERE, SOMEHOW IN THE FINAL BIG PUZZLE OF THE "BIOGRAPHY."

DAVE BROWN DIDN'T WORRY TOO MUCH ABOUT MY FEELINGS. IF HE THOUGHT, AS A COLLECTOR, OR AN HISTORIAN, I WAS MISSING THE MARK, OR MISINFORMED, HE LET IT BE KNOWN. I GREW UP THROUGH THE MINOR SPORTS PROGRAMS IN THIS PROVINCE, AND I WAS PRETTY USED TO HOCKEY AND BASEBALL COACHES BERATING ME FOR SWINGING AT A BALL, AND LETTING IN A FLUKE……I WAS A GOALIE IN HOCKEY, AND THE COACH USED TO CALL ME "FUNNEL". I HAD SUGGESTED THIS, BECAUSE I DIDN'T WANT MY PARENTS HEARING HIM CALL ME "SIEVE," WHEN SCREAMING FROM THE BENCH. I WASN'T A BAD GOALIE OR A POOR BALL PLAYER, BUT WE ALL GOT YELLED AT BACK THEN, AS THERE WAS NO POLITICAL CORRECTNESS OR SENSITIVITY AWARENESS POLICIES. AS WITH MR. BROWN, HE CALLED IT THE WAY HE SAW IT. WITH ME, I HOPE HE THOUGHT I WAS A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH, BECAUSE HE REALLY SPENT A LOT OF TIME TRYING TO SHAPE ME UP FOR THE BIG LEAGUES OF COLLECTING. AS HE HAD APPOINTED ME HIS BIOGRAPHER, JUST BEFORE HE DIED, HE HAD A SERIOUS AND VESTED INTEREST, IN MY EDUCATION IN THE FIELD OF OLD BOOKS ETC. SO, WITHOUT FEELING THAT BEING PUT-DOWN BY THE EXPERT WAS A BAD THING, I LISTENED AND MADE COPIOUS NOTES ABOUT OUR DISCUSSIONS.

NOW, THIS DOES NOT MEAN I AGREED WITH HIS STRATEGIES, OR HIS METHODS, BECAUSE I DIDN'T. I STILL NEEDED TO KNOW ABOUT THEM, AND HOW I COULD CIRCUMVENT, TO HANDLE IT DIFFERENTLY, WITH MORE SENSITIVITY, AND ACHIEVE SOMEWHAT THE SAME RESULTS. IF YOU THINK THIS IS A LONG-WINDED INTRODUCTION TO THE STORY, BELIEVE ME IT IS REQUIRED. DAVE COULD TIP-TOE THE ETHICS BETWEEN HONESTY AND DISHONESTY LIKE A RAZOR-THIN TIGHT ROPE……AND NEVER LOSE HIS FOOTING…..BUT ALWAYS LEAVING THAT FAINT IMPRESSION SOMETHING WASN'T QUITE RIGHT. WHAT HE BELIEVED WAS ETHICAL, TO ME, WASN'T ALWAYS SO. FOR EXAMPLE, HE HATED HISTORICAL SOCIETIES…..NOT BECAUSE OF THE WORK THEY DID CONSERVING HERITAGE IN OUR COMMUNITIES, BUT BECAUSE THEY ATTRACTED, IN HIS MIND, A COLLECTION OF "KNOBS," AND "THE FRIENDS OF KNOBS." NOW WE HAD AN IMMEDIATE CONFLICT, SORT OF, BECAUSE I WAS THE FOUNDER OF ONE OF THESE ONTARIO REGIONAL HISTORICAL SOCIETIES. IN THE WINTER OF 1978 I SET ABOUT TO ESTABLISH THE BRACEBRIDGE HISTORICAL SOCIETY, AS THE FIRST STEP IN SAVING AN OCTAGONAL SHAPED HOME, IN TOWN, FOR A NEW COMMUNITY MUSEUM……WHICH ACTUALLY OCCURRED A FEW YEARS LATER. I WAS ONLY A SMALL COMPONENT OF THIS, AND A FUTURE PRESIDENT OF THE SOCIETY, BUT STILL IT PUT ME ON A COLLISION COURSE WITH DAVE, ESPECIALLY WHEN WE ARGUED ABOUT THE DIFFERENCE OF PRIVATE OWNERSHIP OF ARTIFACTS AND PAPER ARCHIVES, AND PUBLIC STEWARDSHIP. DAVE WAS FOR "PRIVATE IS BEST"……ON LOAN, WORKS FOR EVERYONE.  HE WAS PRETTY SURE OF HIMSELF, IN THIS REGARD, SO THE STORY I'M ABOUT TO RELATE WILL MAKE SOME SENSE.

IT WAS A REGULAR OCCURRENCE ON THE AUCTION CIRCUIT, IN SOUTHERN ONTARIO, THAT DAVE BROWN WOULD BE IN ATTENDANCE TO BID ON HISTORICALLY RELEVANT BOOKS AND ARTIFACTS, ALSO BEING THE CHOICE ITEMS OF THE LOCAL OR REGIONAL HISTORICAL SOCIETIES. THEY ALL KNEW DAVE. TO SAY THEY LOATHED THE MAN IS QUITE CORRECT, BUT GENERALLY, IN THE HEAT OF THE MOMENT, HE MOST DEFINITELY LOATHED THEM. THERE WERE A NUMBER OF PREVIOUS CONFLICTS DAVE USED TO TALK ABOUT, THAT TAINTED HIS OPINION OF CERTAIN MUSEUMS, AND THE CORRESPONDING HERITAGE SOCIETIES THAT OFTEN PROVIDED THEIR ADMINISTRATION. HE COULD GET ALONG WITH CURATORS AND SOME DIRECTORS, BUT WHEN IT WAS A FORCE AGAINST HIM AT AN AUCTION SALE, HE MADE IT A PERSONAL WAR TO OUT PLAY THEM.

THERE WAS A PARTICULAR AUCTION, TOWARD THE END OF HIS LIFE, WHERE THIS PLAYED OUT BEAUTIFULLY. I WOULD HAVE GLADLY PAID, TO HAVE SAT IN THE GALLERY, WATCHING THE PRE-AUCTION HUSTLING OF SOCIETY MEMBERS, AND DAVE BROWN, SCREWING WITH THE BOXES OF OLD BOOKS AS PART OF THE ESTATE SALE. SO HERE'S WHAT THE CONFLICT WAS OVER. OF ABOUT THIRTY OR MORE BOXES OF OLD AND SOME RARE BOOKS, THERE WERE SOME IMPORTANT REGIONAL HISTORIES SCATTERED OVER THE COLLECTION, STREWN ON A SECTION OF LAWN; BOOKS THAT WOULD BE SOLD OFF SOME TIME IN THE AFTERNOON. IT WAS A BIG SALE. WHAT ANGERED DAVE, WAS THAT THE "OLD FARTS" FROM THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY, WERE TAKING THE BOOKS THEY WANTED, AND BUILDING A "SUPER BOX," OF ALL THE ONES THEY WISHED TO PURCHASE THAT DAY. NOW WHAT THAT MEANT TO DAVE, WAS THAT THEY HAD JUST ENOUGH MONEY, TO MAKE A GOOD STAB AT WINNING THAT ONE BOX, WHICH WOULD CONTAIN POTENTIALLY THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS WORTH OF REGIONAL MATERIAL. HE DIDN'T WANT THE SOCIETY UNLOADING THEIR SPENDING LIMIT ON ONE BOX, BECAUSE HE WAS INHERENTLY FRUGAL…..CHEAP. VERY CHEAP. SO HE WOULD GO BACK, AND CHANGE ALL THE BOOKS THE SOCIETY HAD BROUGHT TO ONE BOX, BACK WHERE THEY ALL CAME FROM…..A RATHER PAINSTAKING TASK.

