Hoping for – but not getting – a big win at “Antiques Roadshow”

The appraiser looked a bit tired and seemed indifferent. He watched as I approached the table but he didn’t lean forward in a welcoming gesture. It was closing in on 12 noon, and the “Antiques Roadshow” had been going on for nearly five hours. He had probably seen too many items worth only a few bucks and not enough worth more to get him excited.

And here I was opening up a black plastic bag that I had used to wrap my documents to shield them from a rainstorm that did not materialize. This was my first roadshow, and I didn’t know what to expect and even worse, what to take. I have so many historical items – most of them African American-related – that I carted a half-dozen to the site knowing that I could get appraisals on only two.

I figured I’d choose the two once I got there. And I did, with the help of my friends Rebecca, a collector of African American books, and Sly, a dealer with too much stuff he hasn’t sold. We all wanted an expert appraisal of our items, even though each of us knew precisely how to research their value on our own.

That probably led to our lackluster response to the roadshow experience. We knew too much. I realized that the roadshow was not necessarily for people like us. At auction, Sly and I Google items to see how much they are selling for – or are not – so that we don’t overbid. I dig even deeper twice a week for the story and history behind the items on my blog.

But that didn’t stop us from taking a long drive yesterday from Philadelphia to Winterthur, the du Pont estate that is now a museum, library  and gardens, for the roadshow’s first visit to Delaware.

The roadshow was very organized. There were smiling and helpful volunteers all over the place. One volunteer told me that he came up from Knoxville, TN. Someone mentioned that another volunteer followed the roadshow from city to city. I talked to two women – if this were a band, they would be groupies – who have attended about a half-dozen of these roadshows.

Before I got to the roadshow, I envisioned mobs of people pushing and shoving and bumping into each other. In fact, the outdoor courtyard in front of the Dorrance Gallery was passable, with people ambling about like they were at a festival. On each side, tables with tent covers were set up below signs posted with categories. Timed tickets allowed people to arrive every hour on the half hour, although ours were good for any time that day. Perhaps that kept the place uncrowded, except for the Feedback Booth. We were told the wait time was 1 ½ hours.

Inside a room that led to the courtyard, several tables with appraisers lined opposite walls, while furniture had its own room.

The items I finally chose were handled by appraisers inside:

1865 manumission papers for an enslaved African who was freed to join the 9^th Regiment, United States Colored Troops, during the Civil War, along with a document by a female slaveowner seeking compensation from the War Department for freeing him.

A set of 19^th-century stereoview cards with photos of an expedition by George Wheeler chronicling western lands and the Native Americans who inhabited them.

Could they get me on an episode of “Antiques Roadshow,” I wondered.

I was given two category cards denoting the tables I should go to. At the Books and Manuscripts table, there was no line. I carefully unfolded the manumission documents and opened them out for the apathetic appraiser. He browsed the papers, asked me how I had acquired them – a reader of my blog gave them to me after seeing a newspaper story I had written about African American history items. I also told the appraiser that I attend African American art and manuscripts sales at Swann Auction Galleries in New York, and he asked whether manumission papers had been sold there. I didn’t recall that they had.

He pulled out his tablet and tapped it a few times. I don’t think he found anything because his search was too quick. I do enough research to know that it takes time. (I had already read on the web that the appraisers had only a very short time to spend with each person.)

Finally, he said, the document was worth only a few hundred dollars. Googling later, I found that Swann had sold several single manuscripts, with prices ranging from about $200 to nearly $700. The appraiser advised me to have the documents placed on acid-free paper, unfolded.

Next, I took the stereoview cards to the Photographs table, where an appraiser with better vibes helped me. Again, no long line. She looked through the cards, asked how much I paid for them – I bought them seven years ago and didn’t remember – and how many there were – about 40 or 50. I pointed out the ones showing Native Americans because I liked those the best.

Then she asked what I was looking for. An appraisal, I said. I’d like to know what they’re worth. $3,000, she said, without Googling. I was both surprised and excited. When I bought the cards, I had researched the history of the expedition but not the value of the set of cards. When I got home, I Googled and found a set in a black case that sold at auction in 2009 for $5,000.

Feeling good, I asked if I could show her a photograph. It was a signed photo of Negro Leagues pitcher Terris McDuffie. She didn’t do autographs and directed me to the Books and Manuscripts table where an appraiser directed me to Sports. The photographs appraiser walked me through the courtyard searching for Sports, whose table we finally located at the end of the large Collectibles section.

The Sports line was long, it wasn’t moving and I didn’t want to wait. The lines outside – including Paintings and Prints, and Dolls – were longer than those inside. The Asian Arts line was short, which was surprising since Asian items are big sellers at auction.

Meanwhile, Rebecca and Sly had finished and were people-watching. She had gotten an appraisal of my heavy but beautifully illustrated book by Brazilian artist Carybe. Googling, the appraiser found it selling for $200, she said, while another book with pullout pages of Carybe’s art was going for $2,000. Googling later, I found the book selling for $400 and $2,000. One sold at auction in 2013 for $180.

Rebecca’s book titled “Hokus Pokus The Good Will Pixie” was worth only about $15. She had paid $1 for it. A hammered tin pitcher was considerably more but not over $100. Sly’s Air King wire recorder (which actually recorded on steel wires, which fascinated me) was said to be worth $40 (Sly said he had found it selling for $180 via Google.) His 1912 New York Herald “Percy” color cartoon page was not worth much. It’s a common page from a newspaper, the appraiser told him.

My friend Vernoca, who heads the Paul Robeson House & Museum in Philadelphia where I volunteer, also brought items for appraisal, including a vintage portable Communion set that was used by her minister-father. The appraiser wasn’t able to put a value on it.

The roadshow was not much different from other appraisal events I’ve attended at smaller venues, including one that gave an inside view into the show. In all cases, the appraisers relied on Google because there’s no way for them to know about everything (unless they are experts in their fields). So at these venues, they are all generalists. You may learn just as much about your item by Googling as you would at one of these events. In fact, Rebecca and I used to offer sessions on how to determine the value of your items, and I’ve written a blog post with suggestions.

The other items I toyed with choosing for appraisal were all African American-related: three 19^th-century anti-slavery tokens, a portfolio by illustrator/artist Bill Howell and sketchbooks of artist Frank Dillon. I wondered if any of the appraisers could properly appraise these items. Had the African American appraiser been there, Rebecca noted, there would have been someone who was an expert in them. I don’t watch roadhouse much anymore, but I believe she was referring to Philip Merrill.

None of our items got us a spot on an episode of the show, unfortunately. I asked each of my friends if they would go to the roadshow again. Only if I find something that I know is valuable, said Sly. The rest of us were non-committal.