I know I've mentioned that my dad is an antique dealer. I used to say my family were dealers but since life happened and my parents divorce after being together forty years, I have seen that it's just been my dad. My dad started out when he was in his late teens collecting comics and meeting Keith. Keith did his work on my dad and nurtured his love for learning and collecting into a full grown antique business. I was taken to antique shows starting from the young age of 2 months old. Needless to say, I don't remember much about shows until age 6.
My Mom would come along to shows to help my Dad. There is so much I want to rant about my Mom so I will ignore her in my writings and concentrate on my dad. We would set up at shows around the tri-state area of Wisconsin, Illinois and Michigan. My Dad would sometimes drive down to Florida for paper money or gun shows (this is WAY before there were laws about selling antique weapons). The furthest we went for a show was in Memphis for a coin show. Every trip for a show, be it 20 minutes away or 2 hours, it would be filled with excitement. This was our bonding time with my Dad and his collecting world.
Working at an antique show is a lifestyle all in itself. We would get to a show stupid early, like 3am. Set up these huge heavy metal tables along with a bunch of folding tables, spread tablecloths over each one so it looked nice - sometimes we even used blankets to spread out. After tables are set up, then comes the boxes, a LOT of boxes. We used our dolly, large carts that were basically a large board nailed to a set of wheels (we could get one or two to help move boxes to our booth, then pass the large cart on to the next dealer). After all the boxes were moved to the booth, the setup began. My favorite thing to unpack were the riker-mounts. These were glass encased boxes that my Dad had used originally to mount his insect collections when he was working in Madison.
So! One of my first memories is being allowed to push the large cart from the van to the booth. For a little kid, that was one of the biggest things to brag about. As I got older and stronger, I was able to help push the boxes from the front of the van towards the back doors to the dolly or cart was. Later, I was able to physically lift those boxes to help unpack. We would have different shows where we'd be outside at a park or fairgrounds while others would be inside buildings. My dad was one of the original dealers to sign up for different shows and there would be other dealers waiting for him to set up so they could come over to see what he'd brought for the show.
While at one of the shows, me and the other dealer's kids were allowed to help direct cars where to park for the show. We'd get to wear yellow vests and get paid $5 an hour. Let me tell you, we would strut around in those vests, we were the bomb, super important workers for the owners of the shows. My normal friends were dealer's kids and I'd only see them weekends or once a month (for some shows), I was labeled as a weirdo at school and was pretty much invisible for my school life. As a 50+ year old now, I still dislike any mention of my school years, it was miserable for me. But the second we drove onto the property for an antique show, I was one of the popular kids.
At one of the shows at the Wisconsin State Fairground (Rummage O'Rama), my parents would have a little square set up with the tables with an area for me and my brother to stay in. My Mom didn't want me wandering too much when my brother was little but I still did. I was in my teens and my baby brother at age 4 was the tag-a-long for me and the other dealer kids. If he was tired or I just couldn't deal with life, we would put blankets under the tables and take a nap. Mostly, we wandered.
We would sneak outside and break into the stalls set up at the fair. Nothing more than picking a lock and snooping around the area for cream puffs or looking at the area where they roasted pigs. The REAL fun was when we'd sneak onto the giant slide at the fairgrounds and go down without any type of blanket under us, yes we'd get friction burns on our behinds if we were wearing shorts. This was the huge yellow slide that they'd charge 50 cents to go down on flour sacks. Climbing up and going down in a rush was the best thing for us dealer kids! We'd have races, trying not to scream or laugh too loud to attract attention of security. We did get caught sometimes. Sometimes the older kids would give out excuses that the security just accepted - or they were just too tired to deal with us every weekend. Once, they dragged us all back inside and took us around to our booths one by one to get yelled at by our parents. Next weekend, we'd be right back at it. It was the most fun during winter when it was a glorified snow hill with bumps.
We would go from booth to booth, asking if people needed bathroom breaks, wanted coffee or food or someone to just watch their booth for a while when they wanted to browse other booths or talk to their friends. Money was made and if you were honest, that dealer would get all the money you'd made for him - he'd give you a 5 and you'd be on your way to the next booth. There was a close network of dealer friends and we would help each other out. My dad's friend Keith was always set up next to us, we'd reserve booths for every show next to each other. Keith was such an influence on me, his weird sense of humor, his words of advice, his teachings about what weapons he had for sale and how they worked. When I was little and had my blanket fort under a table, he'd play TickleBee with me - when I was supposed to be napping, if I tried sneaking out, the TickleBee would get me. It was something shared only with him. I looked up to him like a second father to me.
It's been 25 years since I've helped my Dad at a show, my husband and I would go to Rummage O Rama a few times a year to stop in and say hi. After I had my son, we'd go every weekend we could to let Dad get his bragging rights. Jim & I would go walk around while my dad would push Ryan around in the stroller or just carry him. I watched him the 1st time we brought Ryan, he picked his grandson up and booked it to the booth one aisle away to one of his buddies. I heard his friend say "Dennis! Now who is this little guy?" My Dad would beam and tell his friend "Ryan's my grandson and he'll be doing shows in no time". Well, Ryan never got into antique shows but he did catch the "collector bug" from me, Uncle Andy (my bro) and my Dad.
I'm proud of my upbringing. I got to experience a lifestyle that others never knew existed. I grew up learning how to make change for a dollar (about 3 years before we learned it in school). I learned how to take care of others around you - we'd watch our friends' booths to make sure people aren't stealing from them. I learned the value of a dollar - my brother and I would make 10% of everything we sold for my dad during the show. Example, if the 2 of us sold $500 worth of antiques, paper money, WW2 uniforms, guns, knives, etc.. we'd get $25 each. We'd rush off to other booths to get the comics the dealers would put on hold for us, or toys we'd been looking at all show.
I loved the way I grew up, I'd get caught sneaking into buildings that were closed for the season, going down the huge slide at the fairground, pretending to be the owners kids so we'd get free hot dogs & fries. I'd gotten cut on bayonets, rusty hunting knives, nicked by arrows. I got to take a possible buyer out the back and show him the ammunition and how to shoot an antique gun so he knew it was working. They never got to touch the gun, that was my Dad's rule. We were smart, excited, hyper dealers kids and this was the life I lived until I was in my 20s.
I miss those times.
