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For many of us, one the attractions of antiques is a connection to folks who came before us through the things they owned and used. Every so often, we come across reminders that the past owners were real people. Sometimes, they make you stop and think about the people, rather than the object; like the letter slipped into the lining of the old truck that told the family back in Texas, in mixed English and Swedish, that little Annie had died in Arkansas.
This little story is set in a south Texas flea market on a chilly winter morning before dawn. One day a week, Wednesday for some reason, is it understood that all the stuff from the previous week's picking will be there, sold out of the back of pickups and car trunks, direct from the field, so to speak. Now for the most part, the sellers are probably the most straightforward and honest folks in the business. Most of them are not without knowledge of antiques and collectibles; they have just chosen to buy and sell in a very simple way down near the bottom of the antiques 'food chain.' You're buying in the dark, flashlight in hand. No claims of condition are made or implied as most of the sellers haven't examined their own goods since they picked them up wherever a day or two before. You might make your own mistakes in the poor light, but no one deliberately presents fakes or hides flaws - just not that kind of crowd.
On that cold morning, I looked into a dirty cardboard box on the tailboard of a pickup and picked up an old piece of carnival chalkware. It was a little dog, similar to, but as with most old carnival chalk, not close enough to RCA's 'Nipper' that they would have had to pay royalties. The paint was well worn, as usual, but he was intact. The seller said 'four dollars' and 'You and me both know he's worth a lot more.' Couldn't argue with that, and paid up, dropped him in my bag, and moved on through the dark. The seller told me he had stopped and picked through the ruins of an old farm house and had found only this piece under the rubble.
Upon getting the little dog home along with the rest of the morning's finds, I began to examine the piece in better light. Good - no cracks or chips. Then I turned the piece over. On the bottom, in pencil, worn enough so that it was obviously done by the original owner, was: 'Oct,10,1931 Fair Center, Tex.'
Who was it in 1931 who marked and treasured and kept this little piece of plaster? Was it won by the young man who won it at the ring-toss and gave it to her on their first date to the county fair in Center. Did he become her life-long companion? Or a lost love? Was it a little farm girl, thrilled by the trip into town to the carnival and her prize? Was it presented by a child to a loving parent who commemorated the date in pencil on the bottom? What special place did it hold in a life before being left alone in the old farm house?
Item: 1930's Carnival Chalk Nipper Style Dog. 6 1/2' tall. Worn blue paint. No chips or cracks. Oh yes, he's marked, and not for sale.
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