JAG File with John Adams-Graf - Thursday, June 18, 2009

My First Grouping
Posted by John

    I grew up in a Mayberry-like existence. The town in which my family lived numbered only about 1,200 people. My dad and mom owned one of three grocery stores. We lived between the church we attended on one side and the county’s courthouse on the other. Everyone in town knew us and we knew all of them.
   Our first grocery store was an 1870s wooden building with big windows and set-in front door. In the summer, the main door was open and just the screen door kept dogs and flies from entering.
   Like most grocery stores at that time, we let our customers buy “on account” and we made daily deliveries. Dad drove a 1962 Chevy Impala, which the family referred to as the “red goose”. In addition to being the family car, it was our “delivery vehicle”. Since I was only five years old, I didn’t have too many daily tasks at the store apart from sorting pop bottles. However, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Saturdays, I would go delivering with my Dad.
   Around two o’clock on delivery days, Dad would load the red goose’s trunk and back seat with the orders customers had phoned in earlier. Then it was time to go. We didn’t take off our aprons (cloth affairs—Dad had a special way of hiking mine up so I wouldn’t trip on it), but we would pull on our coats over it. I always felt that was the “appropriate” uniform for making deliveries. We would crawl into the front seat (a bench seat, no seat belts), and Dad would let me turn the ignition to start the goose (no key was needed!).
   Our delivery customers were generally the same folks each week—usually widows or elderly folks who simply couldn’t get out to the store. I knew that every Saturday, we would go to Mrs. Tippman’s house. I didn’t like that delivery. Mrs. Tippman was obviously quite poor. Her house was tiny—only the front room and her bedroom, separated by a blanket. She took care of her severely handicapped adult daughter, who, to a five- year-old boy, was very intimidating. To top it all, the house had the smell of confinement. I figured Mrs. Tippman never left the house.
   Dad knew I didn’t like going into that house, but each time we delivered there, he made sure there was something I had to carry in as well. Mrs. Tippman would meet us at the door and I usually went in first. I would set my load on her table. Dad followed and placed the big box on stove and made small talk while Mrs. Tippman dug in her coin purse for the payment.
   I would simply stare at a photo on their kitchen table—in part, to avoid eye contact with Mrs. Tippman’s daughter. The photo was of Mr. Tippman, standing at attention in his WWI uniform. Mr. Tippman had died many years earlier, but this photo commanded a place of prominence in the tiny home.

An Unexpected Gift
   The delivery scenario repeated itself through the years. By the time I was ten years, my Dad and Mom had built a new, state-of-the-art steel grocery store (the old wooden store burned when I was six), the red goose was gone (replaced by a huge, dark blue Chrysler station wagon that the family called “The Tank”), my duties at the store emerged to carry-out boy and shelf stocker and we still made deliveries three times a week.
   Every Saturday’s deliveries still ended at the same home—Mrs. Tippman’s. Of course by that time, Dad had impressed upon me the importance of talking to everyone, no matter how uncomfortable I was. So, when Mrs. Tippman opened the door for us, I greeted her and commented on the weather. But this particular Saturday, the routine was different. After Dad set the box of groceries on the stove, Mrs. Tippman disappeared behind the curtain into the little house’s other room.
   She came out carrying a World War One uniform on a coat hanger. She explained how it was the uniform her husband wore when he came home from France. She remembered how handsome he looked and how relieved she was that he was home.
   Mrs. Tippman knew how much I liked military things. I had studied the photo of her husband on the table countless times. In my efforts to “make conversation”, I had commented on the photo and asked questions about her husband.
   She handed me the uniform and told me she wanted me to have it. I was flummoxed. I didn’t know what to say or how to act. Without considering my options, I embraced Mrs. Tippman and kissed her on the cheek. I thanked her for the uniform and promised to take good care of it.

