Vintage Adventures

The accepted principle is that men get better with age. As our hair grays and the lines on our faces deepen with the passing years, we develop a distinguished charm. Much like the whiskey we drink, a maturation occurs during our earthly casking (if nurtured and distilled correctly), mellowing our attitudes and delivering a complex yet refined product to the palette of our piers. The bite of brash youth develops into the wisdom, experience and charisma of a seasoned man.

There seems to be a direct correlation between this principle and the fact that men often prefer worn-in, used and battered items over something shiny and new (with the exception of gadgetry). As we age, so, inevitably do our possessions - many marked by the experiences we have shared with them. The particularly personal patina on a pair of brogues, marking many miles marched. A chip in the casing of a watch from a clumsy fumble. A battered box of bruised tools recalling years of creativity and craftsmanship. Those items that help to identify us throughout our life have participated in time along side of us and in turn carry an allure that a new item can never offer.

In my youth, going "antiquing" seemed like a cruel punishment. Wandering around smelly stores filled with junk was agonizing, boring and seemingly endless. I could never quite figure out why my parents lusted after odd bric-a-brac when all I craved was mass produced consumer crack. Recently, though, I've come to appreciate such trips and have been the catalyst for a few vintage adventures. As my style radar has been advancing with age, I have come to realize that much of what I lust after and draw inspiration from cannot be bought on demand but needs to be cultivated and collected over many years. And while many of us are lucky enough to be passed items from direct family lines, we can also seek out items indirectly, as they lie on dusty, cluttered shelves and in worn wooden cases.

This past Sunday I meandered along the weathered tongue and groove of select Shrewsbury, PA shops, gobbling up eyefuls of the preserved past. Unlike contemporary shopping most of the enjoyment I garner from gazing about hides in my imagination and not in lustful greed. I begin to formulate backstories for those items that intrigue me. "Where is this from and who might have owned it?" "How was it used and did its previous owner(s) see the value that I see?" "Was this a mere household item of no great worth or a cherished keepsake?" Often I'll paint a still life on the wrinkles of my brain, depicting the treasures in their prime, ultimately adding character to an otherwise bland relic. What others see as a trinket, I have now transformed into an artifact. I stand in a personal museum, where I write the history of each exhibit:

Shoe polish tin - Grand Central Station, 1919. A gentleman wouldn't dream of heading to the office without a well buffed shoe to compliment his hat and cane. He sits, peering at the Terminal's crowds as a boy works the polish into the leather:

Mantle clock - Formerly perched atop the cherry mantle of a newspaper magnate's office. Deadlines loomed as the clock ticked, rattling the nerves of those who entered:

Tobacco tin - Once stocked with a moist blend, this tin sat in a drawer next to a wing backed arm chair. Its owner relaxed each evening tamping its contents into his well charred pipe. Legs crossed, book in hand, he reflected on the days events and on the sweet aroma of tobacco that tickled his tongue:

Cooler - Filled to the brim with Cokes for the kids and Budweiser for their Dads, a camping trip would not be the same without its chilly services:

Coke opener - Has seen its share of active duty behind the drugstore counter. A precious tool for summer refreshment:

Bottle opener - It's lonely at war, but the 'tttsssst' of a top being cracked from a bottle brought a remembrance of home and what he was fighting for:

Radio - A fireside chat, the bottom of the ninth, or a cheeky Charleston. A child lying on his stomach gazing up as if a character was to pop out of the speaker. A time when imagination was entertainment and seeing wasn't always believing:

Band Aids - The bright red cross against the ivory backdrop provided instant relief to all those childhood scrapes and scratches. The application of its contents and a kiss from Mom sent the kids back out to play:

Maxwell House container - Cozily set next to the shiny percolator on the white counter of a mid-century kitchen. Two neighbors play mid-afternoon cards and enjoy a cup of coffee while gossiping incessantly. The coffee, a facilitator - and good, as always, to the last drop:

And a few other finds, minus the J. Peterman write-ups: