Handle With Care

 Just the way it is: 

Touch, its your first education in this antiques business.  I started working on my education when I was just a little toddler. Though, I don't remember it, my Grandmother Richter often said that, as she held me in her lap, that with much passion, I would try to reach my foot out to knock off a beautiful Nippon bowl she had on a display. The family often laughs over this still.  But I don't think that I was trying to destroy it.  I think I wanted to touch it.  As I grew up, I did touch it, in secret, as its moving would have been frowned upon. Far beyond the toddler stage, I would reach out and touch its heavy, embossed gold edges. I would gently rub my finger tip over the pink and yellow roses painted in the bowls bottom.   I think that that was the start of my education and how important that touch is to this business.  I was encouraged to touch things.  Carefully so as not to break them AND to ask first if I could touch items.  I can remember the thrill of touching pieces of  Fenton glass. The velvety satin glass that was showcased and spotlighted at Brits Department store in Danville. 

Nippon bowl.

I never passed up the opportunity to touch, feel, hear and even smell an item. We'll cover using your other senses with antiques in some future blog posts. You have to, you can't just rely on static sight in measuring up an antique.  Oddly, I have many people who come into the store and just stare and look. My first response is "Feel free to handle anything you want."  Its always been strange that you see dealers post signs in their stores that say,  "Touching is fun but break it you buy it", I think that is just negative. You know legally, you really don't have a leg to stand on anyway, as accidents happen. Besides, if its that fragile, expensive and precious in needs to be behind glass.  Now, granted some people are naturally clumsy and they, as adults, should know their limits.  There are also children who have issues with being destructive with things. In my opinion, some of this stems from the parents lack of regard for property, theirs or others.  But any child old enough to handle an Iphone can begin to touch and handle antiques.  Touch will give you a lesson, far beyond that of a book or magazine.  Now granted, I don't think that you need to hand a seven year old a $8,000.00 piece of Tiffany glass
. But maybe they could touch it as you hold it or touch it as it sits on a shelf. My grandmothers nippon bowl sits in a cabinet in the living room today. I treasure it and though I'm very gentle and reverent with it, I touch it and handle it and think of her. People who are taught not to touch are often preordained not to buy or collect.    

Just The Way It Is: 

You know I always have dashed hopes when it comes to the store and winter time. When I first really began to hang around the book and antiques trade, I subjected myself to one of my favorite bookish winter experiences.  I can remember it well, The Book Emporium on Main Street. It was operated by a good friend of mine, Ruth Cubert and I was drawn instantly to her and this marvelous little store she had. The winter time seemed to be such a cozy time.  Though the books were mostly paper backs, they were stocked pillar to post, with little sections to sit and read in. I dreamed that one day my own store would be this way.  The snow would dance outside and hot chocolate would be served from steaming mugs.  That old man with his roasted chestnut cart would peddle his way up and down the street selling scalding, hot chestnuts in pink stripped paper bags.  Then the.... wait a minute!!! What the hell!  Those things never happened. Sorry, I must have slunk off into one of my Rockwell moments.  I mean the Book Emporium was a great place, but Ruth HATED winter, and the store often went shuttered for weeks, due to bad weather.  It was cold outside. It was slick in spots. Even the very air we breathed was grey, damp and unfriendly.  Winter is rough on a small business.  Rougher still in a small town that depends on tourists to keep the doors open. 

