All the usual suspects

As I have mentioned in a previous blog, we spent every Sunday for much of the 1980’s attending the Toronto Harbourfront Antique market.  It was a very lively market in those days, and you could rely on hundreds of people to attend.  Most of them serious buyers looking for a special decorative object, or piece of antique furniture to decorate their homes, as was popular at the time.   Also, it was a time when several Toronto people had already bought and furnished their house in the city, and they were all going out into the hinterland and buying up the low priced rural properties which would become their country week-end homes.  For these in particular, they were looking for antique country furniture, most often in refinished pine, or similar.  For an antique dealer these were heady times.

So eventually, within this continuous flow of humanity you would soon learn to recognize the specialty collectors or  dealers who would arrive every Sunday to scan the market for their select products.  Some smaller Toronto dealers would set up to sell, and to advertise their shop but there were several more dealers who had established shops in the city, and they would come by to add to their stock.  You got to know these people as regular buyers, and you would get to know what they are after, and try to supply it.

One fellow would buy any refinished pine chest of drawers I would bring, and at a price close to what I would get from the public.  Another dealer only wanted original paint pieces, and he would be there every week as you pulled in, hopping alongside the truck and pointing at anything of interest with the same question, “how much for this”, followed by a “ yes, I’ll take it, hold it for me and I’ll be back to settle up.  He would then run off to follow the next truck in.  Generally there would be five or six of these alfa type dealers to deal with right off the top so it made for an exciting first hour.  Although you had to be on your toes especially when you brought in something really good, and there was a frenzy to determine who of the group was the first to commit. Get this wrong and people got offended. Guys would get pretty mad at each other over lost treasure.

Then as the day wore on many other dealers and collectors would make their way to your booth, most often looking for specific items.  There was the pen guy.  At some point he would slide up beside you and say quietly “got any pens for me?” If the answer was no he would just keep walking.  However, if you did have something it wasn’t a certainty that he would be interested.  He was after top end Parkers, etc, so once in a while I would come across something he liked, but for the most part I gave up after a half dozen failed attempts.  Still he appeared like clock-work every week.

Then there was the defrocked priest couple who would always turn up seeking Catholic items. Extraordinary looking guys with extravagant wardrobe and hair down to their asses.   As I was so often in Quebec, I usually did have something to show them.  They really knew their stuff and would explain to me the symbolism and meanings of the pieces. They bought only occasionally, and I always looked forward to the little theology lesson in the middle of the day.

Later in the morning, preferring to get up at a civilized hour, along would come MonsieurTaschereau , a possible candidate for anything spectacular I might have.  He had wonderful taste, and a highly respected shop in the Four Seasons tour.  A relatively small space, but full of good things.  He was very dry and came across as haughty at first, but when you got to know him he was down to earth, and a good guy.  When he bought something from me, no matter how small he would always ask me to deliver.  Then he would grab a ride so he didn’t have to take the transit back.  I didn’t mind because we always had interesting conversation on the way, and I loved looking at his shop.

Another in this category was a lady named Susan Miller who had a wicker shop on Mount Pleasant for years.  She was an institution with all the upper crust for their supply of white wicker furniture.  All the rage for your patios and sun rooms, and Susan could be relied on for the best, and the whitest.  No matter how good I would think the white paint finish was on a piece she would always say, “well, off course I will have to have it repainted”.    It was part of her negotiation technique, but just the beginning.  She was a lovely, refined lady always decked out in top end white and beige clothes with highly coiffed white hair adorned with a beige, wicker looking, basket-weave hair band. To top it off. It was her costume.  Susan was lovely, but she was tough as nails. She had a special technique. For instance, if she liked a chair, but didn’t like the price she would simply sit in it, carry on pleasant conversation, ask for the occasional glass of water, and wait until you couldn’t stand it any longer and would say “O.K. you win Susan.  It’s yours for what you asked, and of course I am happy to deliver it today.  And of course she would always grab a ride.  Again, I really didn’t mind because the conversation was good.  I got to know a lot about Susan. How she took all her meals at Fran’s. How she couldn’t stand the smell of garlic and wouldn’t touch the stuff.  It is what she disliked most about taking the transit.  How she met her husband when she was a hairdresser at Eaton’s. Ah, so that’s the reason for the perfect hair all those years later.  How her husband was an accomplished accountant and had written the Canadian tax code.  Unfortunately he had died young, so she used some of her capital to set up the wicker store, and as it turned out she was really good at it, and enjoyed it, so it became her life until she retired (I think) at about age 70.