Young Regrets
   I took the uniform home. My mom wouldn’t let me take it in the house...folks from the WWII generation have funny ideas about “contaminated woolen goods”. She was afraid it would introduce moths into our home. So, it hung in dryer cleaner bag in our garage. As I recall, the uniform had a First Division patch, Victory Medal and fouragere. I never really examined it that closely, though. At that time, my interests were engorged in WWII study.
   By the time I was eighteen, I had graduated at our store to “butcher”, though every Saturday, I still had to take the deliveries. Dad didn’t go on these anymore. He had suffered a heart attack so he wasn’t able to do too much around the store. He relied on his kids to take care of a lot of the day-to-day operations.
   Mrs. Tippman had passed away and her daughter was placed in the nursing home. But every Saturday, my delivery route took me right passed her little house—now sitting empty.
   Because I was able to drive, I started attending gun shows whenever I could. The only “military” show I knew about was one that occurred annually in St. Paul, called the “Battlefield Show”. I purchased a table and got busy looking for things to sell.
   Of course, in my search through all of my early military accumulations, I came across Sergeant Tippman’s uniform hanging in the garage. I figured since I couldn’t take it in the house, I might as well sell it.
   At that time, one was lucky to sell a doughboy uniform set for $35. It sat on my table all weekend and no one looked at it. At the end of the show, I took it over to the show organizer’s table and asked if he would be interested in a trade (yes, I actually believed in trading back then!). He said sure, and I swapped it for a handful of Hitler Youth trinkets.
   At the time of the trade, I had no idea that nearly thirty years later, I would be typing a “blog” about how much that first grouping really meant to me.

Treasure the connections your relics provide,
John Adams-Graf
Editor, Military Trader and Military Vehicles Magazine

Thursday, June 18, 2009 9:58:30 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

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Friday, June 05, 2009

Books Worth Reading ... and One to Avoid
Posted by john

Greetings,
   Each day of JAG’s life ends with reading in bed. I have been doing that as long as I can remember. As a little kid, one of my most appreciated belongings was a cool little lamp that hooked onto my headboard (wish I could find one like it again!). For me, it is the time of day where I don’t pursue research, take notes or compile lists (usually...a lot of the data for Standard Catalog of Civil War Firearms was actually compiled late at night in my big ol’ bed).

   Several acquaintances know about my eclectic reading tastes. Through the course of the year, I am asked numerous times, “What good books are you reading, JAG?” While it is true that I receive dozens of books to review, there are very few that actually end up on the nightstand next to my bed.

   Generally, I read compilations of letters, diaries or memoirs. The past few months, I have been really enjoying reading memoirs written by Americans who served in British Expeditionary Forces in WWI. Over the Top by Arthur Guy Empey and A Yankee in the Trenches by R. Derby Holmes are two fun, very easy-to-read examples. Patrick Terrance McCoy’s 1918 memoir, Kiltie McCoy is the book currently with a bookmark between its pages.

   One book that surprised me this year was written by my friend, Ron Werneth. When the review copy of The Untold Stories of Japan’s Naval Airmen arrived, I glanced at it and ear-marked it to send to one of the magazine’s regular reviewers. It sat for a few days on my copystand until I finally photographed the cover before sending it on to the reviewer. I found myself paging through Untold Stories on several occasions, reading excerpts. Finally, it made its way to my nightstand. I highly recommend this groundbreaking book to anyone interested in the Pacific Theater of operations during WWII.

   In fact, for those in the Chicago area, Ron is having a book signing on Thursday evening, June 11 at the Pritzker Military Library (located in downtown Chicago). For those who cannot attend in person, this event will including a live interactive webcast. For more info, contact:

            Pritzker Military Library
           610 North Fairbanks Court, 2nd Floor
           Chicago, IL 60611
           Phone: 312.587.0234

AND ONE TO AVOID IN THIS LIFE
   Conversely, I encounter a lot of garbage each year masquerading as historical documentation. It is an interesting time period in publishing in which we live. Self-publishing has opened the doors to some good works and to a veritable landfill of garbage. I have said it often, and it bears repeating: “Just because I can buy a scalpel, does not make me a doctor.” Similarly, just because someone has figured out how to use “print-on-demand” or can type on a word processor does not mean that they can author scholarly works.

   This year’s biggest waste of paper in military publishing has got to be, without a doubt, WORLD WAR II GHOSTS: Artifacts Can Talk by Richard J. Kimmel and published by Schiffer. When this book showed up in my mail, I laughed and laughed, assuming it was the most brilliant practical joke perpetrated in the hobby in a long time. It is filled with short stories revolving around “psychic readings” of rather mundane military artifacts.

