Where Antiques Come From

Do you ever stop to consider the path that the antique rocker you just brought home had to have taken to get to you? I'm not talking about romantic musings about just how many babies its previous owners rocked to sleep in it and how much love still surrounds it and all that Family Circus dead invisible grandfather stuff. Between one loving owner and the next, an antique passes through an astonishing number of hands and winds a trail far more complicated than any Billy or Jeffey or Dolly ever devised on their way home from school. Once an antique is fed into the system -- by legitimate means or not -- it is danged hard to get it out again, as today's story will show.

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The item in question is a red metal fire engine, the kind a child could actually drive, circa 1950 -- all optimism and post-war shininess. At some point in the Sixties, with no children to pedal it around in search of disaster, the fire engine was retired to the back of a garage in suburban Lexington, Kentucky. And there it lay until it was discovered in July of 1996, not by a collector, someone who would cherish it for it's market or nostalgia value, but by someone whose enthusiasm was not pecuniary in any way: a four-year-old boy named Jordan. He was helping the owners of the house (his uncle's girlfriend's parents) look for life jackets for a canoe trip when light struck it for the first time in decades. As the owners lifted the fire engine out of its hiding place, the look on Jordan's face was one of such awe and joy that they immediately made a gift of it.  

So, Jordan and his mother took the fire engine home, and that night Jordan dreamed of long summer days spent propelling the fire engine around the front yard. But the next day was Sunday, the day Jordan spent with his dad and his dad's new wife (we will refer to them as Mr. and Mrs. Pea-Brain, for reasons that will soon become evident). Something told Jordan's mother not to let the fire engine accompany Jordan, but Jordan's love for his new toy was so new and exciting that she acquiesced.

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There is considerable dispute as to what happened next, but when Jordan's mother came to pick him up the following day, she found a son in hysterical, inconsolable tears and no trace of the fire engine, except two tiny ladders that the little boy clutched tightly to his bosom. The events, according to Mrs. Pea-Brain follow. Let us refer to them as Version One:  

1. She and Jordan had been playing on the sidewalk in front of the Pea-Brain home that morning.

2. Mrs. Pea-Brain took Jordan inside to use the restroom, and he insisted upon bringing the ladders with him.

3. Upon returning moments later, they found the fire engine gone, stolen.  

Jordan's mother, thinking that the engine was gone forever scooped him up and took him home. She thought of calling the police regarding the incident, but would they really be interested in tracking down a child's toy? Jordan, disconsolate, fell asleep sobbing. The next day, she mentioned the sad story to her brother, who told his girlfriend, who, in turn told her parents. They made some inquiries, and found that this particular fire engine could be worth upwards of $3,000 should anyone want to break a little boy's heart and make off with it. No one thought of retrieving the money, but now it was a valuable heirloom gone missing, rather than just a plaything.  

Armed with this information, Jordan's mother phoned her ex-husband, Mr. Pea-Brain, and asked him to file a police report regarding the theft. Mr. Pea-Brain said that he would. (Readers who might encounter Mr. Pea-Brain themselves ought to be cautioned that he is a man whose word they may not want to lean too heavily upon. ) Jordan's mother, not overly confident of the swiftness of the long arm of the law, began canvassing antique stores herself a few days later. The proprietor of the second store she visited, Billy Frank, had not seen it, but did have a listing where people interested in selling antiques could write their names and phone numbers in hopes of finding a buyer. At the top of the first page, in blue ball-point pen, was the following entry:  

"Child's pedal fire engine, great condition, missing ladders, call Mr. Thief (as we shall call him) at XXX-XXXX"  

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Jordan's mother called the police and made reference to the recent police report filed by Mr. Pea-Brain. Of which the police had no record. This news prompted another call to the Pea-Brain home, where the Mr. and Mrs. were summoned to for an meeting with the police at the antique store. During this meeting, Jordan's mother not only learned that the damage Mr. Pea-Brain had leveled upon his short term memory had completely eradicated from his mind his promise to file a report, but she also learned Version Two of the theft story. To wit:  

1. Mrs. Pea-Brain and Jordan had been playing in the park across the street a block and a half away.

2. Mrs. Pea-Brain noticed that Jordan wasn't wearing any shoes, took him -- ladders in tow -- inside to put his shoes on.

3. Mrs. Pea-Brain smoked a cigarette, and made two short phone calls.

4. She and Jordan then returned to the park to find the fire engine gone.  

Jordan's mother, as you are probably beginning to realize, is one of the more persistent people you are likely to meet, compelling Detective Johnson, the police office assigned to the case, to become likewise, whether he wanted to or not. He first phoned Mr. Thief as an interested buyer and was told by Mrs. Thief that the fire engine had already been sold, sorry. Detective Johnson then paid a visit. Mrs. Thief denied knowledge of the fire engine, but when confronted with her comment earlier, confessed to stealing the fire engine herself. Mr. Thief had sold it to Rick's Variety Store for $20. This confession also yielded Version Three of the story of the theft, wherein the fire engine had been placed in a Dumpster, presumably by a shadowy, second-gunman-type figure.

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A mere 24 hours before he finally tracked down Wendell Gray, the fire engine had been sold to an auction company for $80. The auction company unloaded it to an antique dealer named Joe Campbell in nearby Versailles, KY for $100 the very day Detective Johnson phoned them. And then the detective had to go on a long-planned fishing vacation, so he sent Jordan's mother to Versailles to ID the fire engine. Unfortunately, Campbell had placed it in his shop in Harrodsburg some miles away, so she made the second trip and positively identified the fire engine as the one her son had fallen in love with several months prior. Detective Johnson returned rested and impounded the fire engine, thinking that he could restore the property to Jordan directly.  

As of this writing, the fire engine remains in police custody. Campbell, as an antique dealer, for one is not considered at high risk for dealing in stolen property, and was also quite concerned that he, an disinterested bystander who happened to fall into this web, would be out $100. Thus, the matter must be settled in a court of law. Mrs. Thief will be issued a summons, and chances are that she will plead guilty, pay the $100 restitution to Campbell, and then Jordan may ride his fire engine off into the sunset. Of course, there are no guarantees. It is entirely possible that the judge will be unimpressed by the paper trail fanning behind the fire engine or by the fact that the ladders Jordan still possesses fit it like Cinderella's glass slipper. In which case, who is to say where the fire engine may next land?

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