Being such divergent people I have to say we got along very well, and over the many trips up Mount Pleasant to deliver her and her wicker I got to know her.  “One day we were riding along when she looked over and said “You know Phil I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve worked hard, and you want to know what I can tell you about life?”  Pregnant pause while I imagined she was going to go on about family, or good friends or the like, but then she said “In the end Phil, you know who your best friend will be? “  Please tell me.  She looked at me squarely and said, “a couple of bucks in your pocket”.  When you get older and need some help, that’s what it comes down to.  A couple of bucks in your pocket.”   It surprised me, and puzzled me for a moment, but I could see from her expression that she was right.harbour1

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Get up, get out, and do something

Listening to Mark Zuckerberg  being raked over the coals about personal information sharing on Facebook has got me thinking about this whole social media thing.  I’m not all that concerned or surprised that they keep track of my buying habits, and along with Microsoft show me endless Portuguese home rentals, now that I have investigated the subject once.  A little creepy at first,  but that’s how they make their money to provide a free service, and what’s the harm. Advertising is advertising and maybe you will see something you like.  It’s another thing to find out that they may be trying to assess, and record my medical history, if that’s true;   and I refuse to give them my phone number in spite of their encouragement that it will make my account “safer”.  I try not to give to much information that could be used to assume my identity and, “everybody’s fear”, drain my bank account, but I am overall (perhaps naively) fairly comfortable with letting people get to know me a bit better online.  What’s the point, otherwise.  I guess it’s like when you are talking to people at a party. You can either try to have an actual conversation, finding out something about the other person, and giving an opinion or something of yourself; or you can blather on about your last vacation or the weather, and essentially say nothing.  Which is the more interesting evening?

I belong to some antique and art groups and amongst the “look what I bought” posts, which, don’t get me wrong, are understandable and fine, I look forward to the occasional post which provides insight, or information, or excitement.  There’s always a few.  Perhaps less and less, or is that just me?

For instance, It was great to look at the photographs of all the beautiful and rare things that turned up at Bowmanville this past Good Friday. But it was a distant second to actually being there, and able to see the show first hand.  And that’s the point that we must not forget.  Life looking at the screen is not actual life. You can’t touch it.  You can’t really experience it’s actual presence.  You are looking at a group of pixels.  There is no actual interaction. It’s not real. It’s just a representation.

O.k. so mobility issues,  transportation problems, busy schedules etc. aside, you can argue that the main reason more and more people sit at home living their life online, rather than getting out and experiencing things first hand, is a basic laziness and disconnect brought on by the endless hours of scanning bits and pieces of entertainment and information; always on the surface, always moving on,  which is the essence of web surfing.

I just drank a cup of coffee from this cup.  As I sat and sipped I thought again of how much pleasure drinking this delicious hot beverage from this cup brings me.  I like the way that the sides of the cup is a complimentary shade and form to the crema.  I like the weight and shape.  I like that it was hand thrown and I can feel the grooves that the potter’s finger’s made while forming it on the wheel.  It’s marked “Woodside Potteries” Made in Canada, which is fine because it means it is made by an artisan and not mass produced, but in the end aside from the aforementioned aesthetics, I like it because it reminds me of the day I bought it.