The stories are beyond the normal imagination of the “I-wish-it-were- true” kind of collector hype—even the most raucous tale-teller at a show wouldn’t try to hang these whoppers on an artifact. For example, World War II Ghosts reveals a Hitler Youth armband that gave the sense of a GI taking it from a Pimpf at bayonet point. A piece of jewelry with a swastika transmitted a dark hint of heinous crimes and the letter “H” (a recurring theme in the book)...gee...it must have been associated with Himmler or even Hitler. Coincidentally, it could also stand for Hard-to-swallow.

   As I paged through the book, it became sadly apparent—it was no joke. The author is dead-serious (pun intended). He even has a web site dedicated to the notion that he can “sense the history” by holding artifacts. Passage after passage of the book is filled with “psychic readings” of drivel. The one that really crowned the glory of it all for me was the reading of a blatantly fraudulent Jewish prisoner armband. Even though the armband is a well-known fake in the collecting community, the psychic and the author recounted horrible tales of ovens and beatings and loss that they “felt” when they fondled it! Now that is some good psyching!

   I learned very early on in my life (and passed on to my daughter, in fact), that “books are precious” and as such, you treat them with care and respect. I only mention this to demonstrate the level of anger I felt as I examined World War II Ghosts. I actually threw the book across the room, only to retrieve it later to toss on my trash pit where I left it to smolder.

   I did not sense any spirits emerging from that trash’s ashes.

John Adams-Graf
Editor, Military Trader and Military Vehicles Magazine

Friday, June 05, 2009 2:19:12 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Comments [2]

Thursday, May 21, 2009

Flags, bugles and spent brass
Posted by John

Memorial Day has always been one of my favorite holidays. As a little kid, it always meant the stores were closed (including our family-owned grocery) and the town was quiet. Early in the morning, there would always be a small parade consisting of little more than the high school band, the American Legion, VFW and the Scouts. The parade was short—just a few blocks from the high school up Main Street and ending at the city park. A speaker delivered a short oration, a high school band member blew Taps and the veterans fired a salute of their Model 1903 rifles. For a little kid who liked all things military, the best part of the morning was scurrying around to recover spent brass casings.

When I grew older, Memorial Day emerged into what it has become for many—simply a “day off”. But then I became a father, and I experienced a resurgence of civic pride. I felt compelled to take my baby girl to Memorial Day parades.

But by that time, Memorial Day parades had changed drastically from what I remembered. What had once been a demonstration of recognition of soldiers’ sacrifice had become a display of “its all for the kids”. The once somber, introspective parades filled with patriotic music, waving flags, hands over hearts and somber salutes had become a wild mass of 20-something parents trying to herd kids as they tossed or caught candy.

Needless to say, when my daughter was a baby girl, the days of scrambling for spent brass were long gone ... communities felt it was too dangerous to let children near such displays of aggression.

After the parade, instead of counting candy with my daughter, I would take her to a local cemetery where we would place a few flags on veterans’ graves. I am embarrassed to admit it now, but I used to make her listen to short patriotic poems when we were in the cemetery ... the poor girl put up with a lot!

Around 2000, I moved to Iola, Wisconsin, to take over the editor’s role for Military Vehicles Magazine. My Memorial Days in Iola were probably the best ever. Fortunate for the community, Krause Publications founder, Chet Krause, is dedicated to the memory and support of United States’ veterans. It may be a small town of only about 1,200 people, but thanks in large part to Chet, it hosts one of the best Memorial Day parades in Wisconsin.

The Iola Memorial Day parade consists of the high school’s band, various veterans’ organizations and the local scouts. What sets it apart though, is Chet’s willingness to share his vast collection of military vehicles. Friends, relatives and KP employees all volunteer to drive a convoy of olive drab vehicles—many carrying disabled veterans in the short parade.

But what makes it one of the best Memorial Day observances for me is less tangible—actually a bit soulful, in fact.

