It’s hot, humid and hazy outside which has me thinking about ways people stayed cool without air conditioning (and thanking my lucky stars that I have it). Several old folks were interviewed during a brutal heat wave in Chicago a few years back and told how when they were children the whole city would carry blankets and pillows to city parks and camp on the shores of Lake Michigan, taking advantage of the cool night breezes coming off the lake. That’s, uh, not recommended these days. Since heat rises, homes were built with high ceilings so that the rest of the room would remain cooler. People sat on breezy front porches and grew shade trees in the yard. People swam in creeks, lakes and ponds. Then there were electric fans, which have been around for well over a century already.

The first electric fans were produced in the United States in 1882 by a company called Crocker & Curtis. The early fans were heavy, loud and so costly that only the wealthy and businesses could afford to purchase them. In time more companies, such as Westinghouse and General Electric, began manufacturing electric fans and the design improved. In the 1920s improvements in production methods brought the price of electric fans down and made them more accessible to the average consumer. Early fans tended to be simple, functional affairs, but in the 30s fan makers jumped on the Art Deco bandwagon and began producing decorative fans. In the 50s fans were made in a rainbow of colors. As the popularity of air conditioning grew the demand for fans dropped and today’s fans are once again more functional than decorative.

Collectors prize fans with blades made from brass, and if the fan comes with the original box it’s a bonus. A fan that works is more desirable than a comparable non-working fan. Emerson, Gilbert, Robbins & Myers, Diehl, Peerless and Eck are more names to look for when collecting vintage fans.

The quality of the old fans is such that many of the early models still work today, but to be safe it’s best to have them rewired by a professional electrician before using them on a regular basis. Keep in mind, however, that making any alterations to the original condition will bring down the value. Also, the safety guards we take for granted today were not used on early fans, so fans with exposed blades must be kept away from curious little ones.

To learn more visit: http://www.fancollectors.org/

” I have a quest for you,” my mother commanded. She led me inside, and produced a pewter trinket from her purse.

I recognized it from my childhood; it had occupied a visible place in the household pretty much every place I lived. The body is that of a woman, arms held high, supporting a container. The ‘bucket’ is not fixed; it pivots on each side, allowing it to remain upright as you turn the lady over. Her dress is bell-shaped, forming a chalice-like space where her petticoats should be. The figure stands around five inches tall, and with her arms in the air the overall height is six inches.

“I need to you figure out what this is. I think it has something do to with weddings.” My mother had found it many years ago, when I was quite young, at a sidewalk sale in a mall. The gift/jewelry shop had discounted a number of items, and this was on the clearance table. My mom was quite taken by it, paid very little, and brought it home to decorate her shelves.

A while ago, in the early age of the internet, I’d recklessly been awarded the mantle of He Who Can Find Anything Online, but in this case I failed. I didn’t know what to call it. This little silver lady had no maker’s marks, no item number, no serial number, no identifying features, save the odd pivoting bowl held over her head. I searched for wedding chalice, wedding glass, pewter wedding mug — all kinds of things, but no luck. As my wife says: “if it’s not in Google, it must not exist.” I was beginning to believe her. Was this little woman a random creation, something without any peers? Did some demented silversmith decide to show off his talents and make a commonplace item like a cup significantly more difficult to drink from? I had no clue.

My sister, who is getting married in a few months, came to the rescue, and I happily award her the mantle of She Who Can Find Anything Derek Can’t Find On The Internet. The maiden is the clue, but it isn’t the only definition of what this chalice is.

In most places, this little lady is called a Jungfrauenbecher, or “maiden’s cup.” Originating in the 1500s, legend has it that a rich man’s daughter had two suitors. One was of the upper class and therefore more desirable, and the other was a goldsmith, a poor artisan. The father made a deal with the goldsmith: make a goblet that two people can drink from at once, and he would have the daughter’s hand in marriage. As in most fairy tales, smarts and ingenuity overcome obstacles. The goldsmith met the father’s wager by designing a cup with two basins attached at a pivot — when one is tipped, the other remains upright for the other person to drink from. These cups still have their place in weddings as a symbol of unity and a sign of good luck. Bride and groom are expected to drink from the cup at the same time, the groom drinking from the skirt, the bride from the smaller bowl.

These cups, today, are more commonly known as “wager cups,” but only partly due to the bet between the father and the goldsmith. Throughout much of history, culture and entertainment have centered around pubs. Besides the general fun of drinking, carousing, and visiting with friends, drinking games were as popular then and today. “Wager cups” were one such game: drink the contents of both cups without spilling, and you win. As anyone who’s played a drinking game in modern times knows (proving you can’t improve on a perfect system) the inebriation is far more important than winning a bet. The “winners” no doubt find it far more difficult to keep both parts of the wager cup balanced after their fourth or fifth attempt. The design itself forces the player to drink, because once both cups are filled the “wager cup” cannot be set down without spilling.