It was on a beautiful, sunny Sunday in late May last year when while visiting our daughter and her husband in Toronto we noticed an ad in the local paper for a neighborhood yard sale over a series of blocks nearby, just off the Danforth. We knew that in terms of scoring a treasure we were too late by hours as it pushing ten o’clock and the pickers would have been through about eight; but we also knew that there is a nice, little breakfast place that we like on the Danforth that would be a great place to end up at for a late brunch.  Also, when your tastes run to eccentric, as mine do,   something I may like could be passed on by almost everyone.  To be honest,  I didn’t care if I found anything or not.  I just enjoyed being out interacting with friendly strangers with my family on a sunny morning with the promise a big breakfast on the horizon.  Plus, it is good for me to walk, and going up and down streets looking at stuff is a good way to walk without noticing it so much.

We parked and walked a bit and about four places in we encountered an interesting array of stuff brought out from a very eccentric looking house by some pretty bizarre looking people.  I got a little excited when I saw an old typewriter, several old photographs and  then set my eyes on a classic 1940’s waterfall vanity dressing table marked $25.  Hmmm. Well I could theoretically make $100 by going back, getting the car, and ultimately dragging it to our booth at the Waterford Antique Market.  But it needed a bit of work, and it’s really not my thing. Plus it would put me out of sink with the rest of my party, and at this point in my career,  if you can still call it that, I only buy things that I would buy for myself.  Things that interest me, or that I recognize contain an energy of originality.   It was a pretty little vanity at a great price, but I walked on.

Several blocks later, we had a bought a few books and a couple of those plaster fruit that they used to give out at the fairs. I have a soft spot for those.  We once had a large white wall in the kitchen covered with them and it was big fun, but you know, it’s not the type of purchase that you brag to your friends about.   We were approaching the restaurant and there was just one row of houses left  when I noticed this cup on a table in front of a fairly upscale (gentrified) bungalow.  Very nice woman who seemed so trustworthy and fun that my daughter bought a couple of used puzzles from her.  Now that’s trust. Anyway, chat, chat, chat, and then “ I notice you are checking out my coffee mug. Five bucks if you can use it”.  You have to drink coffee out of something and for coffee mugs we look for handmade Canadian pottery so it qualified.  “I’ll take it”.   It was later that it became my favourite. The breakfast that day was delicious.

It has to do with the style and weight and the way it keeps my coffee warm, but my affection has most to do with the memories it brings forth of that day; as Lou Reed would say “ a perfect day”. This is why we must make the effort to get up, get out,  and do something.   Look around.  Interact with your fellow humans.  Have a “perfect day” and perhaps find something to bring home to remember the day by.  You can’t order that from Amazon.

Fond Memories of attending the Aberfoyle Fall Antique Show with my Beau-Frere

It’s a beautiful last day of summer here in Port Dover with sunny skies and a temperature rising to 30 degrees this afternoon; and tomorrow being the first full day of fall promises to be the same.  A perfect day to attend the Aberfoyle Fall Antique show.  The last big out door show of the season.  Aberfoyle, near Guelph Ontario has been going for over 55 years as a Sunday market hosting 100+ quality dealers selling collectibles, folk art, furniture, and more. It is open every Sunday from the end of April to the end of October. Their spring and fall Saturday Special Shows welcome an added 90+ dealers to the market.  It runs from 8 a.m. until 4 p.m. and like any  show if you want a swing at the good stuff you’ve got to be there early.

I did the spring and fall shows for years and always looked forward to strong sales, and an opportunity to buy some great items.  As a dealer you could arrive as early as you want, with many arriving the night before and camping over.  Being just a little over an hour’s drive from our place I always preferred the comfort of my own bed, but I would set the alarm at 4 and make sure I was on the field and unloaded by 6 am. This not only to catch the early dealer sales as the sun rises, but also to be there to follow the trucks as they come in.  There’s nothing quite like the thrill of sipping on a coffee in the last moments of darkness before sunrise, and shining your flash light on to a big, tied down load of antiques as it rolls slowly by you on its way to its spot.  If you see something you like you shout out for a price from the dealer who inevitably has his window rolled down in expectation.  “Just picked it in the valley.  She’s right as rain, and it’s yours for $300.”  O.K. it’s sold, and I’ll be by later to pick it up and pay you.  Many pieces were sold this way so you had to be on your toes.