After the parade winds its way from the school to the Veteran’s Memorial adjacent to the mill pond, a speaker delivers a short oration, a bugler blows taps, the veterans fire a volley of salutes and little kids scramble to collect the spent brass.

Happy Memorial Day,
John Adams-Graf

Thursday, May 21, 2009 9:50:20 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Comments [1]

Friday, May 08, 2009

Summer time!
Posted by John

The other day, my partner asked me where I wanted to go for vacation this summer. I just smiled at her. She knew my answer...it has been the same answer I have given to that question since I was ten years old.

You see, back when I was that young, I visited the retired editor of our small town’s newspaper. Perk Steffen, in addition to his newspaper career, was also the oldest living bailiff in Minnesota. But neither of those reasons drew me to his house every Saturday afternoon. Rather, Perk was a sort of self-made historian. He and I would sit and talk about the Civil War.

Our visits usually started with some music. Perk—a World War I veteran—liked to play old 78s on his stereo. He was recording them all to cassette tape. He would smoke his pipe while we listened. When the songs were done, he would turn to me and ask, “Did you read last week’s book?”

Each Saturday, Perk would pull a volume from his library and send it home with me. Each book covered some facet, regiment or battle of the Civil War. When I returned the following Saturday, it would be a topic of our talks. But these weren’t dreary history lessons...Perk had lived a lot of history and boy, did he have stories.

When Perk was a young boy, he used to pester “Captain Harris” the same way I pestered Perk. Captain Harris had been in Co. B, 2nd Wisconsin Infantry (of the famous Iron Brigade). Young Perk would the Captain to tell stories about the First Bull Run, Fredericksburg and Gettysburg.

When Perk grew up, he joined the Minnesota National Guard. When the State sent troops to Texas and hence, into Mexico for the “Punitive Expedition”, Perk was in the ranks. And when those State troops were sent to France to fight the Kaiser, he sailed across as well. So Perk had stories...not just second-hand stories from an old Iron Brigade soldier, but stories of his own. As a ten-year-old, I sat enthralled as he talked. I studied his white bushy eyebrows, breathed in the smoke from his pipe and just let my eyes wander over the floor-to-ceiling book shelves.

More than any single topic, we discussed the Battle of Gettysburg. Being a Minnesota, I came to believe that a handful of my State’s soldiers saved the Union line –and therefore, the nation--on July 2, 1863 (I still believe that, by the way!). We talked about General Reynolds falling on the first day of the battle. We talked about the Iron Brigade charging into the Railroad gap and studied maps of where Lee squandered the strength of the Army of Northern Virginia in Pickett’s ill-conceived attack over open land.

By the end of each visit, my head was swimming with images of the Civil War and, in particular, Gettysburg. Perk had been there in the 1930s and told me of the monuments and the vastness of land dedicated to those who fought. He told me about Jenny Wade’s house, Meade’s headquarters, Cemetery Ridge, the Seminary and the Round Tops. I wanted nothing more, than to go to Gettysburg.

And Perk wanted me to go.

One day, I noticed that Perk stopped at our store and was talking to my Dad. That was unusual. Perk’s wife, Helen, did the shopping. He never came to the store. But, I knew enough to know that I had to mind my own business. If Dad or Perk wanted me to know what was discussed, they would tell me.

A couple of weeks later during one of our talks, I mentioned to Perk, “I sure wish I will go to Gettysburg some day.” He paused, pulled out his pipe and he said, “I might be wrong, but I think you will.” I put two and two together and decided he and my Dad had conspired to send me to Gettysburg.

Looking back, I can see I was a bit optimistic...I was only 10 years old! My folks were not going to put me on a bus with a note pinned to my coat that said, “Take this boy to Gettysburg, Pennsylvania.” But, I was a kid, and as kids go, I was probably a whole lot more self-centered than most. I truly did think the world revolved around me. It was totally plausible to me that my folks would be saving money and ignoring the needs of their other four children just so I could attain my lifelong- (albeit only 10 years of life) dream of going to Gettysburg.

