Auction Finds » auctions

Stumbling upon the Cotton Club

sherry — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 12:53:51 +0000

“My uncle used to come up here and party,” the man said to me as we headed to the Cotton Club in New York. He and I were among a group of people who had come to the city to see a show on Broadway and were having lunch in Harlem.

The Cotton Club was located in the next block just beyond the restaurant. I had seen the sign on a trip here before, but my brain just didn’t connect this Cotton Club with the famed Harlem nightspot of the 1920s and 1930s. I assumed it was just some club that had snagged the name.

A look inside the most recent incarnation of the Cotton Club on 125th Street.

We weren’t in the “heart” of Harlem where the club had originated. We were at 125th Street near 12th Avenue and Riverside Drive. It just didn’t register.

Until Bobby said, yes, it was the same club. So I took him to explore. The entrance was a small door that opened into a dark space, with a big man sitting at a table that nearly blocked the entrance. His eyes were fixed on a computer, and he didn’t seem too welcoming. But when I asked if we could come in and look around, he was obliging.

The room was tight, with rows of red-clothed tables from back to front, ending in a small stage with keyboards, drums and speakers. We got there just before noon on a Saturday, and waiters were setting up the place for lunch. To the right were a slightly raised area and a small balcony with more tables. Near the door, a spiral staircase led downstairs and upstairs, and the floor bore silver and black Cotton Club logos.

The bandstand at the newest location, which opened in 1978.

Bobby and I walked around, but I still couldn’t get over the cramped size. It didn’t seem like the place I had read about and seen in the movie “The Cotton Club.” It certainly felt ancient, like an old singer that had become a relic of its former self, still hanging on, still proud, and still here. Though this was the Cotton Club in name only, the club and its history still awed me.

On the walls were old framed black and white photos of African American musicians and singers whose performances drew flocks of people back then to the club: Duke Ellington, Billie Holiday, Cab Calloway.

As Bobby and I stared into the photos, he repeated that his uncle would come up from Philadelphia to party at the Cotton Club. But I still didn’t get it until I had left the club and returned with two other friends. One wondered if the wood floor was the original one where people danced. Then I realized that there wasn’t enough room in this tiny space for dancing girls, loads of tables and hordes of people.

An early photo of the famed club at a former spot.

This was not the “original” Cotton Club. If it were, Bobby’s uncle would never have been allowed to walk through the front door. The original did not allow black people to come in to enjoy the shows. They could perform and they could dance, but they could not sit down at a table and order food. So, his uncle could only have arrived sometime later when the rules had been tossed.

The Cotton Club, I learned by Googling, moved to this location in 1978 (the man behind the computer confirmed it), its second since it first opened in 1920. The original was located at 142nd Street and Lenox Avenue farther east. This club was west side, near the river that separates the city from New Jersey.

The original club was Harlem’s most popular nightspot in the 1920s and 1930s, offering booze, food and top entertainment (Count Basie, Bessie Smith, Cab Calloway, Billie Holiday, Dizzy Gillespie, Nicholas Brothers, Ivie Anderson, Ethel Waters and the Nicholas Brothers). Boxer Jack Johnson opened it as the Club Deluxe, and its name was changed to the Cotton Club (its theme was plantation life with a jungle motif) after Owney Maddox took it over two years later. Its white patrons were offered dancers, singers and comedians, along with black waiters to serve them.

Photos of Cotton Club entertainers line the walls. The crate holds a stack of music.

White patrons could also dance to the house band, which included Duke Ellington and his orchestra from 1927 to 1931. They built their reputation there partly through nationwide radio broadcasts of their performances. The Duke was followed by Cab Calloway and his band. Race riots in Harlem on 125th Street in 1935 forced the club to close at that location (whites were afraid to return) a year later, and it reopened at 48th Street and Broadway where it remained until 1940.

The club’s chorus line was just as celebrated, but not just anyone could get into it. The African American women had to be light skinned, 5 feet 6 inches tall and not over 20 years old. Lena Horne was one of them, joining the chorus in 1933 at the age of 16.

Today, the club still offers a Sophisticated Ladies chorus line (minus the stringent requirements, I’m sure), an Allstars swing and jazz band, tap dancing, a gospel show and more. And you can still dance on wood on the first and second floors.

The front of the new Cotton Club building.

When luggage told the story of our travels

sherry — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 17:45:56 +0000

The suitcase looked to have belonged to a military man. It was a dull green canvas with four narrow wooden slats fitted around it like belts. It sat there unassumingly on the concrete floor near the entrance to the auction house, looking much different from the other trunks and suitcases that seemed to have sprouted like weeds lately at auction.

