'No, thank you,' turned and headed straight for the elevator.
I'm up fifty-four dollars plus one trick deck of cards. Not an auspicious start, but a start nonetheless.
Next stop, the flea market.
So far, I have been lucky. Well, except for being knocked on the noggin and tossed in a dumpster. Everything thus far has been within walking distance. It was a bright, sunny morning in Manhattan. New York City has some of the coolest flea markets in the world. One of the best was right around the corner.
Hell’s Kitchen Flea Market is located on West 39th Street between 9th amp; 10th Avenues every Saturday and Sunday throughout the year, weather permitting.
I get there and business is in full swing. Slowly, very slowly, I start to wander around the market. The absolute best to way unearth antiques in a setting such as this is to take your time and to feel. Your job as a picker, someone who finds antiques for retail dealers, is to tune out everything around you and let the antiques talk to you. Actually, it's more of a whisper. With just a little bit of knowledge and an affinity for the old, it is astounding what treasures can be uncovered from a sea of dross.
I'm making my way through the rows of dealers and my spider senses begin to tingle. There is an old man set up with two tables covered with an assortment of very old stuff.
At a quick glance he appears to be in his mid-seventies. His hair is white and disheveled. His overall appearance is round; a round face and a round body. He can't be more than five six and must weigh in close to three hundred pounds. His hands are enormous.
Right in the middle of the table is a pile of padlocks. Very old padlocks. Without touching them I ask, 'What do you have to get on your locks?'
'Ten each,' comes with a grin.
'What can you do for four?'
'Ten each,' a bigger grin.
I decide not to be a pig, dig out the two twenties and pass them over to him. Select the four that I want and wish him a good day.
Now, three of the locks are nothing special. All four are old, very old railroad padlocks. Three of them I think are valued somewhere between fifty and a hundred a piece.
But that fourth one, it's a beaut! This lock is round and very clearly marked D.K. Miller Lock Co., Railway Lock, Fairbanks amp; Company, New York, U.S.A. The retail value on this is close to a grand.
My day’s getting better. Now I need a buyer.
I already had somebody in mind. I hailed a cab from the middle of the block and headed to the Upper East Side. The driver wore an orange turban and drove like it was an Indie 500 tryout.
I reached into my pocket and removed one of the locks, the best one to examine it in more detail.
Did you know that padlocks have an interesting history? There is evidence of primitive padlocks dating from as early as 500 BC.
There are padlocks from the 9th century with spring tine mechanisms that have been discovered in York, England.
Here in the states, cast heart locks were widely used by the railroads because they were cost effective and reliable, even when dirty, exposed to moisture or cold.
They were called 'cast heart' due to their shape. This type of lock consisted of two important characteristics. The first was the spring loaded cover which would pivot over the keyhole. This kept dirt out of the lock. The second was a point that formed at the bottom of the lock. Here a chain was attached to the body of the lock preventing it from being either lost or stolen.
Early examples of padlocks, especially those used by the railroads, are very collectable.
Anyway, this particular padlock was in 'good nick', as my brother would say. I returned it my pocket and retrieved the stripper deck. Broke the seal, selected one card and inverted it and then shuffled the deck. With the necessary preparation complete, the cards were returned to the box and slipped into my inner coat.
The cabbie drops me at East 80th St and 3rd Avenue. The fare is just under ten and I pass him the remainder of my money.
In the middle of the block jammed with cafes, delis, stores and apartments sits the Antique Emporium. Peering in the window the eye takes in more stuff, really cool stuff than the mind can process. I walk in, a bell tinkles and from what I can see, no one is there. At least not in the front.
'Anyone working?'
An ancient man steps out from the back room. He's hunched over at a forty-five degree angle, is missing most of his hair and has wire-rimmed specs perched on the top of his head. He greets me in a clear, loud tone that belongs to a much younger, healthier man.
'Picker, you son of bitch. Good to see you son, where have you been, haven't seen you in a dog's year.'
'Nice to see you too, Dutch.'
Everyone calls him Dutch even though that isn't his real name. Decades ago, he purchased the Antique Emporium as an ongoing concern. In the front window, right there in gold lettering it says 'Dutch Peabody — Proprietor'. He never bothered to change the lettering.
'What have you got for me son?'
'Oh, a little something that I think that you'll like.' I scanned the room softly as I approached the old man and the counter. Reached into my right hand pocket and removed one of the locks of lesser value. Placed it on the counter.
He pulls the glasses down from his head and peers at the lock for a nano-second. At this point, I'm just sticking a toe in the water.
'Fifteen bucks. Show the rest.'
Man, nothing stupid about the old man. Dig out the rest and place them on the counter alongside their cousin.
He picks up the good one. Turns it over. Reaches down the counter and grabs a loupe. Examines it more closely. Slowly brings his head up and looks me dead in the eye over the rims of his glasses.
'Three hundred for the lot kid.'
I scoop up my collection, turn around and start for the door. With a smile in my voice I wish him a nice day. Just as my fingers touch the brass door knob I hear an anxious…
'Wait just one damn minute. Get back here. Now!'
I had to smile. I turned around. He folded his thin arms across his chest asked, 'What did you have in mind?'
'Dutch, I'll tell you what. I don't have time to screw around. I’ll take that doll sitting over there in the corner and two hundred in cash.'
Honest to God, the old man looked at me like I was nuts.
'That doll's priced at a thousand, are you out of your mind?'
'Hey, old man, it's priced at a thousand but you only have two-fifty in it, if that. You want to play ball or don't you?'
'Look kid, I tell you what I'll do. The doll and fifty dollars. That's it, take it or leave it.'
I looked down at the floor, pensive, as though I was thinking. 'Tell you what, we'll flip a coin. The doll and one-fifty if I win and just the doll if you win.'
'Okay, but no coins. I hate coins.'
Guess what. I pulled out my deck of cards. 'One hand of poker, straight-up.'
I take the cards out of the pack, put them on the counter and tell him to shuffle. He says, 'Screw poker! Cut the cards Picker.'
I cut, he cuts. Turns his over, Queen of Hearts. Dutch smiles. I turn over my half of the deck. Ace of Spades.
The old man sighs. 'Win some, lose some'.
He wraps my doll up in white tissue paper and puts her in a paper bag. A 'little brown bag' from Bloomies. I tell him no checks, I'm pressed for time. He goes into his pocket and hands me a hundred dollar bill and a fifty. I thank him, tell him how nice it was to see him, wish him a nice day and am halfway out the door when I hear…
'Hey Picker, still going to Tannen's?' Like I said nothing stupid about the old man.
