Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: THURSDAY, June 1, 1995 TAG: 9506020028
SECTION: EXTRA PAGE: 1 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: CHRISTOPHER HENSON SPECIAL TO THE ROANOKE TIMES & WORLD-NEWS
DATELINE: CHARLOTTESVILLE LENGTH: Medium
I'm outside the auction tent on Saturday. Inside, savvy collectors and high rollers are picking apart the Deyerle Collection of Important Americana.
At my feet is Jake, a yellow labrador retriever from Salem, tied to a stake. The ground is wet from a downpour the day before. Jake doesn't care. He rolls on his back so I can rub his belly. His master is inside, possibly bidding.
There are a lot of misconceptions about these big, posh auctions.
When I learned I would be covering the Deyerle auction in Charlottesville only one thing crossed my mind: I have allergies.
You see, I watch television. And it's common knowledge that if you don't sit perfectly still during an auction you wind up buying something.
What if I'm sitting there at the auction with my notepad out and I'm staring fixedly at the auctioneer? And what if he's blabbering really fast like when you hum and diddle your lips at the same time? And what if a mold spore or big chunk of pollen gets sucked up my nostril, and my nose starts running, and so I rub it to keep from sneezing?
You know what happens....
"SOLD to the teary-eyed, balding man wiping his nose!"
The next thing you know I've got a $13,000 Chippendale sock-and-underwear chest, and a second mortgage.
Shows what I know.
It turns out that auctions don't work that way at all.
Just ask Al Bristol. He's been with Sotheby's since 1939. He's seen and done it all. At the Deyerle auction in Charlottesville this weekend, the 84-year-old gentleman is acting as "spotter," helping the younger auctioneers see the bids coming from a crowd of 600 prospectives.
With the Sotheby's crew on foreign turf, bids are regulated by the use of numbered paddles. These are flashed or waved by a bidder to attract the attention of the auctioneer.
The system isn't perfect. "It's hard in a tent like this," he says, "with the big fans going and so many people. And the acoustics make an auction run slower. It adds to the confusion."
Bristol's favorite venues are the Manhattan galleries. There you have more familiar faces and some eccentric bidding.
"Bidders usually don't want their competitors to know they're bidding," says Bristol. "So a buyer will come to me before the auction and set up some signals. Sometimes he'll hold a pen in his mouth until he wants to stop bidding. Sometimes he'll cross his legs a certain way. I know as long as he has his legs crossed he is interested in a piece."
The paddles seem easier to keep up with, I say.
"Well," says Bristol, "there was a gentleman interested in a piece, and this was some years ago, he told me to keep bidding for him as long as he had his jacket on. The piece came up and the gentleman stood by the door wearing his jacket. The price went up ... 15-, 20-, 30 thousand dollars. He left the room and came back. He never looked at me, but he still had his jacket on. And the price was still climbing between him and another bidder ... 50-, 60-, 70 thousand.
``Well, the piece sold for $100,000. After the auction the man came up to me and said, 'Who got that piece?' and I said, `YOU did!' He had forgotten to take his jacket off."
In the auction catalog there are paintings and jugs. There's some barbecue tongs older than my great-granddad. Quilts, reference books, a mug, chairs, tables, guns and an old compass. The catalog offers low and high estimates for each piece.
I have $36 in my wallet. They might as well be Confederate.
Late Saturday, Robert Hicklin Jr., a dealer from Spartanburg, S.C., shells out an astounding $72,900 for a 1730 cast-iron fireback that belonged to Gov. Alexander Spottswood. This delights the crowd because the Sotheby's estimate was $8,000 tops. Hicklin says he placed the bids on the fireplace guard for the Virginia Historical Society. He knew the price would be high.
I ask him what is so special about the item. I really want to know why he would pay nine times its estimated worth. "Read the catalog," he says turning away. Maybe he's looking for his checkbook.
I feel like an idiot, like I've forgotten to take my jacket off.
Outside Jake is scratching his back on some gravel, paws flailing. I pat his tummy. I came here not knowing any more about these big auctions than he does.
I can't tell you the difference between a Queen Anne side chair and a La-Z-Boy. I'll look it up, or maybe ask somebody.
Meanwhile, Jake and I both know which is more comfortable.
by CNB