It was low to the floor and scuffed from too many trips. It had two small labels barely readable through the fading and dust on them. The interior was covered in thin fabric the color of muslin. There was a maker’s medallion in the center of the top and some tears in the cloth.

A vintage military-style suitcase up for auction.

The suitcase had two identical labels with ”the Great Northern Railway, Delivered Luggage” printed on them. (I found out later that this had been a Midwest railroad with routes stretching from St. Paul, MN, to Seattle, WA.)

Next to it sat a large black trunk with a wooden tray and some disparate papers and letters inside.

I’m sure most people just walked right past the two in their search for goodies on the auction tables. But not me. I had begun noticing trunks and suitcases over the past few weeks because more and more seemed to be appearing at auctions. A few had baggage labels, most did not.

I was drawn more to the labels because they were pointers to the cities and countries the owners had traveled to, and the vessels that took them there. Today, we throw a few clothes in a small bag with wheels that we can carry onto a plane to avoid paying the horrendous fee to check our luggage. Even if we checked them, there would be no one affixing airline or hotel labels. And if they did, we’d be charged for the service.

Inside the military-style suitcase.

If you get a hankering for vintage baggage labels, I found plenty of sites on the web where you can pick up a few for a couple bucks. Or if you travel abroad, you can just get by with your stamped passport.

Airplanes don’t come to mind when I think of old suitcases and steamer trunks. I think of ocean liners and steamships, which were the most favorite mode of travel between the late 1900s to World War II. The Cunard Line was one of the of the best known shipping lines in the world, and the company prides itself on having some of the most famous people in the world as its passengers.

Labels for ship lines and hotels show where the owner has traveled.

A label for the line was affixed to one suitcase at auction recently. A bit tattered, the suitcase was also covered in stickers for the United States Line; the New York and Cuba Mail Steamship Co.; Hotel Metropole Wein; Carlton Hotel, Chamonix, Mont Blanc; Hotel De L’Europe, plus more. There was no indication of when the traveling occurred.

The New York and Cuba Mail Steamship Co. (commonly known as the Ward Line) sailed from New York to Cuba, Mexico and the Bahamas up until 1954. It started out in 1841 as a freight shipper and got into steamship travel in 1877. The name of the company was later changed to the Cuba Mail Line. The United States Line operated ocean liners until 1969; its most famous was the SS United States.

One hotel label on the suitcase became infamous in World War II for its occupants. The once-elegant Hotel Metropole in Vienna was the headquarters of the Gestapo, the Nazi secret police, starting in 1938. Built in the 1870s, the place was bombed and destroyed near the end of the war. Under the Nazis, it was the site of the torture and murder of Jews and others, and a memorial was erected there to honor the victims.

The Hotel De L’Europe may have been the luxury hotel in Amsterdam (five-star) or Paris (“a charming 2-star,” according to the hotel).

This trunk was in the basement at an estate sale.

I’m not sure if all of the trunks had made trips aboard ships or trains. Some may have just spent their time in a basement or closet holding clothes, mementos and other items. I found one such basement dweller at an on-site estate sale recently. The trunk was filled with clean white linens.

Most of the trunks at auction were pretty utilitarian. There are some famous ones, though, including the Jenny Lind trunk, named after the singer dubbed the Swedish Nightingale. And then there’s this beautiful circa 1900s Louis Vuitton antique trunk selling for $22,500 on the web. It still has its stickers from luxury hotels around the world.

Here are some of the other trunks and suitcases I came across at auction:

A sturdy trunk with heavy water stains inside.

A trunk containing papers and letters.

Suitcases waiting to be auctioned. They apparently had traveled many miles because they were not in good shape.

The luggage we use today .

Now, who wrote the ‘Wizard of Oz’?

sherry — Fri, 06 May 2011 15:56:37 +0000

The auctioneer was trying mightily to sell the six or so stacks of old books on the counter behind him, one stack at a time. But he was hawking them to a stubborn crowd.

There weren’t many of us in the room at the auction house (a toy sale was commencing in another room), and as I looked around I didn’t see any of the people who usually buy books. One of the regulars whom the auctioneer could depend on to buy any book wasn’t there. In fact, I hadn’t seen him in months.

Copies of the books "Marshmallow (1942)" and "The Wizard of Oz (1957)."

In a pleading voice, the auctioneer was almost giving the books away, and was even being a little hyperbolic in describing them. He held up two books: “The Story of Babar” and “Marshmallow,” flipping through the second one. A first edition, he said. The book looked too new to be a first edition to me, but I hadn’t checked the title page.

