Saturday May 28th, 2005

Today is the opening of my photography show at Eyedrum, I still had a bit to do to prepare for the opening but I did find time for a few sales.

Gallery goers among my memorial photos.

Tuxedo Ave.- Lake Claire “Street Wide Sale”

This street sale was a bit more developed than last week’s sale in Druid hills. There were over seven sales on this dapper named avenue all within a short walk of one another. Among the items about were a oak table and chairs, a leopard skin cat house, some soundtrack Lps to Broadway and old TV shows, a husband/wife meter set to annoyed for the husband, a massager with shiatsu action, a jingle bell rock singing Santa figure, a commemorative knife of the Statue of Liberty and a fry daddy. One sale had a single sample theatre seat that could be used for a theatre of one. A box at the adjoining sale contained several naked cabbage patch kids dolls. At the final sale an old woman hauled junk out her home with a wheelbarrow and kept adding it to a pile in the street. Among the stuff for sale were a large chandelier and two framed prints of antique shoes. In the junk pile I saw a bicycle, a weed eater and some yard lights.
I bought some cufflinks shaped like Georgia. I did come across a fifty-year-old brochure for the Empire State Building but sadly it had been partially devoured by insects.

Lady Liberty with a sharp edge. 

A theatre for one. 

Brooks Ave Candler Park “Moving Sale”

At a small bungalow was a woman with a few things in her yard and on her porch. Some books there included “The Shooters Bible”, Ayn Rand’s “Capitalism the Unknown Ideal”, “Radical Honesty”, ”Accidents in Mountaineering 2000” “The Mensa Mental Challenge” and “How to live with a Neurotic Dog”. Nearby was an electric dog collar that would shock the wearer when barking.
I bought nothing.

A depressing read. 

Dekalb Ave. - Lake Claire “Fantastic Yard Sale”

In front of a 1950’s style apartment building was a large array of assorted clutter. It was late in the afternoon when I stopped here and did not have a lot of time to linger. There was a vast amount of books just lying on the ground and a number of large photographs for sale as well a photography supplies. With my opening tonight I wondered if my work showing tonight would at some point meet the same fate.
I bought nothing

A field of books. 

Are yard sales a source for identity theft? You could be the judge.

Could someone become this judge?

Parkland Lane - Decatur "Estate Sale"

This is the first Friday of my summer vacation and I am able to visit Friday sales earlier in the day. So I decide to visit this and another sale accompanied by Clare Butler. At many sales one is able to find a number of highly personal items, some of which should be kept confidential such as financial records. This sale offered a bonanza of information for any wishing to assume the identity of the presumed late estate owner.
The home is a modest brick bungalow located on a street on the edge of Druid Hills. At the entrance mounted on the brick wall was a large metal sculpture of a rooster. Inside I was greeted by a group of professional sellers who knew Claire from her own addictive yard sale habits. Heading back to the dining room I found a table covered in books and a scrapbook with clippings of the cases of the estate owner, a local superior court judge. When I flipped open the scrapbook the headline of a clipping read, “Gangsterism Girls told to go to church”. It is a shame this judge is no longer on the bench otherwise such thoughtful sentencing would have resulted in the Bush administration selecting him for a Supreme Court seat. Other items on the table included a certificate from the Old Warhorse Lawyers Club, a book entitled “Count all the Joy”, a Bessie Tift College Yearbook and several postcards with paintings of the signing of the declaration of independence and Columbus discovering America on them. In a small room off the dining room was a sofa with a stack of Lps on it. Among the Lps were several gospel recording by Frank Boggs. The most notable recording in the stack was a copy of “The Day Manolete was Killed”. I have not seen a copy of this since my days as an obscure record collector. This documentary LP of a famed matador’s death by goring was at one time the bellwether disc for judging if a recording was strange or not among collectors. You might here one collector say, “that Les Baxter Lp is Ok but its no Day Manolete was Killed”. Upon seeing it Claire immediately seized the copy.