In the year 2000 Jeanine’s brother Gerard, and his wife came to visit us for three weeks in the fall. A retired engineer, Gerard dabbles in buying and selling antiques and has become a dedicated collector of French Dinky toys. When we are in France we go to the shows together and he is basically a jump on board kind of guy, so I asked him if he wanted to get up at four in the morning and go with me to participate in the Aberfoyle fall show.  No question. You bet. So on Friday we loaded the truck, made our lunches and went to bed at nine.  Four a.m. Grab a coffee, get in the truck and we are off.

Gerard pulling off the “little helper” photo trick

Gerard at times can be a serious guy, and generally he is a quiet, intelligent and thoughtful sort, but on a run like this he is a riot.  Light-hearted, mischievous, and a lot of fun.  I always see a bit of Bill Murray in him in spite of the different cultural backgrounds.  He likes to claim that his English is “pretty good” but in fact his English is about like my Spanish, almost nonexistent.   On this morning it didn’t stop him from approaching everyone in his Broken English and applying a hilarious attempt at a sales pitch.  “Yes, look here this beautiful dresser back.  It’s lovely for you, no?  etc.  You get the idea.  Some people would really lighten up and get into it when they realized he was a visiting Frenchman, and some would look helplessly over at me with a “what is going on?” sort of glance.  We were a good team actually.  When things got busy he started to complete sales after asking me if an offer was acceptable.  We had a sort of good cop, bad cop thing happening.  “she’s a nice lady boss, can’t she have it for $100.” He pretended I was the boss and he worked for me. He really fell into the part. The day passed quickly.  When the  afternoon lull came Gerard took off to comb the field for dinky toys.  Although he found several, I think he only found one or two from France and I don’t think he bought either, having better examples at home.

me, at Aberfoyle on that sunny day in 2000

As four in the afternoon rolled around and we loaded up the van to go home, as it is with all the outdoor shows a full, long day in the sun takes it tole, and we were a couple of pretty exhausted campers.  But the thing I remember is that we were happy.  It’s funny how seeing an event through foreign eyes can make it new and exciting again.  It was like that, and it will remain in my memory as a very happy and special day together with my beau-frere.

This hits my consciousness today because I recently had a friend recover a lot of old photographs from a crashed computer and there amongst them were the pictures of Gerard’s last visit here in the year 2000.  Topping that is the fact that he is arriving with his wife next Friday for another three week visit.  It’s too bad it’s one week too late to go the Aberfoyle show together to look for Dinky toys, but I’m sure we’ll have lots of other kinds of fun.

Gerard, ready and willing to serve you.

Amongst the stars in Port Carling

There were many reasons to look forward to doing the Port Carling antique show in the early nineties. It was very well run and promoted by the Gadsden’s. Unlike today, the town and area had very few antique shops and there were a lot of rich people building and buying cottages. In those days they would actually trust their own taste and come to the show looking to furnish their cottages themselves.  Nowadays they don’t trust their judgement and not wanting to embarrass themselves with something that would have their friends questioning their taste, they bring along their decorators who tell them what they should buy.

Also, in those days the show opened Thursday night and ran Friday and Saturday, which was not only great from the perspective of getting home on a day when the southbound traffic was light, but also worked well because many wives would stay at the cottage with the kids during the week while hubby worked in the city.  These wives would come to the opening and buy as they wished, or make notes of what they wanted and then drag their husbands in on the Friday or Saturday.  It held the potential in those days of being our most profitable show, and we were always looking for “cottagy” things to take to the show.   Canoes, rustic furniture, folk art, and all things you associate with a vacation home were almost certain to sell.  The Thursday night opening was a feeding frenzy, and as soon as the doors opened and the line-up filled in you had to be on your toes because it was common to have more than one person wanting to buy something at the same time.  You had to be careful, especially with two sellers operating the booth that you didn’t sell the same thing twice, to two different people.  There’s your potential for some nasty exchanges.  Things would settle down a bit after that initial hour, but  sales would remain strong over the next two days.   And then there was the additional excitement of exchanges with movie stars. 