Fast forward twenty some odd years and I'm still dreaming those dreams. Every year I become more and more disappointed with the cold reality of winter on Main Street.  Like my friend Ruth, I hate winter.  Don't get me wrong, I love Christmas and all its special meanings and the warmth of friendship and glad tidings. Its after the holidays that winter bites the hardest.  I always wanted to schedule book readings or book clubs in January, to entice those snow bound citizens, to come in and warm themselves by the fire.   Well, that was part of the problem. There was no fire.  In fact, there was little heat.  I can remember in those early days, that an expensive heating bill would be, maybe,  $200.00 and the store would be toasty warm.  Today, you would call that a pilot light bill.  Lets make this theory,  Old un-insulated building + sky rocketing natural gas bills +  ancient heating elements + a desire for heat you can actually feel =  A couple months worth of  mortgages, at the least.   Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to have good old reliable furnaces. Lets face it, tanks that they are, they ain't going to win no "green" awards.  But when I really examine things, its basically me and the die hard book lovers and antiques scouts that will be in there anyway. For my stock and trade, people just don't come out like they do for summer seasons.  Besides the more modern customer is one who will exclaim when they come in, " OH MY GOD!  Its freezing in here. How do you stand this?  I just can't look any more."  Yeah, there's that word again, LOOK.  Suzy Saturday here, is used to pounding those hard floors at Fayette Mall or other more tony antique venues.  Looking is about all she's up for.  Amazingly, I've had some really great winter sales over the years.  Sales from dealers, dyed in the wool collectors, history buffs, book hoarders, in other words, people who are used to standing at cold winter auctions or poking through old antiques stores.  We be a tough breed, unlike the Suzy Saturdays of today. But we are growing older and our flock thins every year.  And I'm left chilly waiting for a spring that never seems to come fast enough.  So its between a rock and a hard place that I rest for now.  No eco friendly furnaces blowing constant streams of  hot  air out of their iron lungs, no fireplace of crackling logs, no pots of hot chocolate and no Suzy Saturday to come browse and maybe buy a thing or two as she listens to someone read from a vintage novel. Worse yet, there are fewer and fewer of the old soldiers who don't care what the conditions are, they want their stuff!  Its the clash between the Browser (maybe we'll buy if you entertain me enough) v/s The  Old Collector / dealer who just doesn't care and muck through it anyway. Spring can't come soon enough for me.

Invisible on Main Street

Just The Way It Is: 

 It never fails that someone will come into the store and say, "What a darlin' store." I respond, "Thank you and where are you from?" Often they will say, we live on the lake or in Salvisa or some other location in Mercer or Boyle County. But, I already knew that. Then the conversation will turn back to me and I get hit with, "How long have you been you been here?"  I reply, "I've been here for twenty (or twenty one or twenty two) years."   That twenty something  year changes as the calendar flips over and over. "Oh, My God! I had no idea you were even here.  I mean we've lived here since 1999 and I never knew you were here."  Yeah, I get that a lot. That's part of the invisibility cloak that get pitched over Main Street, mostly over my store.  I guess it comes from being in a small town or maybe people just don't care to come onto this beautiful street and head to other venues instead.  You know, for a long long time people thought that Highway 127 was Main Street.  When they opened the new-ish Highway 127 by-pass several years ago, I heard time and time again, "That by-pass will put you out of business."  Little did they know that Main Street had already been by-passed, many a year ago.  It was called Highway 127. You  know its the place that the Ben Franklin store held sway. Ben Franklin has been gone a long time, but it left its children. Later they grew and expanded down the road to include Wal-Mart, Kroger and the other necessary modern day shopping venues.   We survived that by-pass and we'll survive this one.  Though at times, I wonder if we are surviving or if we will survive.  I guess that you never see what's at your finger tips. 

Its invisible me. lol

Now, lets explore another customer profile. I like to call this one the, "I've been lost since the 1950's" customer.  Unlike the other mentioned customer, this one is a local, born and raised right here in the burg.  I've learned to breathe deeply and unclench my fists when they manage to come into the store.  They push open the door as though they are pushing open the door to an inner sanctum.  They step in, with eyes already watering, their heads pushed heaven-wards,panning left and right. "Oh, this used to be the Gem Store.", they'll say.  " I bought my first tube of lipstick here. RIGHT HERE! God, I remember that like it was yesterday." I'll spare you the diatribe of how they paid for it, who checked them out, where they wore that lip lacquer to that night, what color it was and how it was such good quality.  Now bear in mind that this happens as they climb over book shelves, foot stools and display cases, as thought they aren't even there, all in a quest to walk the walk of fifty years ago when they were young, happy and had a great life in front of them.  If they took the time to shed the scales off of their eyes, they would see that I have some great stuff that could also enrich their lives and maybe even help to transport them back to the past, that they gild and wax poetic over. But they pay my "old" stuff no heed.  I've also discovered that this customer, though not always, is fairly tight with a pocket book.  I don't mean to be that way, they mean well. But it can be hurtful when you put such time and effort into your business, only to have someone compare it to a past that will never be again. Its a kin to seeing someone you saw grow up and saying, "Well, you were such a cute little baby and look at you know." I love nostalgia and history but pay attention to the history and nostalgia that's growing in front of you.

 Next time I'll let you know about one of  my favorite  customers, the out of town or out of state frequent shopper.  They make me smile and often laugh. Until next time. 