"OH THEY WERE WATCHING ME TED," HE SAID. "EVERY TIME I MOVED THE BOOKS BACK TO THE BOXES THEY HAD BEEN TAKEN FROM, ONE OF THE MEMBERS WOULD REVERSE IT BACK AGAIN, SO THEY COULD BID ON ONE BOX INSTEAD OF THE LOT." IN THEIR OPINION, DAVE WOULD HAVE HAD MORE CAPABILITY OF OUT-BIDDING THEM ON A BOX BY BOX BASIS, VERSUS HAVING ONE SUPER COLLECTION OF BOOKS IN ONE NEAT AND TIDY CONTAINER. DAVE WAS WAY AHEAD OF THEM, AND HE KEPT REVERSING THE BOOKS, EVERY TIME THEY'D MAKE THE CHANGES. "THEY WERE GETTING MAD," HE SAID. "WE MUST HAVE DONE THIS BACK AND FORTH THING FIVE OR SIX TIMES, BEFORE I FINALLY GOT FED UP AND WENT TO TALK TO THE AUCTIONEER." FOR THOSE WHO DON'T KNOW SOME OF THE PREVAILING AUCTION PROTOCOLS, THE AUCTIONEER COULD HAVE SOLD THE BOXES "ON CHOICE," WHICH IS DIFFERENT OF COURSE, THAN HOLDING THE BOXES UP INDIVIDUALLY, AND HIGHLIGHTING THE CONTENTS. THE SOCIETY WOULD NOT HAVE WANTED THIS TO HAPPEN, BECAUSE IT WOULD HAVE DRAWN MORE BIDDERS TO THE "SUPER BOX," AND THUSLY A MORE SIGNIFICANT BIDDING COMPETITION. THIS IS TIME CONSUMING. SO IT'S TO BE EXPECTED, THAT THE AUCTIONEER, WOULD SELL ON CHOICE, AND THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY WOULD KNOW EXACTLY WHAT BOX WAS "STACKED." THE FLY IN THE OINTMENT, SO TO SPEAK, WAS THE FACT DAVE WAS WATCHING CLOSELY, AND THE ELEMENT OF SURPRISE WAS NO LONGER A FACTOR IN THE SALE. DAVE MADE IT HIS BUSINESS TO WATCH THEM, EVEN IF HE STOOD AT THE BACK, AND LOOKED THROUGH THE ARMS AND LEGS OF THE CROWD IN FRONT.

WHEN THEY SAW THAT DAVE HAD LEFT THE SCENE OF THE "BOOK SWITCHING CAPER," THEY WENT TO WORK ONE LAST TIME, TO GET THEMSELVES ALL THE BOOKS THEY WANTED IN THAT ONE SPECIAL BOX. DAVE KNEW THEY WOULD. HE ALSO PREDICTED, THAT WHEN THE AUCTIONEER TOOK A COFFEE BREAK, SO WOULD THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY. AND HE WAS RIGHT.

SO HERE'S THE SCENE THE HISTORICAL SOCIETY MEMBERS GOT TO SEE UP CLOSE AND PERSONAL. MR. BROWN LOADING HIS RED PICK-UP TRUCK WITH ALL THE BOXES OF BOOKS THAT HAD BEEN PUT UP FOR AUCTION AT THAT ESTATE SALE. EVERY BOX, EVERY BOOK, EVERY HISTORIC PIECE OF PAPER, WAS INCLUDED IN THAT JOB-BLOT OF PRINT HERITAGE.

Well sir, what a scene that must have been. "What are you doing with those boxes," they demanded, of the portly little man, with dirty t-shirt and shorts….and really big running shoes. 'Well, I'm loading the books I just bought, onto my truck…..is that okay?" "What do you mean, your books," questioned the officials of the local heritage group…..most standing with stunned looks etched on their sunburnt faces. "Go and ask the auctioneer….I just purchased these books while you people were having coffee."

What was trademark David Brown, was that he had reached a point of frustration with the society members doctoring the boxes, and decided to call a favor of a friend….a long time buddy, the auctioneer, asking if he could please sell off the books as soon as possible, because he had to attend another event that day. Dave was a huge buyer of books at these auctions, and auctioneers knew he'd remove them all, leaving none behind at the end of the day. He was an asset to them. (They would otherwise have to deal with the left over items themselves). I've used this excuse about a dozen times in the past, and it has never failed to work as intended. They don't want to lose my cash contribution to the sale, so they are usually willing to bend if the audience approves. So the auctioneer agreed, told the audience in front, what the next auction lot would be, and without moving more than a few feet, started the bidding. He wasn't the only bidder, and it probably cost him quite a bit of money, but the boxes were not sold "on choice" as the society had hoped would be the case. So he got all thirty odd boxes, and the members of the historical society were left to "hiss" in unison, at the bad, bad, bad bibliophile who had, in their minds, pulled a fast one. If only it ended there.

Dave knew the books that were in that auction. There may have been thirty boxes of old books, but there were only about five exceptional texts, amongst what the society had wanted to purchase. One of the five was missing when he got home. I can imagine he let out a Homer Simpsonesque "doah!!!", when he realized it had been removed from the collection. In about a month's time, he made a point of going to the local museum that had been represented by the historical society, and when he went to look at their archives collection of regional books, he found the copy that had gone missing. He didn't accost them, didn't make a fuss, never called a cop, a lawyer, or had any kind of reaction to the folks who ran the museum. What it did, for him, was justify his actions at the auction, and made it a personal mantra thereafter, to have nothing to do with historical societies. All kind of crazy stuff, but this is not uncommon behavior amongst the vested interests, who attend auctions and estate sales. The auctioneer was doing what he was supposed to do……looking out for the client he was representing, and regarding customer service to be of the utmost importance. Just because the historical society was out of earshot, when the announcement of an order change was made, didn't mean there was any slight of protocol on his part. Dave played fair. He asked a question…..that in his mind was the same as a favor, and put the jockeying for position to rest. This was the way Dave acted for decades, to get what he wanted out on the antique hustings. He was a gentle man in most other ways, and a wonderful teacher to thousands of kids in Hamilton, but he was a champion at getting the big deals out there……and he outplayed many dealers and collectors with similar methodology.

There are those folks who go to auctions, and have no idea how rough it can get between competitors for important and valuable pieces. I've been with Dave at auctions, and he could lock-in like a heat seeking missile, when something of value was coming up. Friendship meant nothing at this point.

I confess to borrowing some of Dave's strategies for acquisition but I won't ever balance on the high wire……in that tippy-toe between honesty and dishonesty, because I don't ever take things that seriously, to wager a reputation on a box of old books. But none the less, I needed to see just how determined some collectors and dealers get out there, so that when I see them clench their teeth, while bidding against me, they're actually wishing I might vaporize, before I dare bid them up one more time.

It's hard to be a pacifist out there, and still come home with something for your efforts.

