Tourists vs. Ovenware

My 730 days here have taught me a little about the seasonal fluctuation in this beachtown paradise. Someone asked the other day what time of year is best in this sandy spot on the eastern seaboard. The answer was easy; for some of us non-commercial residents, the off-season weeks from mid-September to late December are the most comfortable in a town that earns its keep off the tourist trade. Those are the days when this setting comes closest to what it was before development arrived. Apart from the ocean and its fringe of beach, clearly there is little that has truly escaped the developer’s reshaping, and signs of ‘commerce’ are prominent in every quarter, but between the ninth and twelfth months of the year a good part of that business is asleep. It becomes a quiet and sleepy little town with storybook weather and long stretches of empty beach.

But nothing of that in late March, when a breakout of beach-starved tourists takes advantage of spring break to shatter the calm and desecrate the near holiness of white sand beaches. Things get rowdy about now and a big part part of what is good about living on the beach turns sour. Hard especially in the case of an oceanfront location because that means all the shouting, the raucous play and midnight revels happen in window-rattling proximity. Sometimes you have to get away.

While the quiet was still in place early Sunday morning I considered the soon-to-come awakening of tourist hordes celebrating spring break, and realized escape was the best alternative. Thank God for Sunday flea markets. It had been a while since my last visit to the big flea market on US 1 halfway between here and Daytona, so that was the perfect escape. Hoping to get away while things were still quiet, I jumped in the car un-showered and unshaven, pointing the wheels toward the treasures of secondhand heaven.

Finding a parking place all too easily, I wondered, were all the flea market dealers at the beach? Early enough to expect the lanes and aisles to be packed with junk-filled tables, the empty spots were something of a surprise. It didn’t take too long to realize that a couple of my favorite dealers were taking a holiday. Sure enough, many of the familiar vendors were there with their old records, broken watches, Elvis memorabilia, chipped dinnerware, and Danielle Steele paperbacks, but there were lots of empty spaces.

Making the rounds a few times I managed to spend five dollars on a couple of things I would have paid more for. Wish that I knew a little more about what I bought, but the pieces themselves offer few hints and the people I bought them from clearly had little notion. The first find was a white stoneware dish made in Japan and marked ‘OVENPROOF’ on the bottom. At first glance I thought it might be an oversized soap dish (long without soap and filthy), but a look at the underside quickly proved that wrong, since soap dishes are rarely ovenproof. I can only guess that it is a piece of kitchenware made in Japan sometime around the 1950s or 60s. Whatever its history, it is a handsome little piece and one that thrills my junk-shopper’s soul.

On a second turn around the tables another white something caught my eye, a container of sorts that could be used for almost anything. My immediate thought was that it would be a handsome cover for a potted plant, something you might sit the plastic pot inside of. But then it could just as well serve as a soup tureen or a container for boiled corn on the cob. Whatever its original purpose, it is interesting for its odd marking of ‘Haberdashery’ and the illegible shield-like marking under the last letters of Haberdashery. Another curious feature is the way the piece was made. It’s clear in looking at it that the two halves were crafted and then joined before being fired. First time for me to see that particular technique. (The little green bowl in the photo is one of my own making during the Japan days.)

By the time I got home the Sunday rave was in full swing.

Smoke from the Silver Screen

It begins with an interest and sometimes fascination with objects associated with smoking. For those of us exposed to the old black and white Hollywood movies commanded by Bette Davis, Barbara Stanwyck, George Sanders and Joan Crawford, the smoking of cigarettes onscreen was defined by beautiful lighting, elegant gestures, perfect hands, and rooms adorned with silver table lighters, ebony cigarette boxes and exquisitely curling plumes of silver white smoke. Tobacco companies would have to admit that Hollywood sold more cigarettes than any combination of signboards and magazine ads, as countless movie fans took up smoking with a desire to emulate the larger-than-life heroes and heroines of the silver screen. At one point women everywhere wanted to copy the gestures of stars like Nina Foch or Elizabeth Taylor, and men the suave cigarette-lighting techniques of Humphrey Bogart.

For some of us a fascination with the tools of smoking outlived our desire to smoke. The familiar icons of smoking—the silver ‘pine cone’ table lighters, small ashtrays from old transatlantic ocean liners, Zippo flip tops—have long attracted my collector’s eye. Flea markets, garage and yard sales offer the chance of discovering one of these old gems. A little over ten days ago a local flea market turned up several old pieces that fed my habit for old stuff, and one of them is an ashtray that I’ve allowed to ‘steep’ for some time before venturing any comment. Now that I’ve had it for a close to two weeks, there’s been time to soak up its look under different light, feel from day to day its roughness under my fingers, and to ponder the qualities that encouraged me to buy it. Maybe now I can better express what it is that makes an ashtray valuable to a non-smoker.

