Loree Sandler
Editor’s note: This is one of the three runner up pieces in Storied Stuff’s first annual writing contest.
Back in the day, before ebay changed everything, Mom and I buckled up for adventure. Flea markets, antique fairs, forgotten shops in tiny towns. As collectors, we could prowl for hours.
Occasionally we’d pony up for a fancy show to “train our eyes.”
“That would look great in your house,” whispered Mom, nodding towards something large, yellow, and rusty at one such event.
“Seriously?” I gasped. It was not love at first sight.
We eyed The Daily News stand from a distance. It had a cool shape and bold font. We zeroed in. It was covered with scratches, and someone with initials J.M. had left their mark.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” cooed the dealer.
“It’s pretty distressed,” I countered. Game on.
“It’s Chicago history,” she replied. “Outside, rain or shine. That it survived at all is remarkable.”
“What are you asking?” inquired Mom, feigning disinterest.
The dealer donned her glasses. “I’m asking five hundred.”
“Thank you,” I said, walking away.
I could picture the stand in my house, stacked with the papers now bulging from drawers. Maybe there were hundreds like it, but I’d never seen one.
“It’s really cool,” Mom repeated.
“I know,” I agreed.
“I’ve got three-hundred,” said Mom. “What do you have?”
“One-fifty,” I answered.
“Would you take four-fifty?” Mom asked the dealer.
“It’s firm,” she said. “This will sell.”
Mom and I huddled, disappointed by defeat.
“Do you love it?” she asked.
“I wish I didn’t,” I admitted.
“Dad said to spend three-hundred on an anniversary gift if you saw something special. I’ll write a check for the difference,” Mom offered.
The Daily News stand did look great in my house. And it has looked great in every house since.
They say that everyone remembers their first. In this case, I remember my second, too.
In a crowded shop in a faraway place, Mom and I rounded a corner. Before us, a large, yellow, rusty Daily News stand.
“You’ve got to get it,” Mom insisted.
It was boxy, with faded font in front. If we’d found this one first, we would have walked on by.
The sticker said “NFS,” and the owner could not be reached.
“Call first thing Monday, before anyone’s had the chance to ruin her day,” coached Mom.
We strategized about everything except what price I should offer.
“It’s Not For Sale because it’s the perfect display for my comics,” said the owner. “I’ve never seen another one like it.”
“I love it, too,” I said. “Would you take five-hundred for it?”
“I’d do that,” she said, too fast.
“I could have had it for less,” I confessed to Mom.
“Well,” she consoled, “at least you got it.”
I buckled baby Graham in for the drive to the faraway town. The two Daily News stands made handsome companions.
Though my now grown boys won’t prowl with me for hours, Mom and I haven’t stopped hunting. A third Daily News stand would be nice. I’d like each son to inherit something large, yellow, and rusty.