Babar was written by the French writer Jean de Brunhoff and first printed in France in 1931. It was published in Great Britain and the United States about two years later. Marshmallow was published in 1942 by Clare Turlay Newberry.

I think the two sold for a couple bucks, not more than about $5. Most of the books were children’s books, including one illustrated by N.C. Wyeth and several others whose names I didn’t know. Another was a two-volume set written by a historian who had traveled through Africa, according to the auctioneer. They were in lots of five to eight; only a few were sold as pairs.

“Look at this one,” the auctioneer said, holding the book’s front cover for us to see. From where I sat, I could not make out the title. “It was written by J.M. Barrie, who wrote the ‘Wizard of Oz.’”

“He didn’t write the ‘Wizard of Oz,’” I said to no one in particular. “Yes, he did,” said my auction buddy Janet. “I don’t think he did,” I insisted. She was just as insistent.

It didn’t sound right to me. I had mentioned the Oz book in a blog post some time ago, and I had even gotten a copy in a box lot (and had come across some collectors’ plates with scenes from the movie). This name was unfamiliar to me in connection with Dorothy and the Munchkins.

"The Story of Babar," first published in the United States in 1933.

The auctioneer moved on to other items, but this author thing still nagged at me. So, I pulled out my Droid. That’s the beauty of smart phones; you can find a quick answer to any question in a flash.

I Googled “Wizard of Oz” and up popped a name that I recognized: L. Frank Baum. The Oz story was one of the tales he had told to his sons before developing it into a book titled “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz.” It was printed in 1900 and later reprinted simply as “The Wizard of Oz.”

I handed my Droid to Janet so she could see the name of the true author. Didn’t want her going around with bad information in her head.

I should’ve also shown it to the auctioneer, but I’m not sure if it would have mattered much to him. Auctioneers can be notorious for exaggeration and guessing. And it’s up to the buyer to take what they say cautiously. Many of them are knowledgeable in certain fields of collecting and you can rely on their expertise. When they venture outside those areas, you should be skeptical.

A couple days ago, I was at an estate sale and an auctioneer identified some small bird water-feeders – the kind that hang on the side of a bird cage – as lighting fixtures. Several of us who knew better raised our eyebrows. One of them may have been a small fixture; the feeders do resemble small bathroom fixtures. Most, though, were bird water-feeders.

At the book auction, I started to wonder about the writer J.M. Barrie, so I Googled him. His biography mentioned one of his creations that I knew: Peter Pan. The character first appeared in a novel “The Little White Bird” in 1901, was the subject of a play “Peter Pan or The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up” in 1904 and became the novel “Peter and Wendy” in 1911. The story was one he told to the sons of a friend.

At home, I have several of the books auctioned that day: six illustrated by N.C. Wyeth, a first edition of “Marshmallow,” worn around the edges likely from many readings by a child, and a 1950 edition of “The Wizard of Oz.” I got them all as part of box lots, in much the same way as these were sold.

A collection of children's books illustrated by artist N.C. Wyeth.

Rewriting the reason behind the Civil War

sherry — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 10:24:12 +0000

Last October, a reader named Bob came across one of my blog posts about an auction of Nazi paraphernalia. In the post, I was pretty adamant about not-never-ever having any inclination to buy such artifacts.

Like Klan paraphernalia, they were inherently evil, I said, and I could not imagine having them in my home. I wondered why anyone would want to collect the stuff.

In the post, I acknowledged that some black people collect the awful images that others had prescribed to us. I don’t collect it but I don’t begrudge people who do – whether it’s Nazi, Klan, Confederate or what some call Black Americana pieces. My post even mentioned that there were Jews who collected Nazi paraphernalia.

The words of the Emancipation Proclamation written to form the bust of President Lincoln. It sold for $800 last month at Swann Auction Galleries.

Bob was apoplectic about the post, but not about my comments regarding Nazi artifacts. He ranted about why the Civil War was fought. Never mind that I never mentioned slavery and the Civil War. I only mentioned that some Civil War letters, prints and awards were auctioned that day, but that had nothing to do with the why of the war itself.

I got to thinking about Bob yesterday while reading a commentary in the Philadelphia Inquirer about how some folks have tried to rewrite the reason behind the war. They say it was fought over “states rights” and not over the freedom of my black ancestors, among other reasons. The writer of the newspaper article – titled “Losers have written the Civil War’s history” – did a good job of dispelling that myth.

