Antiques Journal: Your's Sincerely

Somewhat reluctantly, I had agreed to be an appraiser on Connecticut Public Television’s version of Antiques Roadshow, called Connecticut Treasure Hunt. It was a fundraiser, and I guess a fairly successful one. A couple of hundred or more paid $75 to bring their antiques to the morning session, and another 200 or 300 shelled out $50 for the afternoon.

Very few of the antiques brought in for appraisal were deemed “airworthy.” I was videotaped for possible airtime with one item – the most intricately fitted traveling desk (English, c.1830) that I have ever seen. It was full of secret drawers and hidey holes, with cunning springs and latches – a real fun thing! But don’t wait up to watch the result. CPTV had such a rigid formula that I had no chance at all to show why the desk was such a standout from the tens of thousands of others.

Everything was predetermined, not the slightest risk of spontaneity, though the feisty elderly lady whose desk it was did a wonderful job of mugging exaggerated surprise, delight and disbelief when I told her, yet again, that it was worth every penny of $3,000.

The desk just about fit the instructions we appraisers had been given: We had to find “Faux or Fortune,” by which the producer meant “items that pack a surprise,” something, she told me, that the owner thinks is valuable, but isn’t (best of all if it’s a fake), or something that is worth much more than the owner thought.

The only thing that mattered was the expression on the owner’s face – the antique that caused it was decidedly secondary. The producers of Connecticut Treasure Hunt are the only people on the planet for whom junky or fake antiques can be more desirable than great ones.
OK, the TV value-system was appalling, most of the antiques were, in themselves, of marginal interest, but their owners were absolutely wonderful. One example that was typical of many: Two ladies (mother and daughter perhaps) brought me a nice, second period, caned armchair. It took pride of place in their home, and they were not in the slightest upset to learn that it was second period – in fact they were delighted when I told them that there’d been a first period, especially one as long ago as the 1680s. The information made their chair that much more interesting. They loved the term “revival,” and thought that 1870 was plenty old enough to give their chair some distinction. They didn’t care at all when I told them that its value these days was pretty well at rock bottom, in fact one of them broke into a broad grin and commented that that meant it was a good time to look for others and build up a set inexpensively. I got the impression that they’d be on the hunt as soon as they got home.

They didn’t want a valuation, they wanted validation. They didn’t want to be surprised, they wanted to learn. The more I could tell them about their chair, in both first and second periods, the happier they were. The more I could show them that their chair was well worth owning, the more they felt their pleasure was justified.

They probably didn’t have much cash to spare, they certainly didn’t have much knowledge and I doubt that they had many friends with whom they could share their pride and pleasure. But they had the passion of true collectors. When a “TV Expert” (and these days it doesn’t get any better than that!) told them they were right to feel so good about it, I hope they thought that their effort in hauling it for miles on a Sunday morning was worthwhile.

At heart, these ladies were true antiques lovers, and their enthusiasm was infectious. Sadly, I couldn’t share it with viewers. TV’s value-system of money and surprise ruled out of court the true pleasure of owning and collecting antiques.