From where I stood on the ramp, the line of doors seemed endless. The workers had laid them out side to side, flat on the ground at the back of the auction house so we auction-goers could get a good long look.
It was an impressive array of wooden doors – some in bright hues, some in dingy white, all weather-beaten with rusty metal, in need of paint and lots of care. They were awesome.
They reminded me of the entryways into those grand old mansions I see on TV dramas depicting the lives of the 19th-century English nobility. I don’t think that any of these came out of British mansions; they likely came from the homes of Americans with means.
I’m sure each of them had their own story to tell, because these were doors that had opened and shut on countless lives, sleepwalking through history but absorbing all of the elements around them. On many of them, I could see the welder’s hand fashioning a curvy design on a piece of metal or a woodcarver trimming the petals of a flower on the face of a hunk of natural wood.
The doors were taller than the male workers who kept hoisting them singly from the ground, standing them up tall at the auctioneer’s beckoning so we could see them even better – and bid heartily and high to get them. The doors looked to be not only giant but massive in weight, and the men lifted them in pairs from both sides.
“This is a killer door,” the auctioneer remarked about a white door that towered over the men. “This is an antique one, guys,” he said about a green door. “All original blue paint,” he said of a blue door that sold for $450. Two small side doors had their original hardware, he said, and promptly sold for $290.
I actually saw a few that I’d love to have, but unfortunately, the opening into my early-20th-century-built home wouldn’t accommodate it. My auction buddy Janet has been on the lookout for a neat wooden door for some time. This would’ve been a good place to spy one, but her front doorway is about the size as mine; she could’ve found it here, but it wouldn’t have fit her doorway, either.
Architecturally, these were marvelously designed – with curlicues and circles and straight lines on metalwork, and carved flowers and waves embossed on wood. Most of the doors had transoms and locks, and a maroon door still had an old padlock hanging from it.
One website called them reclaimed doors. Several others described them as “architectural salvage,” which includes old furniture, marble fireplaces, claw-foot tubs (like the beautiful one that came with my home) and hardware (door knobs and drawer pulls, for example). Hardware turns up pretty often at the auctions I attend; doors do not.
Googling, I came across several historical societies that sell architectural salvage, some of it donated to them. One group warned away dealers because the members wanted to sell to folks who were restoring their homes, not re-selling for profit.
At this auction, however, I suspect that most of the buyers were dealers. They were snatching up the doors, paying prices for single doors that ranged in the highest at $450 to $525 to $750. Many of the plain doors sold for $100 or less, some shutters went for $20 each, and metal gates ran from $50 to $110. A barn door sold for $120.
This was the auction house’s second sale in two months of salvaged doors. At the most recent, the auctioneer offered a little help on how to re-purposed a door. He began pushing what he called picture doors, which were actually doors with a series of narrow glass panes that you could place photographs behind.
Here are some of the doors from the auction, along with close-ups of some of the designs. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did:
