Here’s a lesson we’ve learned from Perry County: auctions are fun.
My first auction was at Jeff Heikenfeld’s place over in Loysville. It was a Friday evening in late fall. The room was packed. The odor of roasting hot dogs mingled with the funk of attic dust. There was a curious tension in the air. During the pre-auction inspection, no one wanted to seem interested in anything in particular, but there was plenty of furtive elbowing and whispering.
The instant Jeff warmed up his chant, I was plunged into confusion. It was like hearing English words fired from a submachine gun. Underwater.
One dollar bid, now two, now two, would you give me two, two dollars bid, now three, now three, would you give me three, three dollars bid, now four…
No one else seemed to be having any trouble. A steady stream of goods flowed up to the auction block and then into the hands of winners. How I admired the way experienced bidders calmly raised the corner of their card and gave a nearly imperceptible nod to stay in the bidding! They were all so cool and collected.
I finally screwed up the courage to bid on something, a memoir of Perry County. I’d learned that no one ever bid the first number the auctioneer tossed out, so I waited until he was all the way back down to two dollars. Up went my bidder’s card.
The race was on! Blood rushed to my cheeks. Someone else was bidding. I didn’t care. That book was MINE. Every time I heard a new number, I waved my card.
I waved and waved and waved. No one was going to outbid me. No, Sir. I nodded like a bobblehead in case the frantic waving wasn’t enough to signal my bid. All I heard were numbers, lots of them, and fast. I didn’t care. I was making a stand. My hand wasn’t coming back down until I heard the word “Sold!”
But that other bidder…Man! He seemed determined, too. So I just kept waving my card.
Finally, with a comic show of exasperation—humor being one of the great tools of the auctioneer— Jeff interrupted his chant to ask if I really wanted to be bidding against myself.
Oops.
There may have been some quiet snickering. I don’t know. I was really focused on winning that book. I WANTED it. A little bit of public humiliation was a small price to pay.
I was caught up in the excitement of bidding, exactly the way you’re not supposed to be, if you don’t want to lose your shirt. A live auction was like being in the school play, going shopping, and gambling, all wrapped up in one unholy package.
I thought I was an old hand at auctions. After all, I’d been using eBay for years.
Live auctions were different. First of all, there was a dress code. As in, you had to be dressed in order to participate. As opposed to eBay, which didn’t really care if you were sitting in front of your computer in a bathrobe in the middle of the night, frantically clicking the “refresh” button of your browser to find out whether you scored that plumbing valve, cashmere sweater, or vintage squid-themed packing label you suddenly couldn’t live without.
I suppose you could show up at a Perry County auction wearing a bathrobe, but you’d better be Hugh Hefner. Or a collector with incredibly deep pockets, like the fellow at Fahnestock’s auction in New Bloomfield a few weeks ago who got into a bidding war for a 19th century clockwork boxing toy.
I didn’t know it at the time, but that toy was exceedingly rare. Only a handful are known to exist. Which might explain why the bidding at Fahnestock’s passed quickly through the low thousands, only slowing as it approached the final gavel price of six thousand dollars.
Six thousand dollars.
For a toy!
After the auctioneer cried, “Sold!” there was a spattering of applause, as if the dramatic bidding and counter-bidding had been arranged purely for entertainment. It’s hard to imagine another setting where you get a public pat on the back for spending the most money.
Except maybe in Congress.
We didn’t spend six thousand dollars that day. We spent six: five dollars on a crock for kitchen utensils, and one dollar on a small lot of doll toys.
Six dollars for three hours of entertainment for a family of three. Plus we got a crock and some tiny toys out of it.
I’ll wave a white card at that any day.
This column was published in the Perry Co Times on 05 November 2009
For more information, please contact Mr. Olshan at writing@matthewolshan.com
