The recent news stories concerning the auction of a rather so-so Van Gogh and the kid who wants to keep a $1,200 baseball card for which he paid only $12 made us think of a day many years ago.
It was 1962, or thereabouts. But it was June. Of that we`re sure, because it was in June that the Old Town Art Fair took place (and still does) on the quiet streets and sidewalks near the place where we grew up.
We had been going to the fair almost from the time we were old enough to walk. By the time we we 9 or 10 we were on a friendly basis with the people who manned the gates, the folks who ran the snow-cone stand, the various balloon salesmen, artists and puppeteers. Yet there remained one facet of the fair which we had not tasted-the auction that was held on Lincoln Park West, a few steps from Lincoln Avenue.
This area of raised hands and shouting voices always seemed too intimidating-too adult. But this particular afternoon, in the company of our pal Ty Bauler, we took front-row seats at the auction.
And soon we were bidding. Bidding on everything. No matter what was offered-painting, sketch, mobile or sculpture-our hands shot up at the auctioneer`s ”And I`ll start the bidding at . . . .”
We would only bid a couple of times, since we didn`t have more than $1.50 between us. But we pressed on, feeling a childish exhilaration-”What if we get it and can`t pay for it? Maybe we`ll get arrested.”
We stayed for hours and were becoming something of a familiar curiosity-the object of the auctioneer`s smile and curious eyes-when the auctioneer held up a strange wooden object. It looked a little like an abstract woman. The auctioneer mentioned the artist`s name and said the item was valued at $75.
”And I`ll start the bidding at . . . five dollars,” said the auctioneer.
Our hands went up, as usual, but then a terrible thing happened.
”Ladies and gentlemen,” said the auctioneer. ”These two little boys have been bidding on everything we`ve offered today. Let`s say we let them have this wonderful sculpture that is also a cigarette lighter.”
The crowd applauded. We froze. After a quick consultation-”Let`s run,”
we suggested-we ran home and told our parents that we needed $5 ”for a very special piece of art.” Back in a few minutes, we handed over the $5 and proudly carried the item home.
After displaying it for awed friends, we showed it to our mother. She looked at it and asked exactly how we came to have it. She was not pleased.
”It isn`t worth $75 just because it`s labeled `art,` ” she said. ”But it`s worth more than $5. You take it back and let them auction it for what it`s worth.”
We did and, risking a later spanking, spent the $5 on snow cones, Japanese candy and a bundle of fine balloons.
That`s about it and we don`t know if there are any lessons to be learned from this tale-lessons of value and fair play. But spring arrives in a few days, with art-fair auctions soon to follow.