Collecting Books and Buying Books As A Seller A Profound Difference of Attitude

BACK ON THE TRAIL OF OLD AND COLLECTABLE BOOKS TO STOCK OUR SHOP

HUNTING AND GATHERING OLD BOOKS IS JUST AS NEAT AS WRITING ABOUT THEM - BUT A TAD ADDICTIVE


     A year ago, I wrote on this very blog site, that I was once again turning my attention to the hunt and gather of old books. This is like an alcoholic saying that casual imbibing now and again, won't tip-over the apple-cart. I like to think of my own exit from the unkind label, of "bibliomaniac," as having been profoundly successful. It was the reference Suzanne afforded me, one evening, at what she perceived, was the height of my excesses, catching me sneaking boxes of books through the back door, when I had, on my mother's life, sworn-off adding any more to the already stuffed homestead at Birch Hollow. I would clearly (crystal clear), realize, after this remark, that I had most definitely become a book hoarder. Very much like the fellow I would write a book about, at the turn of this century. I unburdened our marriage by getting rid of most of the books from our house. It would be a few years before I would even think about buying books at an auction, or attending a charity book sale, of which I haunted whenever, and wherever they were held in the region. We moved the balance of the books to our antique shop, and began selling them at a discount, just to continue the mission of lightening the burden of having way too many for our own good.
     Here's what happened next. We began selling books. Many, many books. Suzanne was continually impressed, by how many books of my remaining library, were selling every month. She started to bug me about returning to my former days of book scouting, and yes, it was a little like a loving spouse handing her mate a flask of scotch, and being prepared for the drunken episode to follow. Well sir, she had faith that I had seen the light, as if I had successfully communed with a guru, and could now handle being involved in the buying and selling of old books, without being tempted ever again, to horde them away in our house or business. Sort of like hiring a recovering alcoholic to run a bar, and not sampling the inventory. She had faith that I could still be a successful book hunter, and seller, without feeling the compulsive desire to stuff them into every nook and cranny at Birch Hollow. Admittedly, I had my doubts that I could go back into this collecting field, and not wind-up developing the same obsession, to buy large collections from estates, where I kept seventy-five percent for posterity, and only sold a quarter of them through the shop. If she was watching over me, to remind me of any unhealthy excesses, I felt confident about re-entering this addictive pursuit. Suzanne became my sponsor you might say, and so far, the first year back in the saddle has worked pretty well. I am incredibly fussy about the books I acquire, and instead of buying books that please me, I'm now being a responsible book shop operator, who wants to please customers first.
     I wrote the editorial copy a few weeks ago, as I began looking back at the past twelve months, of active book hunting, feeling that I had honestly kicked the bibliomania, and was successfully hunkered down in a sensible profession of "buying to sell," instead of "buying to hoard." I had carried my study of Dave Brown, my book collecting mentor, way too far, during the preparation of his biography. Here I was, writing about the follies of a man who had said goodbye to his wife, when she complained about his bibliomania, preferring to spend the balance of his life in the company of good books instead. Dave was a powerful influence on me, and whenever he stayed over at Birch Hollow, on his canoe trips north, we would talk until late into the evening, about our respective book conquests. I was enthralled to hear of his adventures, but after he died, I must have felt the need to carry-on where he left off. Even though I had written about his self-imposed loneliness, in return for the company of books, (a mountain of books), and wrote about his obsession that came to seriously limit his social life, I gradually became obsessive in my own way, and yes, it could have hurt my marriage. I just promised myself I'd cut back. Just like the fellow who over-drinks and then gets into a car to drive home. I was spending money we didn't have, and was buying boxes of books at auction that I would never actually read.
     I have come a long way from those days. I have a lot of checks and balances in the way, and that's a good thing. Dave Brown chose a life without a close companion, although he had many colleagues and associates in history and collecting, to spend his spare time visiting and book hunting all over Ontario, and in some of his favorite locations in Chicago and Washington; a place where he knew many rare book and old paper dealers. I am much more regional than Dave was, but then his collection was a lot broader in subject, and specialty, and much older generally than mine. He had a collection of period books on whaling, and very early books on nature and flora and fauna, of which he was a specialist as an outdoor educator. I trend continually toward regional histories, Muskoka especially, and both Canadian and American art when I can get it for the shop. He would buy any book about the logging industry, especially early books on the subject, and I am a sucker for farm machinery catalogues and anything post office related. Both of us, together, were the dynamic duo, and we could shred a collection for sale, from an estate, as if we were dining on the same cob. We were, I suppose you could say, book sharks working the same bit of sea, when he and I went shopping locally. I was the underling most of the time, learning from the master. Dave Brown could get a truck load of books, for a really, really good price, secure a night's lodging from the same person who sold the books, and get atleast two meals at the same residence. He was famous for this, and at the same time, making good friends all over the place. I have never run into any one, as his biographer, who hated selling Dave books. They may have felt they had been out-horse-traded, because Dave was a modern day Will Rogers, when it came to selling a nag, but getting a Derby winner in exchange. I studied the man closely, and although there were many of his traits I would never adopt myself, in business, it allowed me to see just how cunning buyers can be, with the right obsessions at play.
     Here now is a little of Dave Brown, for better or worse.



     I am a dealer of books. A bibliophile who also wants to share what he likes to read. And profiting from the books I find worthy of hauling home, is pretty good as well. I have been involved in the old book business since the early 1990's. At first it was the case, I needed inventory for our new storefront, on the main street of Bracebridge. I already owned a thousand or so books of all descriptions and provenance, and they looked real good on shelves that were otherwise a little bare. In our area of the province, there are only a few old and used book-dealers, which means a lot less competition out on the old "hunt and gather," and thus, Suzanne and I benefit from a good supply and reasonable prices. This means, that we can offer low prices, and a pretty fair selection. While our shop, occupying a back-room, in our Gravenhurst antique shop, is heavy on the side of non-fiction, which is my passion, we will house any worthy book if it is in good condition, and has a heck of a good story within its covers. Our sales of old and used books has been increasing substantially year by year, and I've been pushed back into active service as a book scout, hustling shops for interesting titles most desired by out customers. I trained with legendary Ontario book collector, David Brown, of Hamilton, who had amassed a rather historic collection of 100,000 books, according to the executors of his estate, who had the task of sorting through the mountain of texts stacked in his small residential abode. Dave did turn into a bibliomaniac, but heaven forbid one of his friends, or even his enemies, would call him that to his face. I was his biographer, so I had to take some liberties in order to explain the character of the man. If you want to read more about the antics of this Outdoor Education Teacher and Book Collector, you can archive back in this blog. There are plenty of stories. Dave was a colorful character any time of the day or year, and he was my mentor. This relationship certainly fueled my own obsession with books, which I battled free of, a few years back, in order to save my marriage. Our bedroom alone, used to house several thousand books, and she was kind enough to allow my excesses, at least until she caught me sneaking more books onto the already burdened shelves. So I began selling books with more conviction, first online, and then our new shop, until the house was finally emptied of all but my personal favorites.
     Although we aren't running what could be called a traditional old book shop. By almost any description, we are a little loose on sorting our titles, and we more or less decorate with them, versus setting up a "by-the-book," sorted, organized, and categorized library-format; and you might say our collection is in disarray. To be in disarray, however, suggests that at one time, or other, we must have been more formally appointed. Not so! Many of our books purchased, have attracted buyers because of the cover art, not necessarily subject. It's not that they're not interested in the subject matter, because purchasing these titles does require an appreciation for what is held within. I have had people buy books for their book shelves and coffee tables, for show more so than content, but, gosh, we're trying to run a business here. If the cover art pleases you as a house, condo, apartment or cottage decorator, that's fine by us. The antique business depends on impulse buyers. This happens when you don't have predictable inventory, and it changes day to day, depending on the pickers who bring us their latest finds. We treat our treasured books in the same way as we do our vintage sealer jars, silver pieces, pottery, crockery, heritage glass, artifacts, antique fabrics, blankets and quilts, and of course our array of furniture. It makes the book collectors a little cranky, because our set-up forces them to hunt for the books they want, and they tell us we need to get our books in order. We tell them that we are an antique business that has old books for sale, and this usually pacifies them; and they usually do find books in the mix of this and that, because it's what old book collectors do for sport. Take the hunt away, and they would only have half the fun.


Part 1

DAVID BROWN SHOWED ME A LEARNING PATH THROUGH THE WOODLANDS

I never really knew how wonderful it was, to live across from The Bog, until someone told me. Not just anyone. An educator. A wilderness canoeist. A man who made his living from the environment of Ontario. A teacher known by thousands of youngsters and adults, who had benefitted from his special classroom, near Hamilton’s Botanical Gardens. I was his special student....a project I suppose. He liked to move the unmovable!

When I authored the biography of teacher/historian, Miles David Brown, back in 2000, I felt unfairly abandoned holding onto an old promise! Fate unfortunately got in the way of self imposed protocols. I never break a promise. My kids disagree but I’m talking professionally here. I wasn’t sure whether to shelve the project or carry-on to the best of my ability. Few had as many intimate conversations with the educator, in his final years, than Suzanne and I. If we wouldn’t write the book, who could practically fill-in and do justice to a project that would take a year to research and write,...... and most likely be a labor of love and respect, with nary a cent of profit. We certainly didn’t do this to make a profit. We did it as friends. Friends who initially were scared to tackle the life story of a man who was both complicated and contradictory. He was a brilliant man but eccentric. How would we represent all his characteristics properly, and not offend his colleagues and students, who really didn’t know just how strange Dave had been for years and years. (At the time of his death Dave had stuffed over 100,000 rare books and documents into a small Hamilton bungalow)

When Dave first asked me to write his life story, as an outdoor educator, I assumed he’d be around for the whole project. He had it all figured out including the cover-art. What I didn’t realize is that Dave was close to death when he hired me on. I went from being quite confident I could deliver a worthy biography, ghost writing for Dave, to the nervous lead author on a book left up to me to compile and design. While I never doubted Dave was looking over my shoulder the whole time, I confess it was one of the toughest writing jags I’ve experienced. Dave was a fussy, fussy man, and I had to make it right. Well, bottom line is, I sold out the biography and Dave haunts me quite pleasantly in memory.