During set up on Thursday all the talk would be on whether Kurt and Goldie were in town, and which famous friends they might bring along to the opening.  Nancy Short, Martin’s wife could be counted on.  She came every year and would buy a lot.  She would also bring along friends and encourage them to buy.  She was also a very nice woman, so we definitely looked forward to seeing her.  I enjoyed selling a pyrotechnic decorated rocking chair to Mary Tyler Moore one year, who was as nice as you would imagine her to be.  When Joanna Cassidy bought a piece of folk art from me, I have to admit that the scene in Blade Runner of her running away from Harrison Ford and eventually being shot and falling through panes of glass, kept running in my head.  Quite distracting.   It was always a delight when the wonderful Catherine O’Hara would turn up looking like an un-made bed and trying to rope in two or three unruly children.  She was always funny and friendly, and would treat you like her neighbor.

It was the talk of the show one year when on the opening night,  Kurt and Goldie decided to buy a little side table from us. At the time, I was helping to load a dresser we had sold in the parking lot, but I heard all about it before I got back into the hall.  Jeanine does not know, or for that matter much care who Kurt Russell is. I don’t think she was into “Escape from New York’ the way I was. “Snake” didn’t mean anything to her.  She recognized Goldie Hawn of course, but she is not particularly impressed with stardom in any case, and tends to treat stars like anyone else. I think that for the most part most stars actually appreciate this, but they do get used to being treated as “special”. It started when she questioned Kurt about his visa card.  “well, I can assure you it’s good”.  “I’m not worried about that, it’s just that I’ve never seen a card like that before”.  It wasn’t that she mistrusted him, but it was from a bank she had never heard of.  “O.K., can you bring the table to the loading door, and I’ll get my car.”  “Well as you can see I am on my own here, so if you can wait until my husband returns he will do it, or otherwise might I suggest that you seem like a fit and strong man, perhaps you can carry it yourself. “  He looked surprised, and somewhat taken aback, but then smiled, and said “Of course I can.”   Our neighboring dealer could hardly contain herself.  She immediately rushed over. “Don’t you know who that was.  That’s Kurt Russell, he’s a movie star and married to Goldie Hawn”.  “Oh really.  How nice for him, but still I am right that he was perfectly capable of carrying that table himself”.  That’s the way Jeanine calls them.  I love that. Everything I hear suggests that Kurt’s a regular guy, he just forgot how it felt to be treated like one.  I think he enjoyed it.

our booth at Port Carling, one year in the early nineties

Our Encounter with the Golden Dog

Jeanine’s interest in, and knowledge of French pottery grew over the years as she bought and sold it at the shows and on e-bay.   She was mostly dealing in Quimper, as that was a hot ticket item at that time, but she was interested in all the pottery producing regions of France.

In our Quebec travels  she learned of a French pottery that was made specifically for the Quebec market with Quebec themes , marked on the bottom – C A.  It was quite possibly brought over for the 300th anniversary of Quebec in 1908, and most likely made by Alcide Chaumeil who operated out of Paris, but the jury is still out.  Many pieces include crests and mottos such as “Je me Souviens”, and some even have representations of the “Golden Dog” which is a very popular image in Quebec.

The golden dog is an image of a yellow dog lying down with a bone in it’s paws. The verse under the picture is as follows  “Je Suis un chien qui ronge lo.  En le roneant je prend mon repos. Un tems viendra qui n’est ps venu, que je mordray qui m’aura mordu.”  In English, “I am a dog who chews the bone.  While chewing I take my rest. A time will come which is not yet come, when I will bite the one who has bitten me.”

You can see the original plaque today over the main door of the Quebec General Post Office.  It had been moved there when it’s original residence was torn down. This was the 1736 residence of a  Dr. Roussell.  There are plenty of theories, the most popular being that it is likely referring to disputes and threats of revenge between the doctor and certain town officials, but you can see why it has a certain resonance with all Quebecers. In fact the original statue of the golden dog, circa 1650,  resides in Penzenas in southern France on the garden gate of a M. Delbousquet’s estate. It turns out Roussell originally came from this area, and probably he duplicated it as best he could recall as a simple remembrance of his native land.  This might explain why the words on the Canadian plaque are somewhat different than the original. It is most likely is a case of poor memory.