Upon seeing steps to the basement I immediately descended. There I found the treasure trove of information that could lead a dishonest person to assume the judges identity. Here in a old desk with a futuristic space pod looking black and white TV and a framed enlarged copy of a ‘while you were out’ memo atop were multiple files containing credit card information, credit cards, information on banking retirement, investments and whatever else judges keep in their basement chambers. In addition to the identity providing papers the basement yielded the usual assortment of lower level fodder such as gardening supplies as well as a midlevel-disorganized workbench. Sitting on the workbench was a ceramic swan, some power tools odd hardware and a can of a product called Dry Flower Art. That product was used for micro waving flowers to preserve them. On one of the shelves was an item not often seen at this latitude - a special back saving snow shovel still in the box. Atlanta seldom has enough snow to shovel let alone strain one’s back. Another nearby item in its original box was a device labeled a hair remover.
An old shelf of books contained a number of religious titles including “God’s Psychiatry” as well as the worldlier “Millionaires Handbook” which offered instructions on how to protect a multimillion-dollar prize.
Heading away from this source of potential white-collar crime I made my way to the second floor to discover even more valuable personal information. In the closet of the master bedroom I found a box containing more papers including a last will and testament and a death certificate for the judges wife. Next to this box was what may have been a framed oil portrait of the Judge himself. An unscrupulous and cunning individual could take the portrait to a rogue cosmetic surgeon and have his face changed to resemble the judge. The possibilities are endless. Among other things found on the upper level were some men’s clothing (dress as the judge), some women’s clothing (dress a the judge’s wife), sewing equipment, old National Geographic magazines, a plastic xmas tree, a mechanical rabbit in its original box, a bed covered in women’s hats and several self teaching books for playing a baritone ukulele. On the dresser was a strange figure of a boy made out of plumbing parts and a poetry award. On the night table were a collection of find-a-word puzzle books and a book of questions and answers. One of the questions posed and answered was “Did the 100 years war last 100 years?”
Back down stair I looked over a few more things. In what could have been a den was a large assortment of Xmas decorations and a plague for the world’s best father. When I exited I noticed that they had moved a selection of home healthcare gear under the large rooster.
I bought nothing.

A matador's death cries in high fidelity. 

Desk laden with a judges identity. 

Large framed memo. 

Something we don't use much around here. 

Books found in the basement. 

Metal man meets Zap spot. 

The art of drying flowers in a can. 

Medical gear and an iron rooster greet you at the entrance.. 

Oakawana Dr. - Briarlake “Estate Sale”

Since it was early we decided to see if we could hit one other sale. This one was advertised as having 48 years of treasures. The owners who were moving out of this ranch home on a street lined with new oversized mansions and “Stop reckless rezoning signs” seem to regard the most common stuff as treasures. When we arrived there was not much left. Just a few things on the carport and the basement were left for sale and none of it seemed to be treasure level. Among the meager collection were a few old phones, some Xmas décor, a portable stove, a pair of shoe stretchers, some luggage and crutches. A few books included “The Eating Man’s Diet” and “Butterbusters”.
I bought nothing

Sunday May 22, 2005

I went out on a bike ride to Grant Park and did not have my camera and notebook so I could not make a full case study of each of the following sales. The first on Woodward a man had a few things on his front porch. When I approached he get very friendly and told me he had more things inside. He did not. His house was a mess and needed to be cleaned up. He wanted me to spend more time there. I wished him a good day and peddled off.
On Park Dr. a man was having a sale of a lot of antiques in his back yard. He apparently was trying to go professional as he was totaling purchases with an electric cash register. Further down on Ormand Street I biked to an estate sale with a Panamanian flag flying off the front porch of a Victorian bungalow. He didn’t have much for sale and it was really a moving sale as he was relocating to Panama in a few weeks. He discussed how property values on the isthmus had gotten out of control with the amount of US retirees moving there.
I bought nothing but yearned for my childhood in the Canal Zone.

The Estate of a telephone man and a Street in Druid Hills

Saturday May 21, 2005

With sales in all directions to chose from today I decided to make it back to the Decatur home that was closed the day before and check out a street wide sale in Druid Hills near Emory.

The spirits of telecoms to come warn telephone executives of the future evils of World Com.

Harold Byrd Dr. - Decatur “Estate Sale”

This home was on one of the streets tucked behind one of the most notably named corners in the city, Ridley at Scott. I have never known why the neighborhood has not capitalized on this corner and named the streets near by after some of the director’s films. There could be Thelma and Louise Lanes, Blade Runner Run, Alien Ave or Gladiator Place. The walking path that goes over towards the YMCA could be called Director’s Cut Through. The sale was in a one-story brick home near the cut through. In the living room the professional sellers sat by their cash boxes near two large tables covered with Xmas decorations. Among the décor was a Santa Furby; it had no batteries so I had no idea what demonic sounds it might be capable of uttering. Seeing a stairway to the basement I immediately descended and found my self in a crypt of old Telco paperwork. The estate had belong to a man who may worked for the phone company his entire life. At this lower level were boxes upon boxes of old documents, awards, pictures, brochures and more xmas décorations. Standing amid all this was a deranged looking 4-foot snowman figure made from a wooden dowel. Perhaps this was the secret snowman fetish that children would imply to bring snowflakes to these southern climes.

