Auction Action

The Romans had a word for it: auctionem; and since the time of Caesar, auctions have been the favorite flea market of discerning urbanites who enjoy a hotly competitive sale where prospective buyers can vie for merchandise by naming their own price. Attending an auction is like searching for buried gold; while checking out the goods in advance or reading the catalog of artifacts for sale, one instinctively feels that treasure is bound to turn up. In 1933, a potential bidder poking through the items up for auction at the venerable Christie, Manson and Woods, Ltd. (called Christie's) in London spotted a bronze horse in a collection of miscellaneous statues. He bought the lot for $45. Art connoisseurs today agree that the bargain-basement-priced horse is by Leonardo da Vinci. The profit from this venture? Astronomical. But the chance that a typical auction item, such as a desk, will have a secret compartment that might be crammed with $1000 bills is only part of the fun. An auction has the flavor of show business; and to get into the act, all one has to do is raise his hand.

The lure of discovering an unsuspected signed Chippendale hidden under layers of paint is reason enough for some auctiongoers to bide their time while awaiting a big kill. In doing so, they miss less rare--but still significant--finds. Daily at city, suburban and country auctions, a vast array of goods, from antique clocks to zebraskin rugs, changes hands under the auctioneer's hammer, often at prices that can't be duplicated at a retail store.

In the late 1700s, Christie's main auction room was a chic gathering place for the socially elite, with Thomas Gainsborough, David Garrick and Sir Joshua Reynolds often in attendance. Today, auctiongoing is still a most entertaining way to spend a day or an evening, even if you don't plan to do any serious buying. Rural auction houses often stage clambakes, smorgasbords, barbecues and spaghetti feasts as an added attraction to the items at hand. In Long Grove, Illinois, a country town about 25 miles from Chicago, the aptly named Village Tavern hosts a weekly auction with a lavish dinner served beforehand at two dollars a person. Customers can bid on the merchandise or, if nothing strikes their fancy, browse among the antiques on display and buy anything--including the Victorian table they enjoyed dinner on--directly from the bartender.

The best way to learn about a forthcoming sale is to check the auction column in your Sunday newspaper. Listings are usually placed several weeks in advance, so that prospective bidders will have time to inspect the inventory. At less sophisticated auctions, such as house sales, goods are simply lumped in numbered lots or, occasionally, not even numbered at all. Urban auction houses, however, often make available a catalog that briefly describes each piece scheduled to go on the block. When the auction starts, lots will be sold in their numbered order at the rate of 70 to 90 an hour.

The wise auctionphile who takes his bidding seriously will pay one or two visits to the showroom in advance of the sale day. This gives him a chance to leisurely look over the merchandise and, if there is any question about the authenticity of an article, bring in an expert for his opinion. Furthermore, it also gives him a chance to note if the goods to be sold, such as furniture and paintings, are mostly of the same period or style. If so, an odd-lot piece--perhaps a modern painting mixed in with 18th Century English furniture--may go for surprisingly little, because the majority of the buyers will have come to bid on antiques. Since many of the items sold at auction are used or, in the case of artworks and antiques, attributed to a particular individual or period, a smart bidder will do some double checking to verify the catalog description. The small print at the front of the catalog invariably includes an escape clause such as the following: "The auctioneer is not to be held responsible for the correctness of the description, genuineness or authenticity of any lot, and no sale will be set aside on account of any incorrectness, error of cataloging or any imperfections not noted. Every lot is sold 'as is' and without recourse." Title passes to the buyer when the hammer falls. Theoretically, this means that the new owner must stand the loss if goods are damaged before final delivery is made. However, a reliable firm will note any flaw that exist in a piece at the time of sale and, more than likely, will absolve the buyer of his financial responsibility if it's obvious that the merchandise has been damaged while in storage.

If your interest is in paintings or sculpture, the elaborate catalogs of larger galleries that specialize in the auctioning of art objects can be helpful--or harmful--depending on whether you know how to decipher the descriptive terminology. If, for example, a catalog indicates that an oil painting was done by "Sir Peter Paul Rubens," it means that the house is quite certain that the picture is genuine. However, if you see an artist's name preceded by the phrase "school of," "follower of" or "in the style of," this is another way of saying that the item is probably not by the artist, although it looks something like his work. But when the ambiguous term "attributed to" is followed by an individual's name, this means that the auction house believes the work is genuine, although it can offer no definite proof. (In European auction houses, if there is some doubt that Rubens created the work, "P. P. Rubens" would be used, and the even more succinct "Rubens" when there is considerable doubt.)

