May/June 2004

Antique Rude Show

Antiques appraisers are much too polite for the age of reality-based TV

by Larry Maddry

I guess if I had to pick my favorite non-news television program it would be the Antiques Roadshow on public television.

No program I know compares to it. The show’s value goes far beyond the obvious appeal of an audience attempting to guess what the value might be of a banjo made in 1890 or a baseball autographed by Babe Ruth.

Antiques Roadshow offers a history lesson every minute or so—whether it is an analysis of the handiwork in a patchwork quilt from colonial days or a handsome sideboard made by freed slaves in South Carolina.

A bracelet found in a cigar box in the attic turns out to be worth $40,000. A dented model car found in a junk shop is valued at $3,000.

As interesting as the collections of Mickey Mouse figurines, plows, swords, flintlocks, or salt and pepper shakers are the owners of the objects.

I know of no other program that showcases ordinary Americans in such an interesting way and reveals so much about them in such a short time. They discuss the grandparents who originally owned the objects appraised. Or maybe a great-aunt who was a friend of the great painter whose artwork is displayed.

As much as I like the show, it is a bit too heavy on politeness. Every now and then I wish they’d do a show with a little harder edge to it. You know, one in which the expert appraiser tells it like it is.

Hmmm. A little jingle music if you please, maestro. Welcome to the “Antique Rude Show.”

Scene: Woman standing beside flat table with elaborately scrolled legs.

Expert: (Examining table surface with magnifying glass.) “And how much did you pay for this madam?”

Woman: “I acquired it from my grandmother—in her will—I don’t know how she got it or what it might be worth.”

Expert: “Well, this is one of the worst pieces of furniture I’ve seen in my lifetime. I’ll turn it upside down if you don’t mind. Here look at the bottom. It’s made of plywood over cheap cardboard!

This looks like a table made in a penitentiary workshop by drunks.

Look...some of the nails are driven in backwards! Your grandmother didn’t serve time in the big house, did she?”

Woman: “I don’t think so. I dunno ....”

Expert: “One of the interesting things about this table is the scrolled legs. They are cheap imitations of the type legs see on card tables in houses of prostitution. Remarkably tawdry, and, like the table itself, totally worthless.”

Woman: “I see.”

Expert: “But let me thank you for bringing it in. We rarely see a furniture item as shoddy as this. Your granny would have made better use of her money by wagering at a horse track!”

Scene: Man standing by small table with a pitcher resting on its top.

Expert: “This is an elegantly-fashioned pewter pitcher probably from the middle or late 1700s. May I ask how you acquired it?”

Man: “My ancestor was a lieutenant who served at Valley Forge. I have no documentation but the family story is that it was a wedding gift to that ancestor from George Washington himself.”

Expert: “I see. Turning it over to see the bottom we find the mark of a leading pewter maker in London. Very nice...if it were in the original condition, I’d think it might bring $25,000 at auction.”

Man: “That much? Interesting....”

Expert: “Now let us examine the surface. Some damn fool has attempted to clean this....Was it you?”

Man: “Uh, well, it looked a little dingy, you know.”

Expert: “Great God, man, you’ve been a dammed fool! What did you use to clean it—barbed wire? Look at the scratches on this handsome pitcher. You’ve ruined it!”

Man: “But I was....”

Expert: “Soap and water was all you needed. The finish is ruined. You’ve almost totally destroyed your ancestor’s historically interesting pitcher. You’d be lucky to get $1,000 for it now.”

Man: “Ummm.”

Expert: “I’m very glad your patriotic ancestor didn’t live to see this. It’s like throwing about twenty grand off the back of a train. Thank heavens, he wasn’t as stupid as you are, or we’d all be British subjects!”

The Antique Rude Show. Yep, we need something like that.

For the rest of this story, you can order the May/June 2004 issue of Hampton Roads Magazine.