Some of the picture hung on the walls were puzzling, a print of a impish farm lad, a photo of two ghost seemingly interrupting a meeting of telephone executives, old scrap books of new deal economic measures, Canadian visits and European Caravans. In one closet I found a ledger book from 1938. Some of the expenses were; Maid -65 cents, diapers $1.15. An old pamphlet addressed “Managing your family forest”. An old paperback amid the chaos was entitled “Toward the Liberally Educated Executive”. A hand typed recipe for grits sat atop a magazine opened to an article on job loss. On a shelf was a photo of Ford and Reagan together with a printed note by Ford on the back. A cassette on a chair offered ”Great highlights of Crimson Tide broadcasts” A brochure promoted an Abilene Kansas two day adventure. On the floor an old dial telephone had a sticker proclaiming “new service call waiting”. On the wall was a print of Bell demonstrating his telephone to a top hatted gentleman. Needles to say I wanted to spend the entire day down there amid the chaos and rubble but I had to move on.
Upstairs things were more organized. In the dinning room were a number of well stock bookshelves and a table covered in old newspapers. The papers contained the major headlines of the second half of the prior century. Roosevelt’s death, Kennedy’s death, Margaret Mitchell’s death. One special supplement presented a 1957 vision of the Atlanta of the future it resmbled a boring Brasilia without the palm trees. Among the books there were “Modern Humor for Public speakers” I opened it a joke that began “A Scotsman…”. Many of the other books were religious in nature such as “Ways to power and praise” the aptly titled “The stranger in my House” and “Who am I?” In the same room was another scrapbook this one filled with clippings on antiques it was open to a newspaper story on the value of saving grandpa’s leg irons.
There were few LPs in the den including ‘Back Beat Symphony” and the soundtrack to Victory at Sea. Some sheet music included ”That old Master Painter” and “The Marine’s Hymn”. Seemingly out of place I discovered under a table a framed montage of images of the Virgin Mary. Other things scatter about included a rug shaped like a VW beetle, two gigantic coffee mugs that said Ma and Pa and a kitchen plaque that read “If your heart is cold our fire can’t warm you”. On the way out I noticed that in the living room was a very large box of Beanie Babies sitting unwanted.
I bought a few post cards, the Canadian scrapbook and the book of humor for modern speakers.
Here is one of the many Scotsmen jokes contain within:
“The man who invented the slow motion movies probably got his idea when he saw a Scotsman reach for a restaurant check.”

Scary snowman fetish figure found in basement. 

A basement full of delights. 

Happy figure found in kitchen. 

Farm boy found in basement. 

Rousing music for the parlor of a telephone man. 

101 Strings and a back beat. 

A book posing a question. 

Princeton Way - Druid Hills “Street Sale”

I have discussed in the past the pros and cons of neighborhood street wide sale. Quantitatively the sales a good but qualitatively they are often poor. They also do not offer good insight into the individuals having each sale but give one a feeling for the street as a whole. Princeton is a horseshoe shaped street that the goes from N. Decatur back to N.Decatur. One end is a very dangerous blind exit.
The first sale had the most stuff as the family was moving to Hawaii, they were selling a kayak, a copy of the Newlywed game and Scattergories, a set of bamboo steamers and a how to shag VHS tape.
Further down the street was a coffee and donut stand set up by two kids, one of the children chased after me like some Tijuana street child demanding that I buy a cup of coffee. The other child stood at the stand repeatedly shouting Donuts! Donuts! I bought a donut in hopes of shutting them up. The sale across the street from the unruly children had just a few children’s items. A few doors down just a dozen or so items were displayed in a yard. There a Korean mother and daughter bickered with a Druid hills matron over the price of picture frames in the shape of sunglasses.
Around the bend was a more interesting sale, here a woman was divesting her home of unwantedcat items and fly fishing décor. She told me her baby’s room was done in a fly-fishing motif but some of the shower gift just didn’t work in. She had a number of bizarre patriotic items such as an Uncle Sam and Statue of Liberty nutcrackers. These deformed looking creature looked as though they would crack the nuts of any immigrant who dared cross our borders. In addition she was selling an Uncle Sam as Santa Christmas ornament. Proclaiming “I want you”, this jingoistic Kris Kringle might threaten not to deliver your presents unless you fight in a foreign war.

Across the street was a less exciting sale that had lots of pillows and vaporizers.
The final sale of the street was not on Princeton but across busy N. Decatur. There a few things awaited in the yard for those quick enough to cross this deadly thoroughfare.I bought nothing.

Art work of donut pushing Druid Hills kids. 

Deformed patriotic figures in the guise of nutcrackers. 

Jingoist bells are ringing when this St. Nick comes to town.