My mom’s little pewter lady, her bowl held high, sits here waiting to either drink some lout under the table or celebrate the union of a happy couple. Of course, despite being a puzzle for my family, she knew what she was for: a solution to the puzzle of a poor suitor and a puzzle for drinkers that gets more difficult the more you succeed. In either case, her unique design fulfills both purpose with ingenuity and style.

There are many definitions of the word ‘nerd’, all of them bearing their own unique stigmas and rare benefits, but there’s a very particular genre of nerd-dom that gets itself involved with ‘fantasy gaming’. Those excitable elf-warriors and orc clerics that faint at the site of a 100-sided die, those captains of interactive storytelling, those titans of +2 Swords of Vanquishing. Those eaters of Tostitos.

I was one of them once, and once you’re indoctrinated into that awkward cult, you’ll never leave it. You can change your clothes, you can surgically alter yourself, and you can change your name, but they’ll still have you. You hear the name ‘Gary Gygax’ and you get small palpitations, and somewhere, a sprite gets her wings. The small, smooth, roundness of the d20 is remembered by your hands, as well as the possibilities that it represents. The tragedy of rolling a 1 and stabbing yourself in the foot, or the triumph of rolling a 20 and decapitating the bugbear which threatens you.

Over the years, I’ve inadvertently collected all kinds of Dungeons and Dragons paraphernalia, and more than a few Magic : The Gathering cards (which is an entirely different exploration into geekdom), some of them well-worn and inherited, and some of them purchased in the hopes of incorporating them into a game, some of them signed by the artists that created them.

The last game of Dungeons and Dragons that I got involved in was bad news. Due to a combination of term papers, a girlfriend with fibromyalgia and the fact that 75% of the game involved the active party dragging around my corpse and trying to find ways to reanimate me, I didn’t have that much fun. I made sure that when I was allowed to create a new character and rejoin the party, I role played it in a screechy voice and used a Magic 8 Ball to make all of my decisions. Boy, did they love me then!

In a game where the rules are constantly being revisited and errata’d and corrected, old rulebooks don’t have much practical value, but hold plenty of nostalgic value. I spent hours drawing creatures from the second volume of the Monster Manual, which detailed all of the powers and dangers that the game’s creatures could present you with. More importantly, it had ink drawings of dragons and demons that I would eventually launch my illustration career off of. Eventually, I’d win some other D&D books in an art contest run by Tony DiTerlizzi (before he went all SUPERSTAR on us), who also signed the items that I’d won. More books and maps would be discovered in the attic, and FedEx would horribly destroy an original artwork that was used to illustrate one of the manuals.

One of the greater aspects of the game is that while many of the core rules stand, and the publishers create their own adventures for you to trek through, many inventive dungeon masters created their own adventures and castles and situations to traverse. I’ve also kept small relics from all of my past adventures with different dungeon masters - drawings of characters, sheets of statistics, segments of hugely ambitious and exciting maps on worn graph paper. The cumulative effect of it all is that it recalls hours upon hours of fun gaming and friends. One day, the manuals will be called out of dormancy, the dice will be dusted off, and I’ll once again summon the courage to take on that mist dragon head-on.

I’ve encountered several antique trunks at antique auctions and antique shops. To me, they exude an alluring sense of adventure and bring to mind images of excited travelers embarking on long sea voyages or stagecoach trips

Trunks have been in use since the 1600s but became more common in the 1700s. When people traveled they were often gone for months at a time and used the roomy trunks to carry the clothing and belongings needed on the long trip.

Like anything else, trunks went through trends and different styles were popular. Some had flat tops while others were domed. There were different types of wood trunks as well as trunks covered in fine leather or canvas. Some used shiny brass clasps and accents, others featured iron bands like those made popular by the trunks used by famous actress Jenny Lind in the mid 1800s. Trunks came in different sizes – large trunks for wardrobes, smaller trunks for hats. There were even pint sized doll trunks, “just like mother’s.” Although some refer to all old trunks as steamer trunks, this is actually a misnomer since a steamer trunk is a particular type of low trunk with a flat top.

On the inside the trunks were usually lined with decorative paper, fabric or even newspapers. They often contained different compartments or drawers for separating belongings. Trunks made in factories in the late 1800s often have manufacturers labels, but earlier trunks usually do not. Many of the dome top trunks contain pictures on the underside of the lid, often portraits of women and children or landscape scenes.

The average trunk received a beating while it was in use and many of the trunks you’ll encounter today are in some state of disrepair. While many appreciate the appeal and sense of history of a well-used trunk, there are numerous fine trunk restorers that can return a trunk to gleaming beauty.

http://www.thisoldtrunk.com/

Last week, in our usual rummage-sale-excursions, I brought home a factory-sealed model kit. The design didn’t seem too old, so I doubted it would be worth much. I made myself a deal: if it didn’t sell on eBay, I’d open it and assemble it with the help of my stepson. It’s a reasonable deal, because factory-sealed anythings are difficult to find, and I didn’t want to violate the model before it has a chance to get to a loving collector.