When the school year was drawing to a finish, the question came up at our supper table during desert one evening: “Where would you kids like to go for vacation?” Well, I was the youngest of five and my turn to answer was last. Tom was getting ready for college. He didn’t want to go anywhere. Celine had her pets to tend, and she liked working at the store. She was happy to stay home. Joe was our family jock—he was already deep into high school baseball and the American Legion team would be starting at the end of classes. Obviously, he didn’t want to go anywhere. Jim, well Jim had his own world. A genius of sorts, he was into spelunking—dropping down into caves and exploring. He just wanted to go to some caves around our home (there are plenty in the bluffs of Southeast Minnesota to keep a spelunker busy all summer). Finally, it was my turn to answer. “I WANT TO GO TO GETTYSBURG!”

The whole family just stopped eating their chocolate pudding and stared at me. Their thoughts probably ranged from, “What the hell is wrong with this kid” to “Clearly the boy is obsessed”.

I believed it was possible. After all, I had seen Perk talking to Dad. They had to be talking about me and my desire—nay, my need—to go to Gettysburg. This family meeting was the golden opportunity to close the deal.

The folks stared at me, then at each other. My brother Jim tried to take my pudding. Celine started clearing the table. What was happening? Why did no one respond? “I WANT TO GO TO GETTYSBURG!” I repeated, sensing tears beginning to well up. “Maybe someday,” my Mom attempted to consoled me. “I WANT TO GO TO GETTYSBURG”, I bellowed for a third time, this time the tears actually cresting their natural barriers and streaming down my cheeks. But it didn’t matter. Just like General Lee’s grim realization on July 3, 1863, as he watched General Pickett’s troops faltering under withering fire before even reaching the half-way point in their attack against the entrenched Union soldiers, I knew the battle was lost. There was to be no trip to Gettysburg.

I felt betrayed. Betrayed by my belief that everything went my way. Betrayed by the notion that everyone was focusing on my interests. Betrayed by the self-awareness that I was NOT the center of everything.

To this day, I don’t know what Perk and Dad discussed. Perk has been gone many years, though I visit his grave and talk with him still. He just doesn’t have any more stories to share.

Dad hints that discussion revolved on “what was best for John”. Maybe Perk recognized that I was becoming a little too obsessed with the Civil War. Perhaps, he felt I needed to expand my interests. I know that was a topic that had upset my Dad for some time. He was always badgering me to read something “other than Civil War books”. I dunno. Maybe they were just talking about the weather.

That summer, we did take a family trip. The older kids were too involved in their lives to go, but Mom, Dad, Jim and I drove from Caledonia, Minnesota to Terre Haute, Indiana. Along the way, we stopped at General Grant’s home in Galena, Illinois, President Lincoln’s home and tomb in Springfield, Illinois, and Lincoln’s town of his teenage years, New Salem, Illinois. I saw plenty of Civil War items in museums, monuments and cannons in parks to satiate my Civil War appetite. I even bought my first of many felt kepis (which I wore everyday for the entire summer). It was my very first “Civil War vacation”.

So when Diane asked me where I wanted to go this summer, you know my answer—“GETTYSBURG!”

She didn’t reply.

I think we are going to Maine.

Recognize your passion and follow them (or her),
John Adams-Graf
Editor, Military Trader and Military Vehicles Magazine

Friday, May 08, 2009 4:40:31 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

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Thursday, April 23, 2009

Good and old, or just old?
Posted by John

Greetings,

I am just back from the Battlefield Show in St. Paul, Minnesota. Bob Johnson puts on a great show. I was impressed by how high the attendance was. Table sales may have been a bit lower than usual, but there was no shortage of potential buyers walking around. Bob does a great job of promoting the show which was held concurrently with a gun show and a flea market elsewhere on the State Fairgrounds.

Two things at the Battlefield Show reminded me that I am not the young kid on the block anymore. First, I realized that I had been going to Bob’s shows since I was 17 years old. That was nearly 30 years ago! Back then, Bob had a partner and a small shop in Minneapolis. Funny thing, he looks about the same as he did back then! I wish I could say the same.

The second reminder of the passing of time was a comment I heard from three different people when describing relics that they had recently purchased. Each one used the expression, “And it’s been in a private collection for 25 years!” The implication was that it must be real because it has been locked away for a quarter of a century.

