Seeking True Value 1-10-14

Anderson, South Carolina

One has read awe-inspiring stories about a customer buying a painting in Goodwill for $4 and finding it worth $85,000. An abjectly poor woman in England lived in government subsidized housing for sixty years. The small pot she used to prop open her screen door proved to be museum-grade Ming Dynasty porcelain worth $800,000. A fellow found an original print of the Declaration of Independence in the back of a picture frame moldering in an attic. I recall it fetching about $7 million at auction.

I bought some old prints in a Saturday flea market in Vienna in 1984. Languishing under a pile of used clothing on an outside table I gave little thought to them. At $4, I did not feel a compelling need to establish provenance or valuation before buying. They proved to be Armand-Durand impressions of Rembrandt etchings from the 17th century worth at least $25,000. Today was another one of those days.

Being a known scavenger and recycler, people often call on me to clean out their accretions from too-much consumer living; knowing I can always find good homes for just about anything. This week a fellow asked me if I wanted to go through his junk before he took it to the dump. He declared emphatically having no interest in any of it, having inherited it decades ago. He is cleaning out a huge house; feeling a strong need to sell it to avoid financial calamity.

Over and over he reiterated having no interest in the things he was pulling out of attics, cabinets, closets. He also admitted to having no knowledge of porcelains, silver, china, or any of the other residues from privileged gilded living. I could have easily told him this stuff was suitable for the nearest thrift store or dump after all. He was quite willing for me to haul it away, no questions asked.

He took me around this grand house pulling out things. I felt like a scorched earth clearing would have happened if I had not been present to slow him down. He wanted this ballast out of his life. To him it was just dead weight, baggage from the past; to the dump we go.

He rooted around in the back of a closet behind some sporting goods, which I ultimately took to the Salvation Army thrift store. He came out holding a large tray with a bunch of oxidized teapots and smallish bowls and lids. It took no time at all to realize this was something once grand and beautiful. What he brought out proved to be a magnificent antique Hampton Court sterling tea service in mint condition. I almost wilted when I realized it was solid sterling with maker’s marks on all the pieces. This was the stuff of museums. I could hardly fathom how many pounds of silver were contained in this service. This was no silver-plated hollowware bought with green stamps seventy years ago.

Not much later he brought out a modest chest made of mahogany. It may as well have contained Spanish doubloons. It contained Hampton Court sterling table service for twelve or more. On a bad day, low-ball bullion valuation of this chest alone is $7,300; perhaps far far more for its antiquity premium. I could hardly make myself go to bed; caught up in determining valuations for this treasure.

As heady as it is pre-empting this museum treasure from going to the dump or being sold as scrap kitchen ware in a thrift store, I found something of far far greater value while on this mission of urban archeology – honesty and integrity.

Did I think I could rationalize and withhold my priceless knowledge from him? After all, he had declared his near contempt for the artifacts I had unearthed; they were going to the dump. I had gone to a lifetime of effort to acquire this knowledge about such objects. My knowledge was my knowledge. I went into a charity thrift store ten years ago and saw a nice bowl for sale at $3. Flipping it over revealed it to be solid sterling with maker’s mark. Revealing this information to the clerk with the advice to reprice the bowl a hundred fold only got me an impatient response, “We don’t change prices!” I paid the $3 without guilt. What about this current experience? After all, I knew to flip over those oxidized pots and squint. Should I not benefit from this? I did.

I was given the opportunity to take the higher road, seeking those things with true value. I found honesty and integrity capable of withstanding a really powerful temptation. If I had allowed this man’s ignorance and my knowledge to work against him and hauled away these finds, I would have lost my honesty and integrity. I would have traded the most priceless things I have, things which moths and thieves cannot steal, for a bunch of cold metal spoons and tea pots. Every time I would have used them I would have been given a cold metallic reminder I had traded down in life big time.

Pausing, I told him what he had brought out of his closets was museum-grade sterling and could easily represent financial freedom for him. Knowing the full possibilities of this treasure, he still sent it home with me to get evaluations. Want to guess how our friendship is doing today? We are both far richer. Today I cleaned all of his treasures and made printed valuation sheets for them. I gave the sheets to my friend and we did another archeology field gig in his house today; nothing quite as spectacular turning up. We hauled it to several charity thrift stores. We both had a good day, learning trust, honesty, and integrity are the true treasures. They will never turn up in a pawn shop.

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

Blessings,

Craig C. Johnson