Of course, if nobody else wanted it, I’d happily allow the model to fulfill its purpose in life: breaking everything off the sprues, slopping glue on the joints, and ending up with a tiny plastic airplane replica. I’ve never fallen into the ‘factory-sealed’ collector arena. I tend to collect things that fulfill a purpose, and then use them as such. The antique computers work, books are readable, radios recieve signals, and so forth. Even if it turned out to be collectible, this airplane model would’ve been stripped of its protective layer shortly after the non-selling auction closed. It’s just the way I work.

As I listed it, did my research, I found that an older version of this model has a plastic replica of a dead mountain lion in it. Wow, I thought — that rocks, but I wonder if I can put it in the auction listing for this plane? The box didn’t say anything about it, but it does appear in one of the photos on the side of the box. Maybe I should open it and make sure, I thought. I quickly put that thought away; the selling point of the auction would be the factory seal, and I couldn’t risk that. In examining the box, I noticed it rattled a little. Could just be the clear window piece — those are always on a small sprue, and would likely rattle around. I’d hate for the buyer to get a broken item, I schemed, Maybe I could check it somehow… I gave it some thought, considering how to open it with the least cellophane damage, but came up empty. The temptation to open the model was difficult to resist, but I managed, and the buyer who eventually won the auction will happily see that I did not touch even a corner of the box.

That aforementioned stepson has collectibility ingrained in him: when a birthday or Christmas rolls around, his gifts are checked for their status as a collectible before he even thinks about opening the box. If it’s remotely collectible, he sets it aside. Just a plain ‘ol toy: tear it open. While other members of his family feed his collecting nature, I lead toward toys that can be played with. Even if the manufacturer used a huge shocking font on the front to advertise the item’s collectibility, I prefer he’d play with it. It’s what the darn thing is for.

I do have some respect for mint-condition, though. I’ve got a GI Joe #1 in its original sealed bag (some promotional copies were sold this way) that I’ve resisted opening for almost 25 years. Er, well, I used to have two in their original Marvel-sealed bags, but I had to open the other one. How else would I find out what started it all?

You might say I’m beginning to learn my lesson, though. Years ago I bought a bound collection of folk stories for the purpose of reading it. After a dozen pages I found that a printing mishap had left pages un-cut and still attached to their folded neighbors. Producing a pocket knife, I slit the edge and continued reading. After around halfway through the book and past numerous still-attached pages, I dim light began to appear over my head and I set the book aside. As the current Fine Books & Collections will tell you, a book that had not been properly cut (and most often intentionally) is called ‘unopened‘, and can be more valuable than one that had been read. Despite my urge to finish the booktrimming process myself, I have placed the book on the shelf and left it as-is.

The urge to leave collectibles and antiques in their pristine state really is a wise one; I don’t doubt there’s collectors out there gasping in horror at my misdeeds. The more perfect an item, the more desirable, and therefore more valuable, it is. Across the country, thousands of McDonald’s Happy Meal Beanie Babies are still suffocating in their original plastic bags. Throughout Minnesota, Wheaties boxes celebrating the Twins’ World Series victories are stored away uneaten. Billy Beer remains undrunk. Barbie dolls wait quietly, untouched inside ther pink boxes. Baseball cards hide in the dark alongside rock-hard sticks of gum. True collectors wouldn’t dare disturb the perfect, pristine condition of a mint collectible. A collection strives to be complete, which makes those with scuffed paint imperfect, the missing boxes incomplete, non-mint items are flawed. Those collections made up of the most perfect, undamaged and unopened of items are deemed ideal.
Most collectors also realize that, without those vandals who open collectibles and toss out packaging, their mint-condition ones wouldn’t be nearly as valuable. Mint is valuable mostly due to rarity; the combination of rarity and desire add to make for a top-notch collection. Mint conditio airplane models are hard to come by, because most model buyers opened them up and assembled them. A Barbie became the best friend of some little girl, then eventually ended up with chewed feet and a missing head. Action Comics #1 is rare because boys carried them around, passed them to their buddies, left them in the rain and cut out the little Supermen to decorate their walls.

That’s not to say forced rarity is any better; buying up Action Comics #1 and burning all but one might make them more rare, but the lynch mob of comic collectors at your door won’t be very understanding. The users of collectibles and the caretakers of collectibles pivot around a central point of mutual balance. Both desire and value the collectible for different reasons, but together their combined interest can build any item into a true collectible. While a collectible becomes rare through use and wear, it also becomes desirable because of all the hands that it passed through during its lifetime. I promise to be better about leaving mint collectibles in their mint condition. While it’s tempting to open that box, crack that seal, I think I can resist, and leave them as-is.