An Old-Fashioned New England Auction

"They have anything good?" I asked.  "Good" meaning good for me. "No real early stuff," Tammy said, "except for an oak blanket chest George is interested in - just their usual line of Victorian. We're going up for the fun of it."

I was at the end of one of those busy weeks when I needed "fun" on Saturday night.  Most of the auctions I attend specialize in higher priced 18th and early 19th century antiques:  The kind of merchandise and bidding levels that require intensive pre-sale inspection and serious consideration.  Wasn't in the mood for that tonight. I had spent a reasonable amount of money on a Federal easy chair, a Windsor bench and a carousel horse earlier in the week and a light evening of antique fun was just what I needed: A low-key country auction, with easy to understand affordable antiques and thick homemade pies that are as famous in North Farmington Valley, as Phillip's Diner donuts are in Southern Litchfield County.  "I'm in," I said.  "Pick you up a 4:30!" Tammy replied.

Located on the Albany Pike, Route 44, Canton Barn Auctions have been owned and operated by Wacht family since the 1940's.  In an era when auctions have instituted buyers premiums, computerized cashiering, copious reserved items, internet bidding, 20+ line phone bidding, four-color catalogs with price estimates, and every other type of futuristic system to attract top market prices - auctioneer Richard Wacht has an old fashioned way to sell antiques.  He lets the bidders in the audience decide what things are worth.  How refreshing!  Through estate and pickers  (dealers who sell off the back of a truck) purchases made all week long, the Wachts own every item that comes up on the block at their sale.  From what I've been able to determine, nothing is protected by "reserved" starting bid levels.  Everything goes. 

A burgundy Rolls Royce with New York plates was parked near the front door of the gallery. I walked past it and then, a picket fence porch chair painted like an American flag.  A half dozen other flags are also waving out front including a bicentennial flag that looks like it's been proudly displayed near the entrance since 1976. 

Auctions don't charge admission.  Nobody is pressured to bid.  Rowed up on a cement floor, the gallery's 300 chairs look like wooden baseball chairs from a 1930's stadium. Perhaps they are. A beautiful 19th century sign reading "Antiques" hangs over the brightly lit raised stage.

"This beautiful wicker desk was probably made in the late 19th century by the Cyrus Wakefield Company," Mr. Wacht said.  The gentleman talks in a distinctive Yankee drawl.  His mannerisms, dress and appearance are right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. He pulls out a well-worn dust rag from his back pocket and polishes the piece while his crew expertly adjusts it under the spot lamps. "Do we have $100 to start it?" Mr. Wacht asks in a matter-of-fact manner as he inspects his polishing.  No hands go up.  "How about $50 then?  The auctioneer turns to the audience. All it needs is a little dusting to look beautiful in your home."  Still no hands. When $25 is politely suggested as an opening bid, hands shoot up from all corners of the packed hall. Mr. Wacht chuckles. It's a laugh his regulars have heard a thousand times. 

A few moments later, bidding eclipses $100.  Four women, called spotters, work the stage with the auctioneer and the runners.  When a hand is raised, several of the gals loudly state the bid in unison so precise it seems as if one brain is controlling vocalizations of entire team.  "We have one-hundred ten on the right side!" two of the girls call out simultaneously.  "We have one-hundred and twenty now on the right side," two others respond.  When the desk sells for $150, another item is already positioned under the bright lights, awaiting the auctioneer's thorough, knowledgeable description and well-worn dusting cloth.

My first purchase was a 19th century English corkscrew.  One of the spotter gals from the stage came by to meet me after I won it for $40. I attended Canton Barn auction many times with my parents as a child.  However, that fact would not count toward being a regular. "He's NEW here," George said, making "new" sound like I had just arrived from deep space. After the spotter had learned my name and had me jot down a few specifics, she returned to the stage. 

"Hey, she didn't give me a bidding card," I said.  George laughed.  "They don't use them here," he returned.  "They know all their customers by names."

"They can't have learned mine yet," I said.

"They not only know you by your name now," George informed me, "that girl who came down and met you will remember your name if you come in here two months from now and maybe even two years from now."  Being one of those klutzes who instantly forgets every name introduced to him, I said nothing.  Just ate my pie.

One small computer seems to be in use at the gallery.  I found no evidence of it, though.  Bids are still recorded by hand at Canton Barn auction (www.cantonbarn.com) - neatly and expertly as any electronic system.  When you go to collect your items, young men are friendly and attentive in helping you pack your vehicle.  "Thank you for coming tonight, Mr. Mattox," that woman spotter said. Wish I could remember her name!

My Saturday night out was like taking a trip back in time.  Felt like I had visited an auction in Hooterville or Mayberry R.F.D. or that train-stop town from the Twilight Zone called, Willoughby. "Willoughby … next stop, Willoughby!"  Bet they have good auctions in Willoughby.

The fun of collecting antiques has more to do with the old objects you'll find.  Sometimes it has more to do with those interesting Slice-of-American-Pie places where they're found.

Copyright © 2010 Wayne Mattox

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