Lost Then Found

Once my buddy and I reached Seven Corners in Downtown Saint Paul, a whole new world of treasure hunting opened up. Worn-a-bit, Rag Shop, Salvation Army, Goodwill; they all connotated a certain image in our minds. We knew that was where the poor people shopped, those down on their luck found treasures, and those struggling to make ends meet got things on the cheap. We were none of those; just two grade school kids looking for something, anything of special interest.

My, how things haven’t changed. Now a new generation (for example, my grandkids) has found a juvenile version of Valhalla among the piles of discarded clothing, jewelry, household goods and other assorted cast-off items. For them, it’s a veritable treasure chest of ‘finds’ among the ruins. The locales may be different now but the treasure hunting remains the same.

It's now been given a new name, a new destination and a new game in town. I’m talking about ‘thrifting.’ I know this because all five of my grandchildren are deep into their own personal journey of discovery. It’s the newest hip thing to do among the younger set.

The Revivals store here in Palm Springs, along with Angel View, and a dozen other denizens of ‘gently used items’ fed this hunger for bargain shopping at its very best. These storefront businesses are all vast collections of used clothing, household items, DVDs, CDs, vinyl, and even some eight-tracks thrown in. A few of the stores are now sneaking in brand new items, still under the guise of bargain items. Nevertheless, they all present new surprises upon every visit. Here is a classic case of ‘what goes around’ comes back around.

For the younger shoppers among us, the challenge of selecting old time-tested clothing and other items reflect a period – for them – wrapped in that dark past called ‘our parent’s era.’ Pushed beyond that would be their ‘grandparents’ era’ which is even more mysterious than a description of ‘dark matter.’

Although not born out of financial need, I think this quest for lost treasures reflects the younger generation’s fascination with ancient relics from the past. For them, that would be the sixties, seventies, and eighties. Old band or festival t-shirts are highly prized among that group of scavenger hunters.

Garage sales also present great opportunities for ‘new finds’ but usually in the form of gently used sporting goods, games, furniture, household items, etc. Its remarkable how someone else’s throwaways become someone else’s treasured finds.

Back in the day, my buddy and I would often venture out to the Goodwill Store in downtown Saint Paul out of curiosity more than anything else. I was into reading about World War Two and they always had a treasure trove of old ‘Life Magazines,’ often from the 40s and 50s. My friend, Micky, was more focused on assorted junk he could tinker with.

If the Goodwill store or the Salvation Army didn’t satisfy our thirst for new found treasures, we could always find something of value at the ‘Ax Man’ on University Avenue. The Ax Man was a veritable junk yard on steroids of small, often times, metal objects that must have been cast-off machinery parts from local factories.

A buck would get us both a bag full of small worthless objects we just knew would be useful for whatever silly project we had in mind. Of course, the items were usually forgotten or thrown away shortly after we bought them but the hunt was always the best part of the journey anyway.

I forgot about these generational Dollar Stores until about the mid-to-late sixties, when I was living in a rundown hovel near the University of Minnesota. I would often frequent a Salvation Army store nearby to furnish and decorate my apartment. Then go to the Army Navy Surplus Store on University Avenue and downtown Minneapolis for army jackets, camping gear, etc.

Sharon and I started taking the grandchildren to garage sales, estate sales, etc. when they were toddlers. The Colorado kids especially loved the hunt since their parents seldom, if ever, took them there. Nana’s (Sharon’s) only caveat was that the kids had to do their own negotiating with the owners for whatever they wanted to buy.

Brian and Amy weren’t too thrilled when Maya, Samantha and Spencer came home each time with armfuls of ‘things.’ But, as we explained to them, when we were in town baby-sitting that was part of our routine and the grandkids knew and loved it.

On their last visit to Palm Springs, the grandchildren, accompanied by some of the parents, all made their annual trek to ‘Revivals’ for their fill of ‘had to have’ treasures. No one left without some gem to show their pals at school the following week.

Another hallowed family tradition passed down from one generation to the next.

Digging Through the Bones

Retirement communities like those in the Coachella Valley have always been a little different than your average homestead. While most neighborhoods around any town have a reasonable number of deaths each month, here it’s a bit different. The more older folks around, the more that are likely to pass away any month of the year. Then the elephant in the room has always been: ‘What happens when?’ The reality here is that an above average number of retirees get old and die in place each month. What happens then to their lifetime of collected ‘things?’

Unique to Palm Springs and perhaps a few other retirement areas is our preponderance of consignment stores, Goodwill, thrift stores and estate sales; all meant to clean out the remnants of past residents. As a friend of mine likes to say upon hearing the sound of an ambulance. “There goes another condo for sale!”

I assume it’s the same in parts of Florida, Arizona, and other warm winter locales. The circle of life comes around and starts all over again. Newly purchased homes and condos are often furnished with the bones of sold off condos. Children of the deceased usually come into town with one goal in mind. Their objective is quite simply to empty their parent’s home, either sell off the furnishings or get them to a consignment store ASAP and leave town as quickly as they arrived.