Personal Effects Mango Forks January 2015

Question: Jerry, what kind of fork is this? Its mother of pearl with a sterling band. Both are marked Henckels near the tines. I've had them for over twenty years. I've been curious about them all this time. What are they worth? Thanks for looking at them. I enjoy the articles.

 Two Mother of Pearl handled mango forks.

Answer: I had to do a little digging on this one. I've always had an appreciation for silver flatware, but this one had me stumped. Finally, I found out what it was. Leave it to those persnickety Victorians to create something like this. You have, of all things, a mango fork. Cool isn't it? This was a fork that was designed for wealthy patrons, for a fruit that only the wealthy could afford. Let me tell you, this fork, its history and its manufacture is elusive. I could find very little on it... at first. If Replacements.com doesn't have, one single listing for a mango fork, then its hard to find. I did find a few, on other sites, that were obviously modern and fairly cheap. Nothing like these beautiful pieces. There was one interesting posting, on an antique forum page, that helped shed some light on these unique pieces. I found that many, many times, these forks are mislabeled as cake forks, snail forks, lobster picks, olive forks and chicken forks. I have no idea what a chicken fork is. However, they are all wrong, as I've already stated, this is a mango fork. Here's how it worked. A fruit knife was used to cut off the top of the mango, about an inch, you should just see the tip of the mango pit. The fork was held firmly in ones hand and driven into the top of the mango. You should pierce the mango pit, in that “joint” or ridge that goes around the pit. The central long tine went into the pit and the two shorter tines were anchored into the flesh of the fruit. Now stand your mango up on its end, holding the fork firmly in your hand. Picking up your fruit knife you scored the thick skin and peeled back that skin, revealing its orange meat. Still holding the fork upright, use your knife to slice off slabs and transfer those pieces to your dessert plate. Then you would use your fruit fork and fruit knife to consume your hard earned mango. Sounds complicated doesn't it? I think Carson the butler from Downton Abbey would have trouble with this one There was a reason to this madness. It separated the well to do folks from the down trodden. If you couldn't pass table etiquette, then it was likely that you'd not fare well in proper society and you would be shunned. I'm going to say that your mango forks date to the later 1890's to the early 1900's. This was a grand time for formal dining. Your forks were made by the J. A. Henckels Manufacturing Company in Germany. They are a well known blade and table ware power house and their knives can still be found in fine stores. I saw some all sterling mango forks and many modern versions in stainless steel. Yours are extra special with the pearl and sterling ferrels / bands I love the mother of pearl handles. You don't find this thickness of mother of pearl anymore. Value? In at a good antiques show I'd expect to see them priced at $50.00 to $60.00 each. Congratulations on owning the only mango forks I might see in my career. Maybe you should try your hand at using them at your next dinner party. Or maybe not. Thanks for sharing them with us.         

Everyone is an appraiser

Just the way it is: 

 I can't help but to be angry and sharp tongued over it. I had a dealer to tell me that she was always so miffed when she went to do an appraisal and, "They won't sell me anything!" Arghhh! That makes me pull my hair out. Good for them I say. You get what you pay for.  Both parties are in the wrong.  The dealer for ACTING as an appraiser and the client for not knowing who to call and when.  People are so vulnerable when it comes to selling property.  Even worse, when they don't want to sell but need information. Many a time a crafty person has toted off someones treasures for a pittance. All because they didn't make the effort to contact a knowledgeable appraiser.  Everyday people make this mistake, even in this day and age of the internet and hokey cable antiques shows. People ask their hairdressers or mechanics before asking someone who knows.  Often this leads to that antiques dealer looking to buy for a song. Or it could lead to a wonderful relationship with an honest and thoughtful dealer who will pay you top dollar for your stuff.  But do you know what top dollar is and why?

You know, just because I know how to debone a chicken, doesn't mean that I should attempt to repair your torn shoulder.   It seems as though that every dealer in the world is also an appraiser.  In a moment of total disclosure, I too, am an appraiser and a dealer.  However, there is a difference.  I know which hat to wear and when.  You see I have hats that I wear at certain times.  I have an appraisers hat, a dealers hat and a book dealers hat.  You can only wear one hat at a time.  It is not right morally or ethically to purchase the items you appraise. You are showing bias towards your client and being disrespectful towards the property.   Appraisers are advocates first for the property and for then for the client. Being an advocate is not the same as showing favor, its informing your client, you speak the truth, good or bad. The main role of an appraiser is to Identify, Witness and Value, period.   Don't get me wrong, there are collectors and dealers out there, who know so much, in a particular field, that its awe inspiring. I call on these folks often. Sometimes, they are the right person to sell to.  I've learned that there is a great difference between a collector and a dealer.  Just by the mere fact of economics, a dealer has to make a living.  Making a living in this business is hard, real hard, and every pinched dime and tweeked dollar counts. As clever as they are, I think that the majority of collectors and almost all the dealers, would have trouble laying out an appraisal for charitable donation, insurance coverage or the settling of an estate.