Dave was a key component and motivating force in the Outdoor Education programs in Ontario, and his classroom in Hamilton, was filled with an absolutely amazing array of critters....some alive and in glassed containers, terrariums, aquariums and hundreds of preserved animals of forest and boglands. I met Dave as a fellow book collector, in the antique shop we used to operate in Bracebridge, and after only a few meetings and impromptu debates about Canadian history (which our shop was famous for), Dave became a regular house guest, on his many camping and canoeing forays in northern Algonquin Park. The boys couldn’t wait for Dave to pull into the driveway with his red truck and yellow canoe, heralding the arrival of natural goodies. Dave never came here without some natural oddities to show the boys. One day it might be rattles from a deceased rattlesnake ( Dave would harvest these from snakes killed on the road), to portions of moose antler broken in battle, lightning-fried wood, from damaged trees, so that our boys could see and smell what a bolt of electricity against wood could manifest. There was always a plethora of interesting items, from old woodstoves, logging chains, cant hooks, and pike poles in the back of that truck, harvested from the many waterways of Ontario, where Dave liked to canoe. Dave was a teacher 24-7, and he always had his students in mind when he came upon something peculiar, while traversing a lake, or portaging from river to lake. Thousands upon thousands of youngsters in this province learned about nature from David Brown. He was a nature guide, a television personality in Hamilton, an historian, and an amazing tutor to our family.

One day he showed up here covered in muck. “Fall out of the canoe Dave,” Suzanne asked our burly guest. “Come here,” he waved, as he ambled to the back of the truck. “See that log,” he questioned. “Check out that stamp on the end.” Sure enough it was an end cut with a lumber company stamp, of which he had a collection of Muskoka’s antiquated logging industry marks, of which this one was a J.D. Shier stamp. It was the bloody size of the log-cut that impressed us, and the fact he was able to wrestle it off the bottom of a bay, and haul it into the canoe by himself. And he paddled for an hour after that engagement. “I’m going to put this in the display cabinet at the education centre with some of the logging stamps I’ve got at home,” said Dave. He did it for the kids....and guests of the education centre who might be interested in Canada’s early logging industry. That’s the way Dave was. He was like a good billiard player thinking three shots ahead. (Dave’s wife was used to coming home to find turtles etc., in the bathtub, and boxes upon boxes of artifacts and books he’d found or purchased on his travels. He said she left him when he only had 30,000 books, and just a few cant hooks and logging chains in the livingroom.)

Dave, Suzanne and I, used to sit out on our front deck, overlooking The Bog, and he talked for hours on end about his many wilderness excursions. He’d take our boys Andrew and Robert on nature hikes through the lowland, and so patiently deal with their many questions about flora and fauna.....question dear old dad fumbled with, and mother had to consult her wildflower guidebook to answer otherwise. Dave knew it all. He could find snake skins and bear poop, and tell you when these natural events occurred. He’d show them the handiwork of the local woodpeckers, and draw their attention to tracks in the spring snow. I followed behind, in awe of all this wonderful man knew, of the bountiful and precious nature around us.

I’ve sat on this same deck with Canadian historians, experts in many fields, and there have been wine enhanced discussions about everything from World War and politics, to Muskoka’s old boats, boat builders and artists. I’ve debated the death of Canadian landscape artist Tom Thomson, with those close to the case, and found out Dave had particularly important information the Mowat grave was still occupied by the artist (contrary to accepted belief)......a story told to him by someone intimate with the Canoe Lake community of 1917. I went on to write three published feature articles, with a huge following, inspired in part from that front porch chat with the good Mr. Brown. He was a story bonanza for an eager columnist.

I sat out there for a wee bit this afternoon, and while a little chilly in the shade, it was a warming reconciliation, to feel Dave’s presence beside me again, lounging together, mortal and spirit-kind, looking out over what I find so amazing about this Gravenhurst neighborhood. He wasn’t a showboat of information, and he never force-fed conservation as a personal life mission. In fact Dave made money on weekends, chopping dangerous trees down for Hamilton customers. Dave realized that it was impossible to save every tree, every pasture, all the woodlands we knew as children, and even some of the wetlands we believe fragile. He was blunt and honest and I knew he was right. Yet he realized with a good science background, when destruction of nature had gone too far. Many times, before retiring to bedlam, Dave and I gave a final toast, to all the wee beasties that played upon the Moor, and the fairies that may have frolicked in the moonlight in the beck beyond the hillside.....the fairy rings, in evidence Queen Mab had been there the eve before. Science for Dave was a classroom protocol but his eyes told of enchantments far and wide, and Robert and Andrew listened intently, so as not to miss any of the drama on his woodland hikes.

Dave told me he liked our place.....very much enjoyed the view over this wild paradise in an urban package. I agreed. I’m so glad I wrote his biography. I’m so glad we spared this Bog for all the youngsters and their parents who enjoy trodding down its pathways today, in those marvelous adventures in contentment.....that have never ended for me!