The Coachella Valley has a wide variety of resale opportunities. Locally, a chain called ‘Revivals’ competes with other thrift stories such as Angel View and Goodwill. There are professional resale establishments like The Estate Company and (my wife’s favorite) Misty’s. There are probably dozens and dozens of smaller shops all collecting and catering to specialty items for resale. Then there are the many estate and garage sales meant to strip a house of any furnishings in as little time as possible.

In the field, the competition doesn’t stop at the door. There are professional bargain hunters who treat estate sales, garage sales and consignment stores as their full time buy and swap or resell profession. What’s left are the bargain hunters who are always on the lookout for a deal.

For some folks like myself, it’s a surreal experience scrounging through someone’s home after they have passed or gone to a nursing home. While it can sometimes border on the morbid, it is always a somber yet fascinating trip back in time. It’s like peeling away the life story of a person, revealing beneath the layer of dust and corner dust bunnies a glimpse into their daily lives. Old furnishings, paintings, appliances, records, tools, magazines, CDs and DVDs all tell a tale of their past life.

Last year, we went to the Hearst Estate sale (the grandchildren of William Randolph Hearst) and last week it was an estate sale conducted by the state of California through a broker. Both must have had fascinating tales to tell.

There can be bargains galore if you’re in the right place at the right time and the price is right. Sharon has collected, over the years, wonderful items for our home. She has found frames for her paintings and crystal and china for her collection. I’ve found old books that were ideal for research material for my novels or just a great read.

Moving amid the casual shoppers are the serious bargain hunters. These are folks on the lower end of the economic spectrum for whom garage sales and estate sales mean they can buy items they would never be able to afford otherwise. Furniture, old and comfortable, is often relegated to the poorest of shoppers.

Around here, especially in season, it’s the great circle of possessions passed on from one generation to the next. It’s digging through the bones of the deceased to build a new foundation for the living. For the serious and casual shopper alike, consignment is not a dirty word. It’s bargain hunting, great finds and surprises every time the garage door opens.

Scavengers of the Desert

They swoop down on their mark as the first rays of light split the gray Coachella sky. Most are cunning hunter’s intent on grabbing as much bounty as they can before more experienced hunter-gathers crowd them aside in their feeding frenzy.

The real pros know how to find the traces, tracks, and signs of a pending materialistic sacrifice. Yet only after scouting the day’s prey on Craig’s List, newspaper listings and select internet sites such as Tattoo Mark (one of Sharon’s favorites) can they be sure of the worthiness of their mark. Once satisfied of their vision quest, the stalking begins.

The hunt goes on year-long but always grows into a heightened frenzy when the snowbirds return to winter in the Valley. It’s a classic rendezvous in the best tradition of the mountain men. Only instead of trading pelts and beads, the currency exchanged is a few cents on the dollar for the long forgotten treasures of someone’s passed life. For unlike most other places in the country, there is an abundance of consignment stories throughout the Coachella Valley.

It’s almost as if Woody Allen had descended upon the land and pronounced his vision of a shopping religion which is ‘never pay retail.’ It’s a mantra whispered among the locals and visitors alike and easy to believe when there are so many venues to choose from.

There are church-sponsored thrift stores, specialty shops in mid-century modern furniture and accessories and stores specializing in only estate sales. There is even a chain of stores called Revivals that is one of the grand-daddy of all of them. Simple garage sales are the poor cousin in all this huge cauldron of shopping activities.

Despite the plethora of brick and mortar shopping sites, the real deals (and steals) take place in the individual homes now relegated to the children or in-laws of the deceased who are cleaning house. ‘Everything must go’ is their rousing anthem and it usually does in a whirlwind of flying shopping bags being stuffed, eager fingers snatching up bargains and dutiful husbands guarding the booty as the misses hunt for more.

Make no mistake, these are the real professionals who do this for a living or live to do it every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. They are the re-sellers, the collectors, the bargain hunters, the shopping addicts, and the scavengers looking to pick off the pitiful remains of a once full life.

These modern-day Comancheros arrive early, listen to the gossip of ‘what’s inside,’ can spot deals (or resales) and know how to negotiate the terrain. I’m just a tenderfoot among these veterans and careful not to cross their paths.

That said, I’ve crowded alongside the best of the best at the Hearst mansion (newspapers) finding old books for my research library. I’ve arrived late at the Swanson compound (frozen foods) which had been picked over before I even got in the front door. I’ve meandered through the long-forgotten lives of past Hollywood royalty in some cul-da-sac down Valley.

Picking through the remains of someone’s life seems cruel at first but it’s also finding treasures not found elsewhere. Even an inconsequential something might jog my imagination and trip my mind to dream up yet another story to tell.

So, Don Quixote gets to share space with my Yellow Submarine. Not a bad price to pay for following on the trail of my fellow scavengers.