Each week I diligently tune in to America’s version of
Antique Roadshow. It, much like
countless other TV shows, began in Great Britain. Their version of the show is set on the
grounds of old castles and estates and involves people visiting the hosts and
experts with their treasures. They bring
paintings and silver tea sets that were created centuries ago. This British stuff is ages old – real
antiques that must be over 100-years old to qualify as an antique.
Their experts ogle and fondle this stuff and mumble in
British accents, eventually offering a suggested price for which the owners of
that stuff should insure it. I have no
idea what that stuff is worth because they announce the price in British Pounds
Sterling.
It seems a though the exchange rate changes so frequently
and is so foreign that a pound is worth somewhere in the neighborhood of a
dollar-and-a-half and three Cheez-its, as of this writing.
The American version is much easier to understand partly
because in this version they speak English.
People bring in mostly junk bought at yard sales and flea markets and shamelessly
have experts examine this American stuff.
I usually enjoy this banter because I’m so far away from
predicting the worth of this stuff that my knowledge borders on criminal.
Folks bring stuff such as pottery, jewelry, and toys, as
well as paintings and crusty documents.
The experts can identify some of the pottery as made by the Sioux in the
late 1800’s for toting water. Intricate
carvings identify the potter as Chief Fullofbull and then ask where the owner
acquired it.
“I got it at a garage sale last year for a quarter because I
liked the squiggly lines,” the owner announces.
After replacing her dentures back into her mouth, the expert
then announces this piece is worth $185,000.
This parade of wanna-be millionaires continues for the next
sixty-minutes. Antique furniture, pocket
watches, and Civil War swords are scrutinized for authenticity and value
one-by-one. Most surprising to me are
the values placed on this stuff.
A chair owned and used by Benjamin Franklin is valued at
$38,000, while Elvis Presley salt and pepper shakers are valued at $63,000 in
mint condition.
But, no matter how much this stuff is worth, the same broken
record sentence is repeated by the owners.
“Yeah, but I’m keeping it because it’s worth more to me in
sentimental value.” Sure.
I’m waiting of the first honest person who, when told their
antique milking stool, that has been stuck in the attic unbeknownst to anyone
for the last 90-years, is valued at $18,000, exuberantly says, “Sold!”
Fake Tiffany lamps and Faberge eggs often turn up in these
evaluations with owners clearly disappointed their bargains were not bargains
after all.
A dead giveaway to something being counterfeit is the ink
stamp on the bottom of that priceless 9th century Mayan statue that
reads “Made in Japan.”
Still, one can see the occasional fake Stradivarius violin
and the genuine Peter Max ashtray being evaluated by experts evoking personal
thoughts of what I may have given to the Salvation Army or sold for pennies at
my own tag sale.
The bottom line is what is precious to some is junk to
others, and that some people know the price of everything and the value of
nothing.