Anyone can appraise. But what they are doing is making an offer to purchase or making a value statement.  Appraisers look at several markets levels and we weigh a lot of variables. A good appraiser should ask why you want an appraisal. Because you see, there are different values to different intended uses.  Obviously, you don't want a fair market value if you're looking to have your items insured. You want a replacement value. This allows you, the owner, to go into a store and purchase a like, kind and similar item. Just be careful who you call when you need some advice on your property.  That's why my business cards say Unbiased, Impartial and Independent.  Fore warned is fore armed.

Little Pink Roses

Mean While Back At The Store: 

In this case its pink POPPYs 

 I shared this on Face Book a few days ago and wanted to feature it here. Also I wanted to elaborate on it some more.  When I worked at Graves Jewelers many years ago, at least once a month, some woman would come in and ask Miss Graves what her china pattern was. Usually without a hesitation, Miss Graves knew and often could remember several generations of who had what china patterns. If it was someone who didn't frequent the store often, Miss graves would ask what the pattern looked like.  Without a doubt, they always said, "Well, I'm not sure, but it had little pink roses on it."  So, it was a running joke, for all the years that I worked up there, when someone would ask what a china pattern looked like and we'd say, "It had little pink roses on it." It was funny to us as most china patterns had some form or little pink roses on it.  Fun times. 

I'm waiting of a lady to come in for me to identify her Haviland pattern and it set me to thinking. Bet you didn't know this? At one time porcelain manufacturers did really crazy things with their patterns. Lets say that there is a pattern called "Queen's Garden." Its heavy with pink & yellow flowers and a brown trellis. That's Queen's Garden. Then there might be Queen's Garden with BLUE & RED flowers & brown trellis. Lets call that QG1 ( Queen's Garden 1.) Then comes QG2 with Purple & Green flowers and a GRAY trellis. Then there might be QG3, QG4, QG5 and on and on. NOW, couple this with shapes. Queen's Garden might be in the Louis XIV shape or the Princess Louise shape or the St. Augustine shape and on and on. Cups can also vary within the SAME shape. All the time bouncing and switching back and forth. So you might find YOUR pattern, but you'll discover that the shape is wrong. There can be just 1000's of combos. Don't even gt me started on the hand painted or commissioned pieces.  Believe me,  if your great Aunt Mildred, way back in 1900, painted a chocolate set. That's it,  its the only one.  When Mary McKercher had her Havilnad booths in the store twelve or thirteen years ago. She hated the hand painted porcelains and refused to carry them.  Reason??   You couldn't match them.  Each hand painted piece is a one of a kind original. For most it doesn't matter too much, but for the scholar or serious collector, it can make you pull your hair out.

Querulous Quandaries: 

 This was a new one for even me. It happened just a few days after Christmas. 

Phone rings

(me) J. Sampson Antiques...... How can I help you? 

(man) Can you tell me it this is the right way to fix cranberry glass? 

(me) Fix it how? Is it broken? 

(man) No, no.  Its not broken, just faded. 

(me) Faded?

Now, get ready for it. 

(man) Yeah, I had someone tell me that these vases were cranberry but the color faded out.  If I was to soak them in cranberry juice it'd bring back that color.  

I'm stunned. 

(me) Sir, glass is an inert material.  You can't just soak it in a liquid and expect it to absorb that color.  All that will do is make them sticky. 

(man) Well shoot.  So I can't make them back to cranberry?

(me) They never were cranberry or they were a pale color of cranberry.  You can't make them anymore cranberry than you could cobalt or canary or emerald. 

(man) Canary?  

(me) Its the color of the bird not the actual bird. 

(man)  Well I never thought that!  Thanks for your help.

(me) Thank you. 

I'm thinking, "Well I didn't know.  You thought that you could soak clear glass in cranberry juice and make cranberry glass.   So hell, I thought that you were considering grinding up some birds to make yellow.