Bob crudely (I could feel the hatred in his heart and head as he wrote) accused me of getting my American history wrong. The war was not fought to free the slaves, he said, it was fought because the “North was making unfair demands on the South.” Heck, he said, many black people fought on the side of the southern slave-holding states (I added the word “slave-holding”). He forgot to mention that many more left the plantations to fight on the Union side (after President Lincoln laid out the challenge in the Emancipation Proclamation and Frederick Douglass encouraged them to join).

Then he accused us “ignorant Northerners” of not knowing what we were talking about. I’m actually from the South, born and bred in Georgia, still have family and roots there. I suspect that there are some Southerners like myself who also know that the abolition of slavery was the primary aim of the war.

I ignored the man’s comments and refused to post them.

Then he wrote to ask why I didn’t post them. And then he insulted me again. Was he nuts? For one thing, I wasn’t going to let him use my blog to rewrite history. Let him get his own blog; that’s why I started mine so I didn’t have to read garbage like his. A century ago, no one in my family could do that. Now, I can.

This is the 150th anniversary of the war, and there will be celebrations all over. Several years ago, a friend and I visited Gettysburg, Antietam and several other Civil War battlegrounds. It was one of the most fascinating and amazing journeys – both physically and historically - I had ever taken. At Gettysburg, we had our own private tour guide who rode in the car with us and gave us a history lesson that made the war, its purpose and its human losses real.

Meanwhile, I plan to be on the lookout for war-related artifacts on the auction tables, and as usual, I’ll be digging up the history behind them. Because this my history, too – the true version, though.

Furniture with hand-painted designs

sherry — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 11:06:00 +0000

I was walking through the furniture room at one of my favorite auction houses recently when I noticed something:

Several pieces of furniture – seemingly more than usual – were showing off the work of a craftsman’s hands: They all had hand-painted designs on them. A rocking chair, a baby or doll cradle, a headboard, a matching wall shelf and buffet. The paint was fading on several of them while others had retained their original color and drawings.

The first was a red and cream shelf with matching buffet. On the surface of both were delicate red and pink roses, and blue flowers. They had an old-world charm and they looked vintage.

The auctioneer called them Pennsylvania Dutch. Once he moved on, I picked up and read a catalog that accompanied the pieces. On the front were the German words “Handbemalte Bauernmobel” or handpainted Bauernmobel, as I found out in translation. The word Bauernmobel came up in several searches on the web but most were in German, a language I do not speak. I did find some information about it in an answer to a question on identifying similar furniture.

It apparently is a style of rustic hand-painted furniture with elaborate decorations. It was also called “farmer’s furniture.” The catalog showed several pieces of the same type of furniture, including a buffet that looked like the auction piece. It was selling for $680 alone.

The two pieces at auction went for $110. Someone got a bargain.

After noticing these hand-painted pieces, I recalled that I had seen others on the floor. So I went searching for these pieces, which obviously had been personally handled by someone rather than commercially made.

I came upon a neat little child’s rocker that appeared to have been lovingly used. Some of the green paint had chipped in spots, but the designs on it were still recognizable. Another auction-goer had apparently thought so, too, because someone had left an absentee bid. Stuck to the rocker was a yellow sticker with a buyer’s number on it.

The painting on the seat of the chair was a red fox curled up in a ball. On the headrest at the top of the back of the chair were three hunting dogs or English pointers. Were they after the fox, I wondered. An imaginative child could have fun putting them all together in a story.

Propped against a wall was what looked like a twin bed, yellow with red accents. It had seen better days, but on the headboard was a faded scene of a house with pointed roof surrounded by trees and something else I could not identify. Much of the craftsman’s handiwork had flaked off.

The final piece was a delight – a light green baby or doll cradle with birds and flowers. It still had some bedding on it.

Promoting and selling the art of Earl Wilkie

sherry — Wed, 30 Mar 2011 09:28:33 +0000

It’s been a couple months since David Raine started marketing the artwork of his father, Philadelphia artist Earl Wilkie.

When Wilkie died in 2009, he left behind a legacy of paintings, sculptures, sketches and poems, but he didn’t leave behind a well-known name. Wilkie was an artist and educator who spent time during the 1960s with such notable Philadelphia artists as Ellen Powell Tiberino, but then retreated into his art.

Three works by artist Earl Wilkie.

Now David is trying to change that. I met him about six months ago at a reception honoring his father’s 30 years as an educator at the Elwyn Institute, an organization that assists people with special needs. The family donated a sculpture called “The Window” to the program.

David checked in with me recently to tell me how it was going. I asked him to answer some questions about the process with the hope that it could help others like him. It’s also a chance for people to offer suggestions to him about marketing the art and the artist. Here is what he had to say:

What types of things have you done to promote your father’s work?

As an experienced, touring and playing singer/songwriter, I quickly learned both the differences and similarities in promoting visual art and music. Of course, it is more expensive for one to collect visual art than it is to collect music.

My first thought was to contact artist-friends for advice. Unfortunately, many had either passed away or my father had been estranged from them for too many years. In the 1980s, Earl Wilkie began to find his way back to the Bible. The challenge of a strict Christian path created great distances between him and many contacts in the art world. He became leery of the basis of man friendships, but mostly felt that in order to succeed as an artist, he would have to commit to a role that would harm his spiritual and physical integrity – pulling him further from God’s plan for him.

I had to be mindful of where and how I would go about promoting his work. Creating a Facebook page seemed to be a great, free and safe way to expose some of his work to at least my list of friends, but also as I meet new people, it provides a place to send them to view his work. In addition, I get a feel of what collectors and other artists think of Wilkie’s works.

Sculpture "The Window" by Earl Wilkie, donated to the Elwyn Institute.

I also got involved with an annual fundraiser for a cause he had been passionate about since the ‘60s – mentally challenged adults and children. I donated a sculpture for one of the buildings and a couple of paintings that went into a charity auction to support Elwyn Institute. That led to some private sales, which became word of mouth promotion. I plan to develop a website as soon as I finalize the content and purpose of the site. Of course, funds will be needed, so there is a kind of catch-22 here.

What has been the most challenging?

The most challenging aspect has been creating time to be thorough about research in the art world. There was no pot of gold left after my father’s death. All administrating either comes out of my pocket or from sales of his work. I’m managing the security and upkeep of the art, then following up with potential buyers, galleries, and community art shows. This is a full-time job with no pay. Being an artist myself makes it a battle of priorities many times. Make no mistake, when I am managing my father’s career, I am not managing my own and vice versa.

What has been the most easy?

Hands down, the most easy part is that I truly believe in his work and purpose. It’s not because he is family. If a friend were to leave work of this caliber to me, I would still do what I could to share it on an international, lasting level. It also doesn’t hurt that his work is so powerful and beautiful. Not one person has had a negative or blah reaction to his work. People are instantly drawn to it. This makes it easy for me to communicate with people in the art world and learn what I need to manage the next steps. Other artists, curators and collectors have been so gracious and helpful.

How did you determine price? Did you have the work appraised?

I’m still working on getting the art officially appraised. In the beginning, I was warned of how expensive it was. That actually turned me off from it for many months. I put some trust in the opinions of some local artists and dealers, and of course, my instincts.

I also had to consider the condition of some of the works. In the last 10 years of his life, my father was quickly becoming legally blind so some sculptures have nicks. Some paintings have a little damage. That in itself creates difficulty. I cannot ask for the amount I feel it is worth if the buyer will have to restore it after the purchase. It gives a buyer a very strong bargaining tool.

The biggest issue is do I pay to restore them, or do I sell at a lower price to get funds circulating into the estate and foundation? At this point, I’m interested in selling some now, holding some to restore and getting some into institutions that may foot the restoring bill.

Determining a price was a learning process. I noticed that when he was selling his work in the ‘70s, he was asking for $3,000 to $6,000. After 30 years of silence, it was impossible to get those numbers. I had to create a plan to slowly build the value of his work. Pricing of the work is still something I struggle with.

Was the initial marketing costs expensive? How did you reduce costs?

The initial cost of marketing was almost nothing because I started off by testing the weight of my father’s name in the Philadelphia circles of art and education. This actually ended up educating me on the process of showing, sharing, and selling his work.

I started to develop a school program to teach about my father’s journey as an African American artist and educator. I soon learned that not enough funds are given to the schools to pay for these types of presentations anymore. The Wilkie estate would have to foot the bill. I was not ready for that and had to put the idea on hold. A plan that did work, and helped put his name in the minds of some collectors, was to join with existing charity art auctions that matched what the Wilkie estate would stand for. For now I will continue being a part of shows and events that are curated by established people in the business. This will grow the popularity of the Wilkie name and expose us to galleries that may be interested in taking us on.

Lastly, I shot a short documentary film of my father before he passed. I have been in talks with a producer about taking it to the next level by raising money to edit it into feature length and submit it to festivals. There’s no question of how much exposure will come from this.

Sculptor Earl Wilkie at work in his studio.

Was the lack of a name – your father didn’t sell many of his works so he wasn’t well known – a hindrance? How did you gotten around that hurdle? Or have you?

Of course, there is the lack of a “name,” but the work is so striking and original that it should enable me to move in places that will grow the name. Plus, we all understand the importance of preserving our African American artistic history. I can’t see his work being left behind.