Bracebridge Train Station Brings Back Memories For A Lot Of Bracebridge Citizens

1945 Photo of Bracebridge Train Station courtesy of Chris Thompson

CENTENNIAL OF RAILWAY STATION CONSTRUCTION, AND THE COMING LINKAGE TO BRACEBRIDGE - 1885-2015

IF TRAIN STATION HAD SURVIVED, IT WOULD NOW BE 130 YEARS OLD

     If you have read the blogs posted on this site, for any length of time, you would appreciate how much affection I had for the former Bracebridge train station. I spent a lot of time there as a kid, especially after it was closed down, and basically abandoned. In those days, the door of the station was unlocked during the day time, and passengers could lodge themselves in the waiting room, and new arrivals could wait for taxi pick-up, out of the weather; but it was pretty lonely in there despite the fact it still looked like a going concern. Ed Stacey, the former station manager, had been retired by the Canadian National Railway in the early 1970's. I hadn't really explored writing as a future profession, at that point in my life, but if the station had survived, I most certainly would have parked myself there day after day, to capture all the spirits that dwelled there, still coming and going on the ghost trains of the past. The waiting room, as I remember it, amplified the sounds of the coming trains, and I liked to imagine the sounds of the old coal burning locomotives, steaming to a halt in front of the station. It was said by some of those citizens, who did spend some time lodged in the waiting room, after it was closed, they could hear trains coming even if there were none coming down, or up the tracks. Others, in the surrounding neighborhoods, have heard steam whistles and bells off these oldtime trains, long after their last runs through Bracebridge. Train lore is very much a part of the Bracebridge heritage experience. I grew up knowing all the times of the freight and passenger trains, and even when the town clock wasn't keeping good time, the railway schedule helped keep me on mine.  
     I really would like to direct curious visitors, to South Muskoka, especially railway heritage nuts, down to the ridge of high ground, across from the dark flowing waters of the North Branch of the Muskoka River, to see what would now be, a picturesque 130 year old Victorian-influenced train station, in the Town of Bracebridge. But it's gone! Knocked down quickly, one day, and without the full understanding of local citizens, many who were shocked when, on a drive-by or daily stroll, they noticed a neat relic of local architecture, was instead, an unfortunate pile of strewn wood and shingles. There were articles in the paper, about the debate to keep the structure intact, but I know for fact, a lot of folks weren't aware just how imminent the wrecking of history was to be; and if all the approvals and public protest had been properly addressed before being hammered to the ground. There certainly wasn't much to save, except a few boards as reminders of local rail history, and a few sad photographs showing a heap of refuse where an elegant train station once stood. If it had reached its 130th anniversary, damn-it, I guarantee it would have become untouchable, as far as tear-down politics would be concerned. We are far more appreciative of these aspects of history today, than we were back in the 1970's, when it was closed and put on a sort of architectural death row. There is a vintage photograph in the book, on page 250, of "A Good Town Continues," published at the turn of this present century, that references the end of service, but there is no indication, that I can find, when it was actually torn down. The caption reads, "When the Bracebridge CNR station was closed in the early 1970's, passenger trains still provided at least twice daily service in both directions, but rarely did large crowds such as this early photograph regularly congregate on the platform. Use of passenger trains declined rapidly after World War II, as automobiles largely superseded them. Scheduled passenger train service ended in 1990."
     Our local heritage friend, Chris Thompson, of the pioneer Simmons family of Bracebridge, sent us an early photograph of the Bracebridge Train Station, taken from a vantage point of family property abutting the Muskoka River, north of the Hunts Hill bridge. There is no date attached to the photograph. A passing train, at one time in the station's history, left the rails at the front of the building, and destroyed the platform and portions of the building. There are archives pictures of the crashed train, and I may even have one filed somewhere, that I currently can't find.
     In Robert Boyer's book, "A Good Town Grew Here," published on the occasion of the 100th anniversary of Town incorporation, in 1975, by The Herald-Gazette Press, the well known regional historians notes of the year 1885, that "Alfred Hunt was again Reeve, with S. H. Armstrong, T.M. Bowerman, J.P. Humphries and John Leishman on the Council." He reports that, "This year the survey for the railway north from Gravenhurst was completed, along the line followed to this day. The construction was to mean that Bracebridge fair ground would have to be relocated, a big cut made in the rock south of Bracebridge Falls, a bridge built to cross the falls, and north of there, several streets diverted or closed. (Margaret Street was one to be closed, near where the station was to be built - perhaps that name will be used again for a Bracebridge street)."
     Mr. Boyer writes, "Regardless of inconvenience, the coming of the railway was so generally welcomed that the Council was willing to negotiate. But seemingly there were the usual problems as to crossings, culverts and grades with a new right-of-way being established through a settled community, and these had to be solved. The Council gave permission to the railway company to build their line on Main Street (which runs north from Thomas Street) and this street was diverted accordingly, the village buying the land needed, assisted by the railway company up to $125. The company was also given a length of property 33 feet wide for the station and sidings, with a condition that a round house and turn table be built in Bracebridge (something we have never observed)."
     "The station building was put up in 1885 for the railway by the MacKenzie Brothers - one of whom became Sir William Mackenzie after he had been a leader in constructing the Canadian Northern Railway across the continent, the line that runs through Torrance, Bala Park, and Foote's Bay," noted Mr. Boyer. "During the railway construction in Bracebridge, there was a heavy job to do in making the rock cut and filling in the low ground south of Shier Street. When one realizes that the work was undertaken mainly by hand with teams and wagons to draw materials, it can be seen that there, and all along the line, the construction was accomplished by very hard and steady work. During the year the people of the Village became alarmed, when one evening the workmen, many of them newcomers to Canada, came together up into the main Bracebridge thoroughfare (Manitoba Street). Their wages were in arrears and they were perturbed about their future. But the Village people wanted no trouble and it was arranged that James Boyer, J.P., the Village Clerk, should read to the men the provisions of the 'Riot Act,' which required them all to retire peacefully, and it is to their credit that they understood and withdrew. Their problems must soon have been settled, for no further difficulty has been mentioned."
     Under the heading "1886," on page 38 of his book, Mr. Boyers adds, "The year stands out as the one in which the railway was completed through the Village and on north. The first passenger train ran through Bracebridge on Monday afternoon, June 28th. Here and at other stations to the north, the arrival of the first passenger train was made a day of celebration. Platforms were lined with people waving flags, and at Bracebridge, the firemen's band played suitable airs. The coming of the railway was not regarded with enthusiasm by many of the teamsters, though it is to the credit of those in the Hervie family, that they began arranging better state routes, to run through the District laterally to the railway. The business of the teamsters was an important one up to this time, for merchants and settlers depended on them to carry their freight shipments beyond the railhead."
     "The first excursion on the new railway was arranged by Bracebridge Odd Fellows Lodge, No. 251, a trip from Bracebridge to Powassan, and back, one day in the early summer. This was a notable undertaking for the lodge, which had been instituted only on March 1st, 1886," reports Robert Boyer.
     From that point, the Bracebridge Train Station had many historic arrivals and departures, particularly emotional ones, during the years of both World Wars. The painful farewells of loved ones, and the arrival back home, of soldiers, to their hometown, having the physical and emotional injuries garnered from brutal engagements with the enemy. There were others, killed during the fighting overseas, who arrived back in town laid in rough boxes, to be picked up by the undertaker, for burial by family. I thought about situations like this, watching as the last upright sections of the historic train station were being leveled; and I couldn't help ponder, if at any point, one or more of the Town Council at the time, had even an inkling of just how storied that old building was, in the social / cultural history of Bracebridge. Or was it just an old building that had done its service, and was no longer an asset to the community? Regretfully, it was only seen as an old and tired structure, that might one day burn down, or even collapse causing injury; unless it was to be totally restored. There was no appetite amongst Town officials, to approve any outlay of cash in this regard. Thus, a parking lot, where a charming building used to enhance the townscape, and where thousands of citizens had once stood, to depart for destinations around the globe. It was the familiar building that reminded travellers, they were finally, and safely, home, once again.
     There was nothing so startling to the heart of a youngster, in meditation about conquests to come, as the cutting sound of a train horn, on a bitterly cold January night. There was nothing so pleasing, as the sound of a train horn, on a warm summer night, when the station was bathed in a haunting moonlight, and the Muskoka River was shimmering with enchantment, as if a smaller version of the Historic Hudson River, that author Washington Irving frequently wrote about in his Sketch Books. Bracebridge, of course, was named after one of Irving's books, "Bracebridge Hall." And yes, Irving was the author of "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow." It was the first overview out of my mother's mouth, when we drove our sputtering Vauxhall over the iconic Silver Bridge, spanning the Bracebridge Falls, on the day we arrived from the city, to start our new lives.  "This is our Sleepy Hollow." She had no idea, that the town had indeed been named after a book by the same author.

75th Anniversary of Calydor Prisoner of War Camp Shouldn't Be Ignored

Treescape in The Bog of Calydor subdivision, a block from Camp 20

Back cover photograph from The Gilded Cage by Cecil Porter

A selection of barbed wire, glass and pottery shards found on the site of Camp 20

THE FOUND HISTORY OF CAMP 20, CALYDOR, AND IT WAS PRETTY OBVIOUS

RELICS THAT WASHED UP ON SHORE -

A SCROUNGER'S LIFE I'VE LED

   FIRST OF ALL, I HAVE BEEN A SCROUNGER FROM CHILDHOOD. I HAVE NEVER CHANGED, AND I'M NOW AN IRISHMAN'S WHISKER AWAY FROM MY FIFTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY. THAT'S A LONG TIME TO BE STARING AT THE GROUND, AND POKING AT HALF BURIED THINGS, FOUND ON A HIKE THROUGH THE WOODS. HAVEN'T FOUND A SINGLE CORPSE YET. BUT I'M NOT DONE YET EITHER. I'VE GOT FEW GOOD SCROUNGING YEARS LEFT. AS I USED TO COME HOME FROM SCHOOL, IN THE LATE 1950'S, AND EARLY 60'S, (WHEN I ATTENDED LAKESHORE PUBLIC), HAVING POCKETS FULL OF THIS AND THAT, I'M STILL, TO THIS DAY, ON THE LOOK OUT FOR INTERESTING RELICS, FOUND, AND SOME OTHERS, I ACTUALLY HAVE TO PURCHASE. WHILE ADMITTEDLY, MY MOTHER WONDERED WHAT HAD HAPPENED TO ME IN THE WOMB, TO MAKE ME CRAZY FOR THE BITS AND BOBBS OF MANKIND AND NATURE, BY THE TIME WE OPENED OUR FIRST ANTIQUE SHOP TOGETHER, AND STARTED SELLING THIS "FOUND" STUFF, FOR PROFIT, SHE CUT ME A LITTLE SLACK. "THE BOY MUST KNOW WHAT HE'S DOING," I HEARD HER TELLING MY FATHER, WHO HAD THE PHILOSOPHY, THAT IF SOMEONE THINKS THEY'RE A CHICKEN, BUT YOU LIKE HAVING THE FRESH EGGS IT'S PRODUCING, THEN FORGET TRYING TO CONVINCE IT OTHERWISE. THEN EVERYONE'S HAPPY AND THERE'S ALWAYS A GOODLY SUPPLY OF EGGS.