Not all bids are placed openly at an auction. Dealers and private collectors sometimes arrange in advance to use an inconspicuous signaling system that, presumably, only the auctioneer will know for sure is a bid. It is hoped, by doing this, that the competitive spirit of business rivals or fellow connoisseurs won't be aroused and thus a lot be sold for less than it otherwise might. But this method of bidding can also backfire. In 1965 at Christie's, Rembrandt's portrait of his son Titus went on the block. The open bidding climbed steadily to 740,000 guineas ($2,175,600). At this figure, one of the bidders, Norton Simon, the finance-committee chairman of Hunt Foods and a noted art connoisseur and philanthropist, dropped out of the action and the painting was awarded to another customer. Simon immediately insisted that he was still bidding, even though he had stopped signaling. As further proof, he read aloud from a secret note that had been passed to the auctioneer in advance. The note stated in effect that Simon was bidding as long as he remained seated or bid openly; if he stood up and sat down again, he was not bidding until he raised his finger. Then he was bidding until he stood up again, etc. Simon proved his point and eventually got the Rembrandt for 760,000 guineas; but his plan to purchase the painting anonymously by bidding openly and then appearing to quit without really doing so had failed.

Unless you've a definite reason for doing your signaling secretly, the best way to bid is by raising the auction catalog just long enough to catch the auctioneer's eye. Casually waving to friends across the room while bids are being taken is to be avoided, for obvious reasons. Most tales of someone slapping at a fly and ending up the surprised owner of a dozen feather boas are exaggerated, but a sudden conspicuous move can cause confusion. J. Paul Getty, Playboy's Contributing Editor, Business and Finance, notes in his book The Joys of Collecting that some years ago he reached up to loosen his shirt collar while attending an auction at Christie's and discovered that he had become the purchaser of "Lot No. 18-A: A water color of old London about 1845" for 100 guineas, which then amounted to $294.

How much the price jumps per bid usually depends on the opening figure. At less than $20, bids usually move up a dollar or two at a time. At a starting figure between $20 and $50, the auctioneer quite likely will request a $5 increase; $10 jumps between $50 and $100, and so forth. Before the bidding really gets going, it's a good idea to decide just how high you want to go and then stick to it. An attack of auction fever can up the ante way out of proportion.

Some bids, however, don't even come from the audience. Prior to a sale, the owner of the merchandise scheduled to go on the block may stipulate that certain items shouldn't be sold for less than a specific amount, known as a "reserve price." If the bidding falls short of this figure, the auctioneer himself places a bid (known in auction circles as "taking one off the wall") and buys the lot back for the seller, charging him a small commission. To sustain the illusion of a lively contest, most auctioneers never let the audience know that this has happened. They simply pretend to have spotted a bidder or nod a quick acknowledgment to an assistant seated up front. The reserve-price bid is treated just like any other.

Buyers who can't attend a sale often place a "write-in" bid with the auctioneer and request that he do their bidding up to this amount. These bids, also, are handled just as if they came from the audience. This way, a collector in Los Angeles, for example, can participate in an auction held in Boston without being there. (Coin and stamp auction houses sell much of their merchandise to write-in bidders; offers often come from as far afield as Africa and Australia.) If the Californian specifies that he'll go up to $150 on one lot and bidding from the floor stops at $100 (and there are no other write-in bids or a reserve price to consider), he should theoretically get the lot for $125--assuming the price is jumping at $25 intervals. However, when there is a significant difference between the amount at which bidding from the floor stops and what a write-in bidder has offered to pay, unscrupulous auctioneers may take advantage of the bidder's absence and raise the price higher than the next interval. Even though the write-in bidder is top man at, say, $150, his generous offer to pay up to $300 for a lot could cost him money; the auctioneer might hammer the bid home at $225 (continued on page 148) Auction Action (continued from page 122) instead of $150, knowing that the interested party will still cover the price. To prevent this, some absentee buyers commission an antique or art dealer to do the bidding for them, paying about a five percent commission on the final price. For an additional fee, the dealer will also check the merchandise in advance and let the bidder know if it's in poor condition or not in line with the catalog description.