Any plans for an exhibition of your father’s works?

We will be showing the film and one Wilkie piece on May 20, 2011, at the Williamsburg Music Center in Brooklyn, NY. We will also put up a portrait exhibit at the Flying Carpet Cafe in Philadelphia (date to be decided).

I’m also planning on printing some Wilkie images on T-shirt s so that those who can’t afford the art can at least wear it. The other plan is to make images available for licensing. This will create a feeling of constant exhibiting. It will also make it all the more special to get to own a piece made with his hands when we do show in a gallery.

Artifacts of pain and suffering

sherry — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 13:44:31 +0000

It’s not often that weapons other than guns and knives come up for sale at the auction houses I go to. But recently, a medieval-looking item found its way to one of the tables.

I had bypassed it – I have no use for items that inflict pain or death – until another auction-goer pointed it out to several of us as we stood nearby trying to figure out another item.

I had seen this type of weapon being swung adroitly by knights on horses in some long-forgotten movie. It had a short black handle with a spiked ball hanging from a chain. There on the table, it was a little unnerving because I knew it could inflict just as much damage as a gun – slowly but effectively – to the soft human body. (Click on photo below for a fuller view.)

A flail weapon, similar to those used by knights during Medieval times, sold at auction.

Was it someone’s toy, I wondered. And how did it get there?

Although I recognized its look, I didn’t know what the weapon was called. So I Googled, and found plenty of websites on Medieval weapons – both as toys and collectibles. The weapon was a flail and was sometimes mistakenly called a mace (it’s more like a club). Both have spiked heads, but a look at photos showed that they were different.

The military flail grew out of an agricultural tool used by European peasants to separate grains from their husks. When peasants were pulled from their fields to fight wars, they took the weapons with them, but not the agricultural ones. Those used in war were made by skilled blacksmiths. The flail was also used in Asian countries but under other names.

The flail was one of several weapons used by knights during the Middle Ages, and with enough force, it could pierce armor and effectively subdue an enemy. It was not the most popular of their weapons, though. That was the sword.

The Pharoahs in Egypt combined a flail with a cross as a symbol of royalty.

At auction, I was not around when the weapon sold, but since it was such a novelty item, I’m sure someone got it for a good price.

The flail was not the only militaristic tool at auction that day. When I wandered to a room where furniture was being sold, I watched as an auction assistant sat one of a group of white metal patio chairs to the side. (Click on photo below for a fuller view.)

: A pair of old handcuffs attached to a patio chair at auction.

Instantly, someone pointed out a strange item attached to one of the arms – an old pair of handcuffs with chipped white paint and a rusty chain.

We all found it quite amusing, and our imaginations went wild about how they got there and what they were used for. That must’ve been some party.

The assistant found this arrangement so unbelievable that he kept pointing out the handcuffs to others as they approached the furniture sale. These were either old handcuffs or they had been left outside in the elements for a long time. The key, I’m sure, disappeared ages ago.

I don’t know who bought the chairs or how much they sold for, but if they were mine, I’d keep the handcuffs on them. What a conversation-starter.

The value of African American manuscripts

sherry — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 16:39:39 +0000

I’ve been to many auctions where the simplest of African American ephemera has been snapped up by dealers. But I was not prepared for the prices on such items at a recent manuscript auction.

When did our written history – those paper artifacts that told a once-indifferent world of our accomplishments – become so important? I’m happy that it is finally being realized for its value, but I was a bit surprised.

A hand-made banner for the ministry of Father Divine, sold at auction for $30,000.

It has not always been so. I was at a preview of the African American manuscript auction at Swann Auction Galleries in New York last month when I struck up a conversation with Wyatt H. Day, the house’s expert on this genre. He recalled the year 1995 when he tried to get New York’s venerable auction houses to consider offering such sales. There was no market for it, he was told.

Swann was interested, he said, and he recalled that it was initially difficult to find the products. “I was starting from scratch,” he said.

Since that time, he has managed to rescue some important historical documents either from dumpsters or hiding in homes of families who didn’t realize their value. The tales of his finds are fascinating:

There was the well-known New York abolitionist family – which was involved in the Underground Railroad and is the namesake of a street in Lower Manhattan – with a library of 5,000 books at their home on Staten Island. “They (abolitionist books, the Fireside Poets) went to the town dumpster,” he said, but they were saved.

There was the family in Richmond, VA, which had a log book for a patrol boat outside West Africa.