For a long time I had little interest in Japanese smoking paraphernalia, but it was probably natural that over time an interest would evolve in handmade ceramic ashtrays of that country. Interest was boosted by the design of many Japanese potters, one that was unique and rarely seen in Western countries. From my earliest days in Japan I began to notice everywhere ashtrays in a shape I had never seen. They were uniformly deep with an opening in the center edged by a rough patterned collar for stubbing out a cigarette before dropping it into the deep bowl. Many were ordinary, but a number of them were handsome in a spartan-like design.

The flea market ashtray I brought home recently is of this last type. A rectangular shape measuring 4.5 inches by 3.5, with a depth of 2¼ inches, the top pieces on either side of the opening slanting downward slightly and having a ribbed texture to facilitate putting out the cigarette. The color of the glaze is gray on the upper half with a brown ribbed lower half showing blue highlights. Much to my disappointment I am unable to read the mark on the bottom and must wait to ask a Japanese friend for help. My best guess is that it reads: ‘Shigura’ which could be a name or the location of the kiln. I also have to guess how old the piece is, since that is a very hard point to discern in a piece like this one. Definitely not contemporary, a reasonable guess might put it somewhere between 1945 and 1955.

I mentioned in an earlier post that the man selling the ashtray had no idea what it was or where it came from. There was nothing distinctive about the piece to his eyes and he accordingly sold it for two dollars. For him not too good, since that price was way under value. I have a friend coming soon who enjoys the occasional cigarette. Hopefully he will find some of the same appreciation for this $2 beauty that I have.

Telling Time in 1918

Turned loose at a flea market there’s good chance you’ll have to lasso me and drag me back to the car to go home. That’s mostly the case, but I did go to one in Daytona last year that had me running for the exit after a quick look around. The big feature there was funnel cake and interior decor for trailer homes. I have driven past a big flea market in nearby Port Orange on a couple of occasions, a Thursday through Sunday gathering with most of the action happening on Saturday and Sunday. Yesterday seemed like a good time to give it a whirl, so I got over there mid-morning hoping to stumble over an old fountain pen or two, maybe a lost and wandering first edition, a bowl, plate or something otherwise on my menu of favorites.

I wasn’t disappointed. No fountain pens, but a couple of good finds in other areas, and surprising low prices. After walking around and talking with a number of the sellers for a good while, I realized that several of them had low price tags on things simply because they didn’t know what they had. At one table I picked up what was to me clearly an ashtray, and the man said I could have it and the piece next to it for $4.00. I wasn’t interested in the flower dish, but the ashtray had my eye. He continued on, admitting that he didn’t know what either of them were. I wasn't going to offer a higher price, but did explain what each item was, an explanation easy for me since both were Japanese. The idea of a dish made for flower arrangement was a new concept, but maybe he took the hint and will add a couple of dollars to the price. My friend K in Tokyo would have walked across hot coals to get that particular dish for $2.00. Meanwhile, I got the beautiful and old ashtray for the same price.

At another booth was an odd plastic doll made in Hong Kong in the 1950s, a Charlie Brown type of character wearing short pants and boxing gloves. Dolls are not my thing, but this one was immediately recognizable as a rare example, one possessing a goofy and wonderful expression. Again, underpriced. I bought it and in walking away spotted on a second table an old silver Westclox Big Ben wind-up alarm clock. This is a hard to find item made between 1918-1935 of nickel plated metal and steel. Neither the man or woman selling the clock knew anything more than that it was a clock. “Does it work?” I asked. The man didn’t think so but was surprised when he wound the clock and heard ticking. I bought it for $6.00.

I left the flea market happy and drove straight to Dairy Queen (a rare treat) and had a delicious but probably unhealthy lunch of a chili cheese dog and a black & white milkshake. The Dairy Queen in my little beach town is always crowded with customers and it might be because they provide a large almost park-like area with tables and umbrellas. A 1950s and 60s radio station plays through speakers hidden in the trees. I ate lunch listening to Gene Vincent sing “Be-Bop-A-Lula.” Remember that one?

Down the road a ways is a farmer’s market called Perrine’s, a place that’s been on my radar for a long time. Still wiping the chili and cheese off my mouth I stopped to have a look. Foolish of me to have waited so long. They have most of what the supermarket offers produce-wise and at better prices. Fresh baked breads and cakes, their own sauces, dressings and seasonings, and this time of year a mountain of pumpkins. Got back to the car with a heavy bag to add to the flea market pile. My return to Perrine’s won’t be so far down the calendar.

With the beautiful autumn-like weather, all in all a great Saturday.