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Susan with her mother, Jane, and stepfather, Harlan, at their wedding 50 years ago today.
It was as if I was standing in my own living room, only I wasn’t.
Rather, I found myself in a large Morton building with a tin roof and gravel floor, gazing at dozens of folding tables covered in household goods.
On the nearest tables were hundreds of pieces of Fenton glassware along with a collection of tea pots, baskets, ladies' hats and about 70 antique rolling pins.
I was at the auction of a woman I had never met, but after scanning the display of her collections, I felt as if I knew her. We had similar tastes; she could have been me.
A close friend of ours is an avid fan of auctions, and, in fact, his cousin is a popular auctioneer. So, when the cousin told our friend, who told me, about an upcoming sale of tea pots, I knew I had to attend.
There I was, clutching my paper number (60) and inspecting rows of dishes. I even put on my eyeglasses for a better look.
Staking their territory at the tables were several Fenton glass collectors. They were taking notes, scrolling through eBay on their phones to compare prices and whispering to other potential buyers.
The cousin opened the bidding, and it took off like a lit Roman candle. Auction assistants whooped and pointed as multiple people raised their cards or nodded. The action was happening so fast!
“Did that porcelain hen just sell for $400?” I asked.
A collector standing to my immediate right was frustrated. He was being outbid on every piece.
“The lid didn't fit right anyway,” he muttered.
I had my eye on an English tea pot and decided to bid no more than $25.
The assistant pulled eight tea pots into the center of a table. “Highest bidder gets first choice, one or all ...”
Again, the bidding was competitive and I reluctantly stopped raising my card. As the winner reached for a pot decorated with lady bugs, I held my breath. Would she take mine as well? She did not! Eagerly, I bid in the next round and won at $20.
A few minutes later, a woman to my left was aggressively bidding on a set of Blue Willow dishes which she eventually won.
“Oh, my granddaughter will just love these blue and white dishes!”
Her husband shook his head.
“Our granddaughter eats off paper plates! You just wanted to buy them!”
Four hours later — and I am not exaggerating by one minute — the auctioneer finished selling the last piece on the SECOND table. Only 20 more tables to go!
(This is why my husband wouldn't come with me; he can't stand the waiting around.)
After standing for hours, watching the process became hypnotic. I found myself in danger of bidding on stuff I didn't really want just to stay awake.
Perusing the tables was a fascinating distraction. Where did the former owner find multiple Victorian comb, brush and hand mirror sets? Did she wear all these hats to church?
Next up for “buyer’s choice” was a group of miscellaneous items including a 3-foot metal rooster, some candlesticks, plastic fruit and a set of a six old-looking spoons with a little man and woman engraved on the end of each handle. They looked German, I thought, and came in a wood display case.
People were watching. What was I after? The big chicken or the fake banana? At $35, I was declared the winner. All eyes were on me as I reached for the spoons.
“Are those valuable?” someone asked.
“I have no idea,” I answered. “I just like them and have a perfect spot in my kitchen for the case.”
Out of curiosity, I did a quick online search to learn more about my newly acquired treasure.
“Antique pewter German wedding spoons,” read one description. The asking price?
And with that, I called it a day and went home to show my husband the wonderful new addition for our kitchen wall. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.
(At least I left the rooster and plastic banana behind.)
Contact Susan Hazlett at susanrhazlett@yahoo.com or write to her in care of The Pantagraph, 205 N. Main St., Bloomington, IL 61702-2907.
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Susan with her mother, Jane, and stepfather, Harlan, at their wedding 50 years ago today.
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