That family directed him to another that had a rare slave manuscript – the stuff is “always in a shoebox,” Day noted. It had been written in Arabic and translated by missionaries. It was the personal manuscript of an Islamic scholar named Omar ibn Said (1770-1864), who had been kidnapped from Senegal and brought to this country to be a slave. In 1831, he wrote a narrative of his life in Africa and America.

“It was a treasure,” Day said. “We had it translated.” The missionary translation was “off,” he said, adding that the man had not happily embraced Christianity as the translation had purported. “It was bought by an African American scholar,” said Day. “It went all around the world and was exhibited at the UN. This is the kind of thing this sale has accomplished.”

There was the manuscript found among papers in a Florida home with the title “The Bondswoman’s Narrative,” written by a black woman in the late 1850s and considered the first. A narrative of the life of Hannah Crafts, it was purchased and authenticated by scholar, historian and editor Henry Louis Gates Jr. and published in 2002.

“Once again, something got rescued,” Day said. “Now I don’t have to make the academic pitch. The monetary pitch works to get stuff out of dresser drawers and attics.”

He also tries to connect to people “viscerally,” he said, to get them beyond the dollars and cents to the meaning of the manuscripts and their historical value.

An 1848 copy of Frederick Douglass' autobiography. It did not sell at auction.

A collector who’s done his share of dumpster-diving, Day owns one of those works. He says he has one of only five copies of “Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass. An American Slave. Written by Himself.” One was up for sale last month at Swann.

The copies apparently belonged to Douglass, and Day surmised that he may have taken several with him when he parted ways with abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison around the mid-19th century. “It was him reclaiming himself,” Day said. The book was missing the frontspiece (or cover) portrait of Douglass, just like all the others, he said. The autobiography was first published in 1845 and this one had a publication date of 1848.

The starting bid on the Douglass book was $13,000, but there were no takers. Other Douglass memorabilia did sell, including several copies of the Douglass Monthly newspaper – from $1,500 to $4,400 (excluding the 15 percent auction-house premium) – and a carte-de-visite card with a photo for $6,000.

Many of the other manuscripts went for thousands of dollars. This was my first Swann manuscript sale (I have come in the past for the fine art auction), and it was an enlightening experience. Several of the works were purchased by the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture, set to open in 2015. The museum is building its collection, and in January, it invited people to bring in their heirlooms for appraisal and possible donation.

Here’s a sample (minus the 15 percent premium) of the prices for other items:

Aaron Douglas stenciled placard for the Wallace Thurman play “Harlem” at the Apollo Theater in 1939. $15,000.

Huey P. Newton in a wicker chair with spear in one hand and gun in another. $16,000.

“Honor King: End Racism” placard from an April 8, 1968, march in Memphis days after Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.’s assassination. $17,000.

Transcript of the first trial of the Scottsboro Boys, April 6, 1931. The transcript was found in a dumpster in Huntsville, AL, about 30 years ago. $17,000.

A 1937 photo of the Scottsboro Boys and two NAACP attorneys, sold at the Swann Auction Galleries auction for $10,000.

Group photo of the Scottsboro Boys with attorneys Juanita E. Jackson and Laura Kellum of the NAACP. Jackson was the first African American woman to pass the bar in Maryland. Kellum was with the Birmingham NAACP youth council. The photo ran in Crisis Magazine in January 1937. $10,000

Marcus Garvey pen and ink portrait with a written statement by him, 1922. $26,000.

Poster from the first Malcolm X film in 1972. $14,000.

A Night-Club Map of Harlem by E. Simms Campbell. It was a centerfold in the Jan. 8, 1933, issue of Manhattan Magazine, its first issue. $14,000.

Large Father Divine handmade banner in purple and white felt, 54″ x 53″. $30,000.

Losing out on a new laser printer

sherry — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 14:09:18 +0000

I had walked past the printer several times as I left and entered the auction house. It sat across from the door, a huge monster that I basically ignored.

The laser jet printer was seemingly as big as the ones we used in the newsroom where I used to work. The thing broke down so much that we wondered if the repairman has set up house in the building so he would be on-call to fix it.

As I wandered around the auction house waiting for the items I actually wanted, I passed by the printer again. Then a light bulb switched on in my brain. I could use a printer like this to make business cards and promotional materials for We Are Black Women, especially since we have a Tech Camp coming up pretty soon.

A new Sharp multi-function laser printer that sold at auction for $25.

Then I examined the printer more closely, opening its doors and lifting the top. It was brand-spanking-new. It even had the manual and CD still in their plastic sleeves. Now, I was excited. I had to have this machine, and I didn’t expect that many other people were in the market for one.

