Back in the 1980s, I ran an antiques shop in Springfield with my girlfriend Cyndi. The shop was located on the corner of Valley Street and Main Street, in the old brick building.
Cyndi ran the shop. I travelled the roads picking, going to auctions, or making house calls. I didn’t spend much time in the shop. I always liked buying more than selling.
I happened to be in the shop one day when an older well-dressed woman came in. I didn’t grow up in Springfield, so I didn’t know Springfield’s hierarchy. She liked my selection of antiques. After a few minutes, she introduced herself as Mary Hurd. We had a lot in common. Mary invited me to her place. She lived on Cherry Hill with her husband Edward, in the mansion once owned by Mr. Slack.
Mary had worked with Norman Rockwell when she was a young lady. She collected paintings, drawings, and sculpture from American artists and illustrators. Mary had many map cabinets, drawers full of unframed artworks, much of it available. I made many, many trips to her house to purchase art. I remember she had a Norman Rockwell painting.
The Methodist birdhouse
I was visiting Mary one summer day when I noticed a large birdhouse in her backyard. I wanted it. The photo with this article is that Methodist birdhouse. Mary told me Mr. Slack had it built years before. Slack was a major supporter of the Methodist church in Springfield.
I bought this at a time when the antiques business was booming. The market was so hot that you could overpay today, but within a few weeks the market caught up. At one time the Methodist church had a Gabriel weathervane on top of the steeple. You can see the Gabriel vane on top of the birdhouse in the closeup photo with this article. I sold the birdhouse to a folk-art dealer for $3,800. It changed hands several times after this, each time for more money.
The tall clock
Ed and Mary had a Tiffany tall clock, or what some call a grandfather clock. I always sensed Mary may have ruled the roost. Mary had seen clocks in my shop, and knew I had some knowledge. Her Tiffany clock had stopped running, could I look at it.
Ed had a stepladder out for me. This clock was 10 feet tall. I removed the bonnet and passed it to Ed. Now I can see the movement. It didn’t take long to find the problem and remedy it. Ed found this all very interesting.
Sometime later, Mary called to tell me it had quit running. I went up, and as before handed Ed the bonnet. This time there was a different problem. One of the levers had been bent. I knew I didn’t do it. That’s when Ed confessed he had done it by accident. I asked him why he messed with it. He said he was trying to save me a trip. Mary scolded him, saying, “Ed, don’t you touch that clock again. No one touches that clock but Ron.”
Instead of an old saying, I offer a short story. My father Arnold could be very hardheaded. In the 1980s, he had his federal firearms license (FFL). Dad had a reputation for handling rare and valuable guns. He advertised in several trade papers regularly. Dad shipped guns all over the country to other FFL dealers.
One day, a man stopped at Dad’s place with a rare Model 1899 Savage. Dad liked and did well with Savage rifles. Dad was really fussy about condition. The price was $2,200. The seller would not budge. Dad passed on it.
Sometime later, Tom from West Lebanon stopped to see Dad. Dad told Tom about the 1899 and how clean it was. Tom listened and, knowing how accurate my father’s description would be, said, “Arnold, buy the rifle and I’ll give you a $100 profit.”
Dad, “I wouldn’t sell such a rare gun for a $100 profit.”