The first couple of times I heard the expression, it didn’t really register. I simply accepted it in the manner in which it was offered: evidence of authenticity. However, lying in my motel after hearing it a third time, I did the math. 25 years means that the items entered the sellers’ collections in 1984—the same exact year I sat in my grad school-provided apartment, rubbing bogus Third Reich decals off of supposed “transitional helmets”. Over the preceding couple of years, I had bought a number of helmets from a collector who “had them since soon after the end of WWII” (another 25 years!). I bought the “transitional” single decal M16 helmets from him for about $125-$155 a piece. And, as the flaking decals revealed, they were as fake as fingernails on a frog.

After rubbing the decals off, I was left with several nice WWI M16 helmets (then worth about $55-$75 a piece). It was a hard lesson, but it taught me that time in a collection does not establish believable provenance for items. When I was young, “25 years ago” equaled “right after WWII". Today, that same 25 years equals 1984—a peak in counterfeiting history.

Like other old timers, I have plenty of good stuff that has been in my collection for 25 years. Most likely, I some of it is bad. I want to suggest to collectors to take that old expression, “It’s been in my collection for nigh onto 25 years now…” with a grain of salt. It might be true. And there might well be a good reason the object hasn’t seen the light of day for a quarter of a century.

Be cautious and keep finding the good stuff,
John Adams-Graf
Editor, Military Trader and Military Vehicles Magazine

Thursday, April 23, 2009 10:31:15 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

Comments [1]

Friday, April 10, 2009

Fakes and phonies
Posted by John

Greetings,
   Fake and phony militaria is nothing new. Ever since soldiers began bringing home trophies, someone has been busy converting the items into rare and more valuable specimens.
   A couple of years ago, Military Trader asked readers what they would do with a medal in their collection if they discovered it was a fake. Only 10% of respondents admitted that they would sell the item on eBay or at a show: “buyer beware.” 29% said they would simply destroy the medal and avoid confusing (or tempting) future collectors.
   A surprising 61% of respondents said that they would “Permanently mark the medal indicating that it was a fake and keep it.” I say “surprisingly” because in 30+ years of collecting and visiting other collectors, I have never actually seen a medal that was marked that way. So, I put out a call for readers to submit examples of how they marked a known reproduction item so that future collectors would not be fooled.
   Advance Guard Militaria (www.advanceguardmilitaria.com) recently shared some interesting examples with me. The first item, which owner Jeff Shrader admits fooled him to the tune of a few hundred dollars, is a gorgeous World War I Second Division shoulder patch. Upon close inspection, the painting is meticulous, the wool felt appears old and the entire package exhibits a bit of soiling typical of 90+ years of storage. However, when hit with a black light, the white stitching around the star glows like lip-gloss on a Mississippi River stripper. Beautiful, but 100% fake and quite obviously made to deceive.

The detail on this WWI 2nd Division
patch is meticulous—and FAKE!

Marked “REPRODUCTION” with indelible
ink, no one will ever pay “original price”
for this fake again. By not destroying
the fake, Shrader has a baseline piece
to use when examining other
questionable painted patches.

Jeff noted that the simplest answer is to simply burn the patch. But then documentation of the forger’s style would be lost, giving him/her a clear path to perfect their production. Instead, Jeff has clearly marked the back with indelible ink and has taken meticulous, close-up photos that will eventually be available to his customers through his Web site.

The next item he shared was a Third Reich Iron Cross, First Class. The dimensions were correct. It was a multiple-piece frame and cross. However, the core was not magnetic—a sure sign that it is a fake. Again, an indelible marker noted the forgery on the back, and Jeff took photos to serve as a comparative record.

Outwardly, this WWII Iron Cross looks
perfect. The simple lack of pull on a
magnet, though, revealed that it is
a fake.

The reverse is marked with permanent
marker changing the fake into a
study piece.

In any large volume business, there are obviously a lot of items that pass through that simply just aren’t worth the time to document. Jeff devised a use for such pieces: He created a cement “Walk of Shame” in which he pressed the cheap forgeries to be entombed in a concrete mosaic for the ages.

Advance Guard Militaria has a “Walk of Shame” into
which staff members press known fake pieces of
militaria into wet cement.