The factory also produced decorative items featuring emblems of the royal chateaus of the Loire valley for the tourist trade, and busts of royal figures, etc.

Years passed and in spite of our constant search, we found only a couple of C A pieces, and they were not of the Quebec theme.  We started to think that we would only see them in pictures.  Then one day we got a lead from a fellow dealer.  He knew of a lady in Kingston who had several pieces of the Quebec themed CA pottery she wanted to sell, and he was only interested in her Canadiana.  Great lead.  As it happened we would be going through Kingston in a couple of weeks, on our way to do the Eastman Quebec show, and wouldn’t it be great to turn up at one of Quebec’s premier shows with some extremely rare Quebec themed pottery. 

We made the call, and the very gracious lady on the other end of the line said she would be happy to accommodate us.  She sounded interesting. Her name was “Bunny”.  We arrived at her place on time and went straight into the dining room where, sure enough, the table was covered with several pieces of C A pottery.  Large serving bowls and plates with emblems and crests, salad servers, and there among them a plate with the famous “Golden Dog”.  There was also a nice little selection of Quimper and other French pottery, but of course our eyes were stuck on the golden dog.  “So Bunny it works best if you can just tell us if you have a figure in mind, and we will see if we can agree.”  Bunny thought for a couple of minutes and explained that she had bought most of the pieces years ago for not much money, but that she watches the Antiques Road Show so she knows these things have gone up, and then she hit Jeanine with what she thought was a big figure.  Jeanine knew she was low because she was unaware of the extra value of the rare pieces so she “talked her up” by $500.   Bunny was delighted, and we were happy because we would do well, and hadn’t stolen from her.  We went on to sell the entire collection within 15 minutes of the show opening to a collector who was over the top happy to have it.  Happy ending all around.

some of the C A pottery we brought to the Eastman, Quebec show

Rain or Shine

It’s Friday May 5th , and I’m looking out the window at a constant, cold rain, with a forecast for two more solid days of rain to come, and I am feeling  grateful that I am no longer doing outdoor antique shows.  It’s a younger person’s game. Here in Ontario there is an outdoor antique show occurring almost every weekend from now through the end of July, then only a couple of shows in the heat of summer, and again almost every weekend through the fall until the beginning of October.   We used to do a lot of them, and in every contract you would read the phrase “show will take place rain or shine”.  Of course this is a necessity for the promoters because the venues must be paid for well in advance, and all the promotion has gone out, and rescheduling is just not an option.    It is understandable, but can be a dilemma for the dealers if the forecast is for rain.  If you don’t show you are out your contract money and you will not be looked upon favorably by the promoters who rely on dealers to turn up so as not to disillusion the clients whatever the circumstance.  Besides, a bit of rain does not discourage the more serious collectors from getting out so you can have a pretty decent show in any case.  Not always.

I remember the Odessa (near Kingston, Ont.) show in the early eighties where I first encountered a gentleman selling a 10’ x 20’ tent made up of metal poles and corner fittings and a big blue tarp that you bungeed tightly over the frame. It was selling for about $300.    There was nothing much available otherwise except smaller garden tents at Canadian tire, and I had already experienced a few days of standing in the pouring rain at shows so I went for it.  This was before shows offered tent rentals, which for a price will be set up and ready for you when you arrive.  Even when these rentals became available the price was somewhat prohibitive.   My new tent took about a half hour to set up and required quite a lot of swearing and pinched fingers before it stood ready for use, but it was worth it not only for the shelter from potential rain, but just as importantly for the shade it provided on a hot, sunny day.  It was the half hour taking it down at the end of a long day which sometimes wore thin, but overall it was worth the effort.