Since the auctioneer's success depends upon his ability to keep the bidding alive, he will rely on his reserve-price- or write-in-bid instructions whenever there are no takers on the floor. When there's plenty of activity but no show of hands, it's a good indication that the auctioneer or one of his assistants is bidding on behalf of the seller or an absentee buyer.

At any auction, much depends on the first bid. The auctioneer, of course, will try to begin at the highest figure that doesn't discourage further offers. Sometimes he may request that the audience suggest an opening amount. But if a write-in bid has been turned in and the lot is subject to a reserve price (or if the gallery believes the piece is exceptional in quality), it's almost certain that a sizable starting figure will be asked; should there be no takers present, the auctioneer will answer the opening bid himself. At this point, many buyers prefer to sit out the first round and let the bidding open at the minimum figure acceptable to the auctioneer, on the theory that the lower the opening price, the lower the closing one will be. By joining the fray too soon, you not only excite the competitive spirit of the opposition but, worse yet, you raise yourself each time an opponent's bid is topped. If you hold off making your move until the last moment, there's a chance that others may have already emptied their wallets. But occasionally, a bolder battle plan may prove more effective. If the audience seems to consist largely of sight-seers or timid types who hold back when it comes to starting the action, try opening with a generous bid and, if there are any takers, respond with a strong comeback. Others may decide that you're after this lot regardless of the price--and let you take it.

Payment proceedings for a purchased article differ from gallery to gallery. Most auction houses expect at least a 25 percent down payment immediately (often in either certified check or cash), with the remainder to come within 72 hours, usually at the same time the merchandise is picked up. If the owner is slow in paying or reneges on the bargain, the house, if it chooses, can resell the item without notice, keep the deposit and charge the owner any additional loss incurred if the new selling price is lower than that to which the original bidder agreed. Or it can put the item in storage, with the new owner footing the bill. Though circumstances such as these seldom arise, the gallery is legally covered if they do. Whether or not it chooses to take any action depends on the management.

At larger galleries, attendants usually circulate through the audience, accepting down payments or, if a customer is well known and his credit is established, simply jotting down his name. Other times, a winning bidder may have to go up to a cashier's window and arrange for payment. Whatever way is used, the proceedings are kept as discreet as possible; auction houses like to maintain good relations with their customers.

Whether or not you'll be able to take your merchandise home immediately after the sale also depends on where the auction is. At some city galleries, everything--from Gothic chests to Swiss watches--is immediately returned to a storeroom (even if the lot has been paid for in full) and purchases can be claimed only on whatever days the auctioneer designates for pickups. At a country auction, a house sale or a business liquidation, however, goods are usually available at the time of purchase or immediately after the last item has been sold. If you plan to take the piece with you, of course, payment in full is expected.

In New York City, auction activity centers around Parke-Bernet Galleries (say Parke-Bernet, not Parke-Bernay). Sales are periodically held throughout the week, but Saturday is usually when the heavy action is. Parke-Bernet is affiliated with Sotheby's (pronounced Suth-er-bees), a famous London auction house that's been in business since 1744. Goods acquired by Sotheby's are often sold at Parke-Bernet. Items most consistently auctioned off include rare books and manuscripts, rugs, porcelain, suits of armor, weapons, antique furniture, art, old photographs, salvaged treasure, jewelry, elegant knickknacks, tapestries, glassware, autographs, china and, occasionally, a collection of vintage vehicles. Lookers as well as bidders are welcome at Parke-Bernet--as, indeed, they are at all auction houses--the theory, of course, being that today's sight-seer may be tomorrow's buyer. On occasion, when such merchandise as impressionist paintings by famous artists is to be auctioned, admission is by ticket, so that bona fide bidders won't be crowded out by the curious. If you're the lucky recipient of a ticket or two for one of these gala affairs, don't hesitate to attend. The audience is on display as much as the merchandise, and the evening takes on a festive first-night flavor, with celebrities and socialites as well as collectors and dealers in attendance.

Several years ago, Peter Collins, of Parke-Bernet and Sotheby's, presided over an international auction of Picasso's nude Femme Couchée Lisant that climaxed the hourlong NBC television special Bravo, Picasso! Bidders in the studio of WBAP-TV, an NBC affiliate in Fort Worth, and in the NBC studios in Burbank had