WHAT ABOUT YOU?
    Have you permanently marked your fakes? I would really like to show examples in Military Trader. Send a high-resolution photo of your medals showing your marking methods to john.adams-graf@fwpubs.com. Proper credit will be noted (if so desired!)

                Keep ‘em rolling and keep finding the good stuff!
                John Adams-Graf
                Editor, Military Trader & Military Vehicles

Friday, April 10, 2009 2:28:26 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

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Monday, March 30, 2009

It's Time to Call for New Museum Leadership!
Posted by john

Today, I read the headline, Departure of Wagoner Should Make Us Pause, Reflect, and Shift Gears" referring to the Government's forced removal of GM's top person. Hopefully, this attitude will spill over to museums as well and the demand for fiscal responsiblity will be made of directors, administrators and boards of directors.

Too many museums have been headed by individuals who seem to believe that fiscal responsibility does not apply to them. They expand, build and aquire without having the means to sustain the investment. Ultimately, the institutions are forced to reduce staff and service because of a director's or board's inability to pay the bills. And yet, these individuals retain their positions.

It is time for these directors and museum heads--not to step down--but be THROWN OUT! The heritage belongs to us! Take control and demand fiscal responsibility of your local and state museums. Short of that, demand that those who are running our museums out of business to step down immediately.

JAG

Monday, March 30, 2009 8:09:21 PM (GMT Daylight Time, UTC+01:00)

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Thursday, March 26, 2009

Museum hording a dangerous threat to artifacts
Posted by John

Economic woes are plaguing public museums throughout the United States. As pension plans drain and people scramble to cover losses, institutions are laying off staff, cutting services and closing their doors.

This isn’t new, however. Publicly held museums have been struggling for survival since the 1980s. Americans have made it clear: They do not value institutional preservation of artifacts or heritage. Sure, everyone says they support museums (it’s like asking someone if they like puppies), but fewer are putting their money where their mouth is.

I have mixed feelings about this. Maybe I am not a good one to comment on the state of the museum world, having worked far too many years in various Midwestern institutions. However, it is clear to me that supply and demand rules the museum world.

Currently, the “demand” for museums is at an alarming low. Therefore, museums have tried to curtail “supply” by limiting services. For example, the State of Illinois recently announced it will shut down many of its museums. Minnesota Historical Society is poised for another massive “spring layoff” of staff.

But something isn’t working in “economy of museums”. Demand is low, so museums have lowered supply. That means demand should begin to creep up.

It is not.

The days of the traditional museum are passing fast. On one hand, this is good news for collectors. Close those museums and get the artifacts back in the hands of money-paying public! But that isn’t the way it works.

These struggling museums tend to “mothball” their collections, naively looking to the day when demand will rebound. Ain’t gonna’ happen. Yet, they would rather let historic collections rot in storage than put it back in the hands of the public.

Museum hording is not only egotistic and elitist; it is a dangerous threat to historic artifacts. Private collectors take the time to research, preserve and even display and interpret their collections. Few museums still have the resources to do that.

If a museum can’t open its doors to the public now, little is going to change that within our lifetime. Sell the goods. Get them in the hands of people who can care for, research and appreciate the items. After all, we are all just temporary caretakers of this stuff.

At a time when demand for museums would reemerge, it would simply be a matter of collecting again. The United States is a nation of savers. If a museum divests itself of its collection today, very little of it will disappear except through natural attrition (which will occur regardless of where the artifacts are kept). When, and if, the museum can open its doors and fulfill its missions in a fiscally responsible manner, the staff would have the opportunity to buy new collections. This would actually weed out redundancy and the maintenance of artifacts inappropriate to the museum's mission--both symptoms that are commonplace in so many museum collections.

Stimulating growth doesn’t mean locking the doors and turning off the lights. If museums were responsible—that is, true to their missions of preserving the past—they would do whatever it takes to care for the artifacts…even if it meant selling them.