These makeshift tents worked quite well against sun and gentle rain, but became a real menace on wilder, windy days.  One memorable occasion occurred in the late eighties at a show held in a conservation area near Collinwood, Ontario.  I had arrived Friday afternoon because it was a four hour drive from my home and the show was Saturday only.  The forecast was for heavy winds and rain, and I was doing it alone and on the cheap in case of poor sales due to the weather, so I decided to sleep in my van to save the cost of the motel.   I felt uneasy as I arrived late in the afternoon because I could feel that something big was coming.  The pressure had dropped and the wind was already picking up so I decided to play it safe and not set up that evening.  Most dealers who had arrived were all set up and doing a little preshow business so it was hard to not join in.  I took out the tent and a few large pieces of furniture so I would have room to sleep in the van.  I tied the furniture together and secured a tarp over the pile before calling it a day and having a few beers with some friends to pass the time and make sleeping a bit easier.  It became very humid about 1 a.m. and I had a restless,  too hot, intermittent sleep until about 4 a.m. when all hell broke loose.  The wind came in like a locomotive and amid the crashes of thunder, and flashes of lightening I could hear the occasional thumps of furniture hitting the ground, and crashes as tables of glass and china, flipped and sometimes flew a few feet away from their original resting place.  You could hear some people shouting and see their flash lights flashing around as they tried to save their set up.  I just hunkered down and did my best to rest until sunrise.

When I woke up with the sun the worst of the high winds had passed but the steady rain which would last the entirety of the day was upon us.  I put on my raincoat and ventured out the back door of my van.  It looked like a war zone.  Many tents that had been set up and tarped, had been forced  loose from the ropes staking them down, and had flown like kites for several feet before landing in a pile of tarp and metal that looked like some kind of abstract metal sculpture or bomb site.  There were big cupboards being lifted off the ground with smashed doors and trim.  There were tables upturned over piles of broken smalls.  There were paintings obviously soaked beyond repair. It was devastating. Some people were just standing there crying.  Others were struggling to accept what had happened and doing their best to undo the damage.  It was truly heartbreaking.  Many dealers live fairly close to the bone and for some the loss was substantial. 

I helped a few people set their cupboards back upright and extended my sympathies to many, and then  cleaned myself up in the washroom, got myself a large coffee, and went back to my van to assess the situation.  I was happy that I played it safe and had waited, but now I was faced with the decision to either set up my tent and display in the pouring rain, and hope that a few brave souls would face the elements and maybe buy a few things, or perhaps it was just better to accept the loss, pack it in and head home.  Either way it looked likely the show was going to be a wash and I would lose my investment in the rent and transportation. But I had signed a contract, and I was already there so  I decided on a compromise and set up a smaller version of the tent which allowed me to bring the tarp down over the sides.   I brought out some sturdy, country furniture which would not be harmed by rain, and a few smalls that would not blow away, and left the more delicate things packed.  Attendance was way down of course, but from the couple of hundred people who showed up, I managed to connect with a few keen collectors who bought regularly from me, and was quite happy when five o’clock closing rolled around, to have sold enough to cover my costs and have a couple of bucks to take home.

Sometimes I think  people look at dealers at an outdoor antique show and think “that looks easy”, but let me tell you that is not the case.  Aside from the enormous amount of work it takes to prepare, set-up, sell, and then tear down a display on a pleasant day , it’s nothing compared to the hardship you might endure in the times when the weather decides to rear up and do a number on you.

Coming in on a Wing and a Prayer – part 2

It’s funny how the mind works. I left off last Friday suggesting that this two part story of trouble on the way to the North Hatley, Quebec antique show happened in the same trip.  As I was hitting the “post” button, I realize that the events described actually took place on separate trips, a couple of years apart.  I tend to think out a story and then write quickly.  I had not thought of these events in years, and over that time my mind had blended them into one event.  By the time I realized my mistake, I convinced myself it would make for a better story in any case.  Also, I’ll admit I was anxious to wrap so I could get out in the garden. You know.  Spring fever.  But now as I sit down to write the second part that decision bothers me, not that it matters a great deal;  but I am trying to be roughly accurate in my story telling.  Arguably any good story telling involves a certain level of B.S. and I’ve got nothing against a good tall tale, but there you have it.  Our story continues on the same route, but a couple of years later.

I would avoid an extra night in a motel by arriving in North Hatley around noon on Friday so I would have time to set up for the show opening that evening. I would leave home about 4 a.m. to make the eight hour trip.  The trip had gone well.  Leaving so early there were no traffic slowdowns in Toronto, Kingston, or Montreal, so about eleven a.m. I found myself feeling quite light and happy as I traveled up and down the big hills on Hwy 10  in the Magog area. 

The sun was shining.  Big, fluffy cumulus clouds rolled along the horizon.  Traffic was light, and I could see myself arriving right on time.  I was already unpacking in my mind.  I was heading down a long decline when I saw the transport a few thousand feet ahead of me apply his brakes.  The brake lights came on, and then I noticed a big piece of metal come shooting out from one of his wheels.  A big chunk of his brake had come loose.  I watched it become airborne,  and everything went into slow motion as it bounced once, twice, heading right towards me. In high school I wasn’t any good at algebra, but I generally understood geometry, and so I quickly calculated the distance, trajectory, bounce height, and the velocity, and determined that I was in trouble.  There was a car coming up beside me so there was no switching lanes.  If I tried to brake it might make it worse.  I stayed the course and was relieved when it landed right in front of me, missing the windshield; but making a sickening loud clunk under the truck as it bounced up into the under-carriage.  Looking in the rear view I saw it come out the back and off to the side, and I noticed a wet line on the road coming from the back.  It had hit and punctured the gas tank and I was bleeding gas at a good rate.

The trucker didn’t see it happen, and kept going. I knew I would never be compensated if I didn’t have his license plate number and information, so I floored it and caught up with him, and motioned him over. We both pulled over and he ran back to meet me where I was looking up under the back of the car to determine the damage.  It was a steady flow out of about a 3” gash.  He immediately apologized and said he realized that something had happened to one of his brakes, but didn’t see that it had hit me.  As we stood there watching the gas flow slowly from the tank  he gave me his card and said the company would pay for it, and would I like him to call a tow truck.  I thanked him and looked at the gas coming out and said “ you know it’s only about another twenty minute drive to North Hatley and I’ve got almost a full tank of gas, so I think I will just go for it and see if I can at least get closer, and to a garage and save the tow charge.  With a wave and a good luck we both jumped in our vehicles and got back on the highway.

It only took about ten minutes to realize that yes, I was losing gas at a good rate but the needle wasn’t going down that fast so I just kept going.  I left the big highway driving past a few repair shops because I now had confidence that I would make it, and if I could get to the show and unload, I could call a tow truck from there.   As I came into town I stopped at the gas station which was also the town auto repair.  The owner there could see immediately that I had a problem.  “So how much gas do you have left?”  “I’d say about an eight of a tank.”  “Well here, take this canister of gas, go and unload and if you run out, then dump it in and it will give you enough to get back here. I can fix your gas tank tomorrow so you will have it to go back in on Sunday. “  Heck of a nice guy. Great solution.  So that’s what I did.

The garage was only a few blocks away from the community rink where the show takes place.  When I got there I jumped out of the truck away from the unloading area to tell the people there of my predicament and to make sure that no one was smoking.  Everyone was enormously supportive and helpful. They all came over and helped me unload everything on the parking lot in record time, and twenty minutes later I was back at the garage where they parked my truck out back and put a container under it to catch the remainder of the leaking gas.   We exchanged phone numbers in case he found something else, but otherwise he suggested he would have it ready for me the following afternoon.

I walked back to the show feeling happy not only to be there,  but  anywhere considering the possibility, and at one point seeming probability of a big chunk of metal smashing into my face at high velocity.  It was no problem getting a ride to the motel with another dealer, and I was set up in time and had a great opening night and following show.  My truck was ready the next day as promised, and the trucking company paid for the repair.  I was once again very grateful for the help of others, and for a happy ending.