Previewing the online auction, I only saw a few books that looked promising. Two lots of about three books each already had bids on them at prices way beyond what I was willing to pay. Instantly, I realized why online auctions are not a favorite of mine – too much competition from too many people with deep pockets.
On the day of the auction, I checked the website way before the bidding began and saw that one single book was still attainable. Then I made a regrettable mistake: I got busy at home and forgot about the auction.
When I finally sat down at my computer, Gwendolyn Brooks’ novel “Maud Martha” stared out at me. I wanted that book because it was the only novel written by this famous African American poet. It was a first edition, published in 1953.
The auction was ending, and I was too late. Surprisingly, it sold at a price that I would have paid at an on-site auction and it could possibly have been mine.
Since auctions have gone virtual, I’m having to change the way I think of them. I’m learning that I have to stay on top of the items I want to bid on. Unlike bidding at an actual auction house, I’m not a captive audience. At home, I can walk away, get involved into something else important or unimportant, and get so wrapped up in that something else that I forget. At an on-site auction, I can remain close by and keep watch on an item I intend to go for.
Missing out on that book got me to thinking about what I miss most about being at an actual auction. I miss just being there to soak up the ambience. I miss the people whom I’d gotten know and the little gems that held little-known or forgotten history.
My auction buddy Janet was always a regular with me, and I was curious about what she missed. Here are her thoughts, followed by mine.
What Janet misses about not “being” there
At auctions, you tend to see the same people over and over. Eventually, some become acquaintances, people whose interests you share and whose names – or permanent bidding numbers – you know.
There’s Rich, who trades in toys and who shows up at specialty toy sales ready to drop serious cash. And the couple who bid as No. 46. They go for elegant pieces, delicate glassware for buyers whose homes still have formal dining rooms and china cabinets.
For years, I’ve seen people like this every few weeks. We’ve exchanged gossip, asked after one another’s health and stood shoulder-to-shoulder ordering a quick lunch of hot dogs and chips.
Now – they’re gone.
Over the last months, like so many others, I’ve been stuck at home. While I’ve been tidying junk drawers and looking at 25-year-old episodes of “The Young and the Restless,” most auctions have moved online. My routine is a routine no more.
I can’t say to an auction buddy, “Where’s Judy? You know, the woman who buys all the jewelry.” Or complain, “Why are there always Christmas ornaments for sale when it’s 95 degrees?” Those small conversations are gone.
Every day seems like Sunday now, even though the lock down has been lifted. It is quiet with only delivery trucks zooming up and down streets and the distant buzz of lawn mowers .
My auction acquaintances and I aren’t picking through boxes of jumbled goods, looking for that one piece that will make our week on eBay or Mercari. We’re not competing against one another for something we both should have passed on.
We’re in a holding pattern, like planes hovering over an airport.
One day soon I hope we’ll be back to normal. That may mean wearing face coverings at auctions, sitting far apart and consuming – or not – the dinner-time bowls of macaroni and beef at the auction house.
But we’ll be happy to see one another – even if we have to shout through our masks and touch elbows in greeting.
What Sherry misses
I miss hearing the singsong rhythm of the auctioneer, because there is none online. The sound below is an auctioneer selling a Shang Dynasty Bronze Dagger, 1600-1100 BC. The bidding was was conducted on-site and online. It was relentless and went on for almost 4 minutes. The dagger sold for $3,200.
I miss the ability to hold a book to look for tears or wear. (Online photos show some of this, but no one’s going to be as precise at checking out an item as I am.)
I missing not being able to eyeball a painting in real time.This painting by artist Tom McKinney has a textured surface.
I miss not being able to wind up an item or turn it on to see if it works. This animaton cobbler cat still worked, but it was missing its hammer and the boot it was repairing.
I miss finding out about unusual collections, from porcelain mice to swizzle sticks.
I miss discovering black history that had long been hidden, such as this automobile built by an African American company at the turn of the 20th century.
I miss finding Native American history that was buried.
I miss the drama that breaks up the routine of an auction day, such as a woman who decried the low prices being bid for the individual dolls in her collection.
I miss the oddball items that turn up and draw a number of bids. It’s a rare item that doesn’t get a bid.
I miss finding items that were once common, such as a carton for shipping eggs from the country to city folks.
I miss the sweet little things that gets dumped, such as a book of poems – with photos – written by a mother to her son.