I was sure I’d get it at a great bargain.

I didn’t want it to get away like the HP desktop computer set that I had foolishly failed to bid on at another auction a few days before. The monitor, keyboard and tower, all of which looked to be in good condition, went for $60. I didn’t need a computer and could not come up with a very good reason to buy it. I later realized that I could have donated it to a non-profit.

I’m always amazed at how you can buy gently-used items for a pittance at auction. Or as in the case of the laser printer, get them new.

I checked the paperwork on the machine: It was a Sharp AL1651CS digital laser printer, scanner, copier. It was one of those multi-function printers that did it all. I have a similar one on my desk but it’s a Canon MX860 ink jet that I bought a few years ago for about $160. It does OK on the business cards but it can’t match a laser.

After checking out the printer, I wandered off into another room and figured I’d come back around the time it would come up for bids. I returned too late, though: The printer had been sold. I was crestfallen. No one standing nearby knew what it had been sold for – probably not for much, someone said, making me feel even worse.

The buyer walked up as I stood there, admiring what I had missed. How much did you get it for? I asked. $25, he said. Now I was really bummed. What a steal.

Later, at home, I Googled to find out more about the machine:

It was a small office printer that prints and copies 16 pages per minute, and had a color scanner, a stacker/sorter, an automatic document feeder, a zoom function and an Ethernet connection for network printing. It also offered double-sided copying. Cartridges cost from about $48 to more than $100. One auction-goer had mentioned that the cartridges would likely be costly.

Several sites noted that the printer was no longer available, and one suggested that buyers look for a newer model. That got me to thinking about how to buy a printer, and the best advice is to first determine your needs. That’s what I did before I bought the Canon inkjet and the task was still daunting.

Was losing the Sharp a good thing? Probably not, especially since it went for only $25. Even if I was dissatisfied with it, I could’ve put it on eBay: Two sold for $125 and $99.99. The trick, though, would be in shipping that 50-pound baby.

What mystery tool is this?

sherry — Wed, 23 Mar 2011 14:02:48 +0000

Pointing to the rusty metal contraption there on the auction table, I asked the same question of each person who approached us.

What do you think that is?

Each peered at it, picked it up and offered some wild answers. Several other auction-goers were standing there with me, and we had looked it over and couldn’t figure it out. We all guessed at it but didn’t come very close to identifying it.

This mystery tool sold at auction mystified several of us regular auction-goers.

A small item, this mystery tool resembled a table with four legs. It had a hand crank with two open wheels on one side and a solid turn wheel on the other. Maybe it was a tobacco cutter, someone offered.

I turned it over, around and under, and we looked at it from front to back. I lifted up an arm on the top and discovered a solid roller attached to it and a ribbed roller beneath it. At one end was the rusty remnant of a knife blade.

Obviously, something paper-thin would’ve been fed through the blade. That ruled out the tobacco cutter, unless it was used to cut dried tobacco leaves.

“A money maker,” someone said jokingly. “A chopper,” another said.

“It’s some kind of –,” practically everyone pronounced, ending their statement by filling in the blank.

One man answered the question with the all-too-obvious answers, the ones we had already come up with by just looking at it. That didn’t sit too well with one of the original of us who had been studying the thing for a while. No one likes to be treated as stupid – innocently or not.

This mystery item sold at auction has a set of rollers and a blade at the end.

“It’s some kind of embosser or engraver,” one man said. “You got to be old to know (what it is),” chimed in his friend, jokingly indicating that we all were much too young to recognize the thing.

I wasn’t around when the auctioneer finally got to the item, but I’m sure he didn’t know the answer either. He likely just made something up and offered it up for bids.

Stuck to the item was a yellow paper disc with a number: Someone had left an absentee bid on it. At least one person knew what it was or just liked the look of it.

The metal contraption wasn’t the only item that was the subject of our guessing game. On another table was a wooden shelf-like object with a cathedral top and pocket bottom for holding something. A small aged pouch with a draw string hung near the top. Inside the pouch was a handful of kidney beans.

This mystery item sold at auction had a pouch of kidney beans hanging on it. What is it?

A seed box, someone said, maybe it was tied to a horse. That wasn’t likely because it had a hole at the top as if it had hung on a nail on a wall, possibly near a door.

When the auctioneer got to it, he simply called it a shelf, and it promptly sold for about $5.

From time to time, obscure items like these come up at auction, made for a long-ago purpose that is foreign to us. Each of these will likely be sold as collector’s items with their nice vintage patina or they could easily be blended into a décor as a great conversation starter.

Do you recognize either of them? What were they used for? I’d love to know.