John Adams-Graf
Editor, Military Trader and Military Vehicles Magazine

Thursday, March 26, 2009 6:36:10 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)

Comments [6]

Friday, March 13, 2009

Some ups, some downs in militaria hobby
Posted by John

Greetings,

The most frequently asked question since I returned from the Show of Shows (SOS) in Louisville, Kentucky, is “What’s the state of the militaria hobby?”; an obvious inquiry as to whether the national economic turmoil has spilled over into collecting. For those of you who are unfamiliar with the SOS, it is the largest militaria show in the United States. This year, more than 1600 tables were filled with items primarily from WWI and WWII but covering the full gamut of military collecting interests.

So what is the state of the hobby? That is a darn hard question to answer, but I did make some observations.

First, there was not a table to be had—the Show had been sold out for months. Attendance seemed as good as ever with long lines waiting to get in Friday and Saturday mornings.

Overall, it is my opinion that the quality of items offered on the tables was down. I had a sense of collectors and dealers “peeling at the onion”—that is, offering the lesser quality items in their collections while they protect the higher grade pieces. Don’t get me wrong, there were plenty of high-end pieces available, just not at the levels I have seen at past shows.

Many dealers commented that they were busy, but customers were making lower-dollar purchases. Whereas a year ago, they may have spent $1,000 or $1,200 at a particular table, this year, the purchases were in the $200-$400 range. A lot of dealers remarked that sales were down, but not bad.

There were not as many Europeans or Russians—dealers or attendees—on the floor as the last two years. It is safe to say the Euro-Russian invasion of the U.S. market is fast coming to a temporary halt.

Civil War collecting is flat, flat, flat! Unless it is identified or high-end, Civil War relics are sitting dormant. Every M1858 canteen and U.S. oval belt plate that I saw on Thursday were still on the tables on Saturday. Dealers have a choice to make on low-end Civil War items—drop the price to increase demand, or be buried with their wares. I suspect most will choose the latter.

Interestingly, I spoke to many collectors who recently suffered severe financial setbacks (mostly loss of jobs). Nevertheless, they were in Louisville to buy!

The other question that I am repeatedly asked concerns price trends. Well, that is nearly impossible to answer, as the hobby is based on subjective pricing rather than supply and demand. However, there were a few instances of good ol’ free enterprise at work. One dealer had brought a couple of cases of the two new exciting books to hit the hobby: Deutsche Soldaten and GI Collector Vol. 2. He blew them out at what had to be cost or darn near cost. Other dealers had the same books priced $15 or $25 higher. By the end of Friday, the dealer with the “blow-out show special” was sold out, and the other dealers had dropped their prices significantly. Now if only relic dealers could grasp that simple economic lesson, the hobby could flourish!

And in MV News…
The Military Vehicle Preservation Association recently appointed my good friend and fellow author, David Doyle, as the editor of Supply Line magazine. David will continue to write his regular column for Military Vehicles and I suspect he will expect me to reciprocate and make a submission or two to Supply Line. Whatever the demands, this is great for the health of the hobby. My personal congratulations and those of Military Vehicles Magazine go to David and to the MVPA.

It takes a lot to excite me about a new vehicle part, but I just received a note from Bob Muller of Vehicles of Victory, LLC. He announced that he is now able to offer new hydrovacs for the Chevy G506 1-1/2 ton trucks. Anyone who drives U.S. WWII trucks knows that hydrovacs are tough items to find. Having the availability of reproductions should insure that more trucks will stay on the road in safe running condition. For more information, contact Vehicles of Victory, LLC, 127 Marcus Rd, Delanson, NY 12053, call (518) 872-1002 or visit www.vehiclesofvictory.com. With any luck, Bob is giving thought to producing hydrovacs for the 2-1/2 ton GMCs. In any case, well done, Bob! This is a true service to the hobby.

Keep em rolling and finding the good stuff,
John Adams-Graf
Editor, Military Trader and Military Vehicles Magazine

Friday, March 13, 2009 3:23:20 PM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)

Comments [0]

Saturday, March 07, 2009

P
Posted by John

The line waiting to get in on Friday morning. I wonder what items walked in to the show!

Brian Barquist of Chippewa Falls, Wisconsin, considered adding some new items to his collection.

Saturday, March 07, 2009 12:47:13 AM (GMT Standard Time, UTC+00:00)

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