Bits And Pieces

Sold To The Highest Bidder

     Auctions are bankrupting, addictive, aggravating, compulsive, fascinating and fun.

     I got hooked on auctions when we moved to Wisconsin three years ago.  The first farm sale was a seldom to be found goodie--a buyers, not a sellers market, and I sure bought.

     Now Pop, can take them or leave them.  But then he can walk away from a nickel slot machine after he's hit the jackpot--enjoy a horse race without placing a bet--follow a grocery list to the letter--and has to be dragged to a store to buy his clothes.  I figure there are square jawed, grim faced Scotsmen back in his ancestry who could turn deaf ears to the most persuasive of bargains.    

     Not me!  Overwhelmed when I face slot machine cherries, plums, and bars, I'll feed all my winnings back into those one-armed bandits.  Races are no fun unless my money is riding on some horse or greyhound, just because I like his name.  I never follow a grocery list, and I'm a real sucker for any bargain.  So auctions are my cup of tea, impulsive buyer that I am.

     Our first summer in the Kettle Moraine area of Wisconsin had me avidly reading the paper for ads for auctions.  Our basement rapidly filled with sagging, broken furniture which I figured Pop in all his spare time could readily refinish, repair and completely redo.

     Now Pop learned a lot of things last summer, like stripping is hard work, that caning is rough on the fingers--that new wood for a warped table top is expensive, that turning a chair spindle or rung is a long process and refinishing is time consuming and a downright bore.

     I didn't learn a thing.  Well, only one thing--just I'd never make a fortune in buying old broken down furniture for my husband to repair and that our forty year marriage might head for bankruptcy if Pop spent many more days and evenings in the basement trying to rectify my bargains.

     I hardly saw him except for meals.  Motors growled and screeched all day long as he ran saws, sanders, lathes and whatever else was needed for the tender loving care of the reborn furniture.

     I paced from room to room feeling ignored and very much alone.  We'd left most of our friends back in Illinois and communication with Pop over the noise of all manner of workshop tools was impossible.  But I didn't stop going to auctions.

     There is something compulsive and almost hypnotizing once you start to bid on an item held up by the auctioneer, so when he gets into his spiel--I'm hooked.

     Maybe it's a box of books, and I'm only interested in one.  Or a bunch of rusty goodies from the barn--but under the rust, I spotted a pair of old ice tongs--I don't know where I'll use them but they went for a fortune at the last auction.  There might be a rare plate in a mixed box of china--but I started staying away from furniture even though Pop got things pretty well finished in the basement.

     Last summer I found a gal who likes auctions as much as I do.  We've already decided to have an "as is" sale of our own from all the chipped, broken, and cracked goodies we've found.

     If anyone plans to start out on this addictive hobby, let me point out a few pitfalls

     1.  Remember once you've bought it--it's yours--so try to get to an auction at least a half hour early to really examine the loot.

     2.  Become an expert at finding hairline cracks, mended spots, and painted over places.  From your place in the crowd, everything may look good.

     3.  Learn to recognize markings on the bottom of glasses, china, and pottery--so you'll recognize a piece of Weller, Red Wing or Tiffany.  Know it's worth so you won't get carried away in your bidding.

     4.  Don't talk with your hands or you might own that purple knotted tea cozy you laughed over earlier.

     5.  Just because an auctioneer labels an item "antique"--don't you believe it.  Reproductions are endless and expertly crafted, so know your auctioneer--and know what he knows.

     6.  It's the age of specialization so be an expert in something you want to collect--even if it is buttons or marbles.

     Auctions are fun and someone's junk might just be your treasure.  As far as I am concerned, any auction is a complete failure and waste of time if there isn't an item I like well enough to bid on.  But I have learned to set a price limit on the price of my wants.  If that precious cup sand saucer with the nursery rhyme all around the edge isn't worth more than ten dollars to me, I don't bid more.  But say, that is a splendid idea!  I'll have to try that at the next auction. 

     Written for Port Charlotte Village early 1981.  Dad did some beautiful caning in not to common patterns.  Mom could bargain.  I remember a large bookcase/desk hunk of furniture Mom bought near the move to Haven.  It had a deep burn on the top.  Probably from an unattended candle.  Dad called it a "monstrosity".  But I'm sure Mom got it cheap.  You had to be almost six feet to see the burn.  

     Mom also got Dad to build her a hutch after the '56 move.  Took up most of the dining/living room wall.  He made it out of maple wood, scroll work and one assembled piece.  Somehow, like Gibbs, he got it out of the basement....

     And I also learned by using one of her auction picture frames missing most of the plaster leaves bordering the center photo, that the plaster could be recast using a Play-Dough mould and then stained to match the border.  Never did give it back--but did show it to an enlightened and smiling Dad.