     IN MY LATE TEENS, I TOOK IT ONE STEP FURTHER, WHEN MY DAD ACTUALLY POINTED OUT AN OLD DUMPSITE, IN THE HAMLET OF FALKENBURG, NORTH OF BRACEBRIDGE. THE SITE WAS LOCATED AT THE NORTHERN-MOST CORNER, OF THE FORMER BUILDING TRADES CENTRE YARD, NOT FAR FROM THE MAIN ROAD FROM BRACEBRIDGE TO ROSSEAU, AND EVENTUALLY HIGHWAY 69. MY FATHER, ALSO KNOWN AS TED CURRIE, WAS THE GENERAL MANAGER OF BUILDING TRADES CENTRE AT THIS TIME, AND I ACTUALLY WORKED AS A SHIPPER THAT SUMMER AS WELL. WHENEVER I GOT A BREAK, I'D GO OVER TO THE EMBANKMENT, WHERE THE OLD DUMP HAD BEEN LOCATED, AND IT BECAME MY FIRST FULL SCALE EXCAVATION. BY THE WAY, I ALWAYS INFILLED THE SITE WHEREVER I LEFT AFTER DIGGING, SO AS NOT TO LEAVE IT LOOKING LIKE A DEMOLITION SITE. I PROBABLY PULLED THREE HUNDRED CORK TOP BOTTLES FROM THAT DIG-SITE, AND THERE WERE A LOT OF WINE, WHISKEY, AND POP BOTTLES AS WELL. I FOUND ONE TORPEDO BOTTLE BUT A LOT OF OTHER PARTLY ROUNDED-BOTTOM SODA BOTTLES (NOW TRY TO SAY THAT FAST, OVER AND OVER), AND I EVEN LOCATED A HALF DOZEN UNBROKEN LIGHT BULBS.

     I'VE DUG AND FISHED FOR BOTTLES, AND OTHER IRON RELICS, FOR AS LONG AS I REMEMBER, AND I'VE NEVER GOT TIRED OF THE TREASURE HUNT. WHEN WE MOVED TO GRAVENHURST, IN THE FALL OF 1989, IT'S MY FIRST MEMORY OF THE FORMER GERMAN PRISONER OF WAR, "CAMP 20," OR OTHERWISE KNOWN, "CAMP CALYDOR," AFTER THE NAME OF THE TUBERCULAR SANITARIUM, THAT WAS ON THE SITE PREVIOUSLY; AND THEN CONVERTED BY THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT, IN THE EARLY DAYS OF WORLD WAR II. SUZANNE AND I, AND THE YOUNG LADS, ANDREW AND ROBERT, USED TO COME BACK FROM OUR WALKS THROUGH THE CALYDOR PROPERTY, WITH OUR POCKETS AND ARMS FULL OF NEAT FINDS. OF COURSE, WE BROUGHT BACK LENGTHS OF BARBED WIRE, WE HAD BROKEN-OFF THE TWO GIANT BALES, LEFT TO RUST IN THE ABUTTING WOODLAND. BUT OVER TIME, WE FOUND DUMP SITES, THREE SIGNIFICANT LOCATIONS, ON THE MULTI-ACRE LAKEFRONT PROPERTY. AS IT WASN'T OUR PROPERTY TO EXCAVATE AT WILL, WE ONLY PICKED UP WHAT WAS OBVIOUS, AND WITHIN A KICK OR TWO OF BEING EXPOSED. THERE WAS A LARGE QUANTITY OF TYPICAL HOUSEHOLD AND RESORT CAST-OFFS, ESPECIALLY TIN AND BOTTLES. THE OCCUPATION OF THE PROPERTY GOES BACK TO THE EARLY HISTORY OF GRAVENHURST, AND FROM THE MINNEWASKA HOTEL, UP TO THE POST WAR, GATEWAY HOTEL; SO THERE HAVE BEEN A LOT OF CAST-OFFS, BY EACH INSTALLATION AND EACH OCCUPATIONAL AND RESIDENTIAL USE. LET'S JUST SAY, EACH ERA LEFT ITS FOOTPRINT, AND THAT'S WHAT WE WERE FINDING ON OUR CASUAL STROLLS THROUGH THE HISTORIC PROPERTY, NOW FILLING OUT AS AN URBAN SUBDIVISION.

     THE BEST "DEBRIS FIELD," OF COURSE, WAS THE BEACH FRONT. DUE TO THE UNBELIEVABLE AMOUNT OF GLASS, OLD NAILS, SPIKES, AND CHINA BITS AND PIECES, STUCK IN THE MUD JUST OFF THE SHORE, WE MADE THE BOYS WEAR SPECIAL WATER SHOES, TO AVOID GETTING CUT OR STABBED BY WHAT WAS LURKING BELOW. PARTLY AS A BEACH CLEAN-UP SERVICE, THE CURRIES, THE NEW FOLKS TO TOWN, BEGAN PICKING THIS HISTORIC REFUSE OUT OF WATER OF MUSKOKA BAY. WE FILLED SIX OR SEVEN SIGNIFICANTLY LARGE BOXES AT HOME, OVER THREE YEARS, JUST FROM THIS SAFE-BEACH EXERCISE, AND FROM THE CASUAL FIND-AND-SEEK POKING THROUGH THE NEARBY WOODLANDS. WHAT YOU SEE IN THE PHOTOGRAPHS ABOVE, IS A VERY TINY PORTION, OF WHAT WE USED TO UNCOVER WITHOUT WORKING VERY HARD. AFTER A SIGNIFICANT STORM, OVER THE LAKE, WE WOULD HEAD DOWN TO THE BEACH SHORTLY AFTER, AND THERE WOULD ALWAYS BE AN INTERESTING SELECTION OF NEWLY WASHED-UP BOTTLES ESPECIALLY; ALTHOUGH IT WAS COMMON TO FIND AN ARRAY OF CHINA AND GLASS SHARDS. ALTHOUGH WE DIDN'T KEEP ALL OF IT, I ALWAYS FELT THERE WOULD BE A TIME DURING OUR RESIDENCY IN THIS TOWN, WHEN I'D PUT TOGETHER A LITTLE DISPLAY IN RESPECT TO CAMP CALYDOR. SO IT PLEASED ME, YESTERDAY, TO HAVE BEEN ABLE TO LOCATE ONE OF THE BOXES OF CALYDOR RELICS SO EASILY, FROM OUR STORAGE SHED JAMMED TO OVERFLOWING.

     SOME FOLKS WHO KNOW THE BOYS, AND WHO OCCASIONALLY READ THEIR OLD POP'S BLOG, CONNECTED TO THEIR FACEBOOK PAGE, PROBABLY THINK THAT A LOT OF MY CLAIMS ABOUT THEIR UPBRINGING ARE GROSSLY EXAGGERATED; BEING MORE FICTION THAN FACT. WE USED TO DEAL WITH THIS ALL THE TIME WHEN THE LADS WERE AT SCHOOL, AND SEVERAL TIMES WE GOT NOTES HOME FROM THE TEACHER, RECOMMENDING WE HAVE A TALK WITH THEM ABOUT "MAKING UP STORIES." THEY COULD HANDLE THE FREQUENT PUNCHES AND TAUNTING OF BULLIES, AND FIGHT BACK WHEN A SCHOOLYARD NUMB-NUTS, WOULD STEAL THEIR TENNIS BALL OR FOOTBALL. BUT IT WAS REALLY CRUSHING WHEN A TEACHER WOULD DISMISS THEIR CLAIMS AS BEING "MADE-UP," AND GENERAL, SELF ABSORBED "UNTRUTHS," FOR THEIR OWN GAIN; COMING FROM OVER-ACTIVE IMAGINATIONS. WE WOULD HAVE TO STEP-UP AND MAKE A PERSONAL VISIT TO THE TEACHERS, WHO HAD LEVELLED THESE CRITIQUES, OF WHAT WAS THE HONEST TRUTH; AND LET THEM KNOW THAT THEIR ADVENTURE STORIES WEREN'T MADE-UP TALES JUST TO AMAZE FELLOW STUDENTS. SUZANNE AND I HAVE ALWAYS INCLUDED ANDREW AND ROBERT IN HERITAGE ADVENTURES, AND THIS INCLUDES THE HUNTING AND GATHERING OF BURIED, OR SUBMERGED TREASURE. AND WHILE WE HAVEN'T PULLED UP A TREASURE CHEST FULL OF GOLD, AND SILVER RELICS, FROM LOCAL LAKES AND RIVERS, OR DUG-UP A SEALER JAR OF OLD COINS, FROM WHAT WERE KNOWN AS "POST HOLE" ACCOUNTS (BECAUSE THEY WERE BURIED BENEATH FENCE POSTS FOR SAFE KEEPING), WE HAVE RETRIEVED A LOT OF HISTORY, IN THE FORM OF "FOOTPRINT" DEBRIS, LEFT BY A HOST OF FORMER PROPERTY OWNERS; AND A WIDE ARRAY OF USES. CALYDOR HAS BEEN ONE OF OUR FAVORITE HUNTING GROUNDS, AND THE MATERIALS FOUND THERE, SHOW A WIDE DIVERSITY OF RESIDENTIAL ACTIVITIES, AND THE CONSIDERABLE YEARS OF PROPERTY USE, DATING BACK TO THE EARLIEST YEARS OF GRAVENHURST SETTLEMENT. SO AS FAR AS BEING STORY-TELLERS, ANDREW AND ROBERT LOVE TO RECOLLECT THESE ADVENTURES, BUT THERE'S NARY A FIB IN THE MIX. WHAT YOU SEE IN THE ABOVE PHOTOGRAPHS, WAS ALL RETRIEVED BY OUR SONS, FROM THE BEACHFRONT AT CALYDOR. THE EXCEPTION, IS THE BARBED WIRE FROM THE FORMER PRISON CAMP, WHICH ANDREW AND ROBERT RIPPED OFF FROM THE BALES, ONCE STORED ON PROPERTY CLOSE TO SEGWUN BOULEVARD, PART OF THE CALYDOR SUBDIVISION. THE BALES ARE NOW GONE.

     ONCE AGAIN, LIKE MY DAYS DIGGING AT THE FALKENBURG SITE, WE FOUND INTACT LIGHTBULBS, THAT HAD SURVIVED YEARS OF SEASONAL CHANGES, AND HEAVY DEBRIS BEING TOSSED ON TOP. THE REALITY IS, WE HAVE BEEN ABUSING THE LAND AND WATER FOR CENTURIES, EVEN IN THIS BEAUTIFUL PART OF THE WORLD. ROW BOATS FILLED WITH REFUSE OF ALL SORTS, WERE ROWED OUT INTO THE DEEPER PARTS OF LAKES AND RIVERS, AND WEIGHTED WITH ROCKS AND IRON PIECES, TO DISAPPEAR FROM SIGHT. IN ESSENCE, AS LONG AS THEY DIDN'T SEE IT, THE DEED WAS A GOOD AND SAFE ONE. THERE WAS NO APPARENT WORRY, THAT TOXINS FROM OLD MEDICINE AND CHEMICAL CONTAINERS, MOSTLY BOTTLES, WOULD EVENTUALLY CONTAMINATE

DRINKING WATER. I'VE UNCOVERED DUMPSITES FULL OF OLD CAR AND BOAT BATTERIES, THAT BY MEASUREMENT, WERE ONLY, AT MOST, A HUNDRED FEET FROM DUG WELLS. I GUESS THEY DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT THE SEEPAGE OF WATER THROUGH THE SOIL. I'VE SEEN THE SAME THING IN THE WATER, OF OUR BEAUTIFUL LAKES, WHILE SNORKELING FOR OLD BOTTLES. I'VE FOUND UPWARDS OF TWENTY OLD BATTERIES, TOSSED INTO THE WATER, A SHORT DISTANCE FROM WATER INTAKE VALVES, AND WHERE FAMILIES USED TO SWIM. I LIKE TO THINK WE'RE NOT DOING THE SAME THINGS TODAY, AS WE DO KNOW QUITE A BIT MORE ABOUT ISSUES, OF CHEMICAL CONTAMINATION, AND HOW WATER FINDS THE LOWEST POINTS TO DRAIN.

     EVEN THE MEDICINAL BOTTLES IN THE PICTURES ABOVE, MAY HAVE BEEN TOSSED INTO THE MAKESHIFT DUMP SITES, YOU CAN OFTEN FIND BY WALKING THROUGH THE BUSH OF AN OLD HOMESTEAD PROPERTY; MANY OF THESE PROBABLY HAD SOME CONTENTS WITHIN, AT THE TIME OF DISPOSAL. THE METAL LIDS ON THESE EXAMPLES, HAVE RUSTED THROUGH, AND OBVIOUSLY, ANYTHING THAT WAS INSIDE, BECAME PART OF THE SOIL OVER THE DECADES. I'VE PULLED HUNDREDS OF THESE BOTTLES OUT OF RETIRED DUMPSITES, AND THEN CAREFULLY DRAINED ANY CONTENTS (ESPECIALLY FROM CORK-TOP BOTTLES, THAT DIDN'T LEAK), INTO SAFE CONTAINERS, (BUT NEVER MIXED) TO THEN BE TAKEN TO THE MUNICIPAL LANDFILL SITE, WHEN THEY HAVE A DANGEROUS CHEMICALS DISPOSAL DAY. THERE WERE SOME NASTY CHEMICALS BACK THEN, INCLUDING A LOT OF ARSENIC. SO WHEN POKING AROUND THESE DUMP LOCATIONS, THE BOYS ALWAYS WORE SAFETY GLOVES, AND WE INSPECTED ALL GLASS CONTAINERS FOR POSSIBLE CHEMICAL CONTAMINATION. WE WERE CONTINUALLY AWARE OF WHAT MIGHT RISE IN DUST, AND VAPOR, FROM THE AREAS WE DISTURBED; SO AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE, WE MITIGATED THE RISKS OF TREASURE HUNTING.

     AS FOR THE CALYDOR PROPERTY, OUR POKING ABOUT SINCE THE LATE 1980'S, HAS, I THINK, SPANNED THE AGES OF ITS PROPERTY USE. AND IT'S BEEN A NEAT STUDY, WITH LOTS OF "WOW" MOMENTS WE COULDN'T HAVE EXPECTED. I OFTEN WONDERED WHAT KIND OF ARTIFACTS WERE FOUND DURING THE EXCAVATIONS FOR THE PRESENT HOUSES, ON THE OLD PRISON OF WAR CAMP PROPERTY. ANY BUTTONS OFF UNIFORMS? GERMAN OR CANADIAN? THE CANADIAN VETERAN'S GUARD SPECIFICALLY. OF ALL THE PRISONERS KEPT IN THE CAMP, MORE THAN FIVE HUNDRED AT TIMES, THERE HAD TO BE A LOST BUTTON OR SO, FROM THEIR DRESS UNIFORMS, WORN ON CERTAIN OCCASIONS; SUCH AS DURING MARCHES AND THE TWO FUNERALS WHICH COMMENCED FROM THE CAMP SITE, TRAVELLING TO THE NEARBY MICKLE CEMETERY. MAYBE SOME OF THE RESIDENTS HAVE FOUND RELICS, WHILE GARDENING, THEY DON'T UNDERSTAND, OR APPRECIATE HOW THEY WOUND UP THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. THIS IS ONE OF THE MOST STORIED PROPERTIES IN OUR TOWN, AND ANYTHING PULLED FROM THE SOIL OF WHAT HAD BEEN A TUBERCULAR SANITARIUM, AND A GERMAN PRISONER OF WAR CAMP, TO NAME JUST TWO OF THE LAND USES, IS OF INTEREST TO HISTORIANS LIKE ME; AND IT HAS NOTHING WHATSOEVER TO DO WITH ANTIQUE OR COLLECTABLE VALUE. BUT IT IS OUR HERITAGE AS BROKEN-UP AS IT IS; CHINA, POTTERY, AND GLASS SHARDS OF A LARGER, MORE SIGNIFICANT MOSAIC.

     AS I NOTED IN YESTERDAY'S BLOG, SUZANNE AND I PLAN TO OFFER A SMALL DISPLAY OF CALYDOR RELICS, AND MEMORABILIA, ONE YEAR FROM NOW, AT OUR MUSKOKA ROAD ANTIQUE SHOP, COMMEMORATING THE 75TH ANNIVERSARY OF THAT FIRST MARCH OF GERMAN OFFICERS, AND SOLDIERS, DOWN THE STREETS OF UPTOWN GRAVENHURST, AS THE INAUGURAL GROUP OF PRISONERS OF WAR, TO BE HOUSED IN THE FORMER CALYDOR SANITARIUM, WHICH HAD BECOME "CAMP 20;" AN INTERMENT CAMP IN ONE OF THE MOST SCENIC LAKESIDE LOCATIONS IN THE SMALL TOWN. FROM JUNE 1940. THE TOWN OF GRAVENHURST WOULD COME TO PLAY AN INTERNATIONAL ROLE, BY SECURING SOME OF THE MOST DANGEROUS NAZIS OF ADOLPH HITLER'S WAR MACHINE, TERRORIZING EUROPE AT THE TIME. FROM 1940 TO 1946, THIS SOUTH MUSKOKA TOWN, WATCHED OVER THESE P.O.W.'S, AS IF THEY WERE MAINTAINING THE FLANK FOR THE APPOINTED GUARDS. THE CITIZENS BEING ON PERPETUAL ALERT FOR ANY ESCAPING INMATES. THE INMATES WERE SUPPOSED TO WEAR SHIRTS WITH LARGE RED DOTS ON THE BACK, WHEN THEY WERE WORKING ON OFF-SITE PROJECTS, SUCH AS THEIR SMALL FARM SITE ON MUSKOKA BEACH ROAD. OF COURSE, THIS IS OFFERED IN MUCH GREATER DETAIL, AND IN PHOTOGRAPHS, IN THE CAMP HISTORY WRITTEN BY GRAVENHURST HISTORIAN, CECIL PORTER, ENTITLED "THE GILDED CAGE."

     WHAT HAS ALWAYS FASCINATED ME, ABOUT THE CAMP 20 STORY, IS THAT UNLIKE OTHER MUSKOKA HISTORIES I'VE RESEARCHED, AND WRITTEN ABOUT, I HAVE A DIFFICULT TIME APPRECIATING WHAT IT MUST HAVE BEEN LIKE, TO HAVE BEEN A RESIDENT OF THE COMMUNITY IN THOSE YEARS; AND BEEN A WITNESS TO THE FULL-UNIFORM MARCHES, FROM THE TRAIN STATION TO CALYDOR, UNDER GUARD. THERE ARE MANY PICTURES OF THIS IN THE BOOK, AND YOU CAN ARCHIVE BACK SEVERAL BLOGS, IF YOU MISSED THE FIRST TWO OF THIS SMALL SERIES. SO I THINK THIS IS WHAT COMPELS ME TO FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THOSE YEARS, AND HOW THE RESIDENTS FELT, OVER THOSE SIX YEARS, OF BEING HOSTS TO A PORTION OF HITLER'S ARMY; AND LISTENING AND READING ABOUT THE LATEST NEWS FROM OVERSEAS, REGARDING THE DEVASTATING CASUALTIES OF WAR. UNLIKE THE FIRST WORLD WAR, THOSE KEEPING THE HOME FIRES BURNING, DIDN'T HAVE TO DEAL WITH GERMAN PRISONERS OF WAR IN THEIR PRESENCE. YET BY ALL ACCOUNTS, THERE WERE FEW IF ANY PUBLIC DEMONSTRATIONS OF ANGER, OR PHYSICAL VIOLENCE, SHOWN TOWARD THESE INMATES OF CALYDOR. MAYBE I'M ASSUMING TOO MUCH, WHEN I SUGGEST, THE CITIZENS OF GRAVENHURST, AND SOUTH MUSKOKA, WERE PRETTY GOOD AND KINDLY HOSTS, TO OUR GERMAN GUESTS. IF YOU KNOW DIFFERENTLY, AS A RESULT OF PASSED DOWN STORIES IN FAMILIES, I WOULD APPRECIATE THIS INFORMATION, AS I AM WORKING ON A BROADER STORY OF THE CAMP, IN RESPECT TO THE UPCOMING ANNIVERSARY RECOGNITION IN 2015. AND BY THE WAY, I EXPECT NOTHING FROM THE MUNICIPALITY, AND IT WILL ALL BE DONE PRIVATELY, WITHOUT A NICKLE OF PROFIT.

     SO ONCE AGAIN, AND KEEPING IN MIND, I'VE GOT A YEAR OF WIGGLE ROOM, TO RESEARCH AND DEVELOP THIS EXHIBIT, I WOULD ALSO APPRECIATE ANY INFORMATION ABOUT THE CAMP YOU MIGHT POSSESS, OR MATERIALS THAT HAVE A CONNECTION TO THE "PRISONER OF WAR" YEARS; RANGING FROM FURNISHINGS FROM THE CAMP BUILDINGS, TO PHOTOGRAPHS, HOME MOVIE FILMS, EXAMPLES OF CAMP ART WORK OR CRAFTS, PAPER WORK, COVERS WITH POSTAL CANCELLATIONS, TO AND FROM CAMP 20, AND ANY OTHER MEMORABILIA WE COULD USE TO FRAME A SMALL EXHIBIT. POSSIBLY YOU ACQUIRED SOME HOTELWARE THAT WAS USED IN THE DINING HALL OF THE CAMP, OR PAPERWORK FROM AREA BUSINESSES, THAT DEALT WITH THE FEDERAL GOVERNMENT ON A SUPPLY AND SERVICES BASIS. SUCH AS LOCAL LAUNDRY WORKERS. THE LAUNDRY WAS SENT OUT FOR CLEANING. ORIGINAL SIGNAGE WOULD BE AN EXTREME EXAMPLE, OF WHAT WOULD MAKE US WILD WITH ENTHUSIASM. SEEING AS WE ARE PRETTY LOW, AT THE PRESENT TIME, IN ARCHIVES AND MEMORABILIA DISPLAY ITEMS, YOU'D BE SURPRISED WHAT WE WOULD SING AND DANCE TO OBTAIN. WE CAN EITHER PURCHASE THE RELICS FOR A FAIR PRICE, (BUT WE WILL NOT SELL THEM LATER FOR A PROFIT), OR PHOTOGRAPH (COPY) THE PIECES, AND RETURN EACH PIECE AS QUICKLY AS THE CLICK OF A CAMERA. CREDITS WILL BE GIVEN TO EVERYONE WHO ASSISTS. WE ARE DOING THIS WITHOUT ANY COMPENSATION, AND IF AND WHEN WE ARE ABLE TO MOUNT A DISPLAY, THERE WILL BE NO ADMISSION FEE. WE ARE DOING THIS BECAUSE NO ONE ELSE WILL. THE MUNICIPALITY HAS NO APPETITE FOR SUCH AN ANNIVERSARY, AND THE BOOKS ON CAMP 20 ARE IN LOW SUPPLY. JUST BECAUSE THE TOWN HASN'T FELT IT IMPORTANT TO APPLY FOR AN HISTORIC MARKER, FROM THE FEDERAL OR PROVINCIAL GOVERNMENT, DOESN'T MEAN A DULLING OR DIMINISHING OF HISTORICAL FACT. WE WON'T LET THAT HAPPEN, AND IF YOU'VE FOLLOWED OUR WORK, SUCH AS THE RECOGNITION WE PROVIDED OF THE 150TH ANNIVERSARY OF THE NAMING OF OUR TOWN, WE WON'T DROP THE BALL ON THIS PROJECT EITHER. JUST HAVING YOU ABOARD FOR THIS BLOG, REGARDING OUR RECOGNITION EFFORTS, FOR CAMP CALYDOR, IS THE KIND OF SUPPORT WE NEED, TO BRING IT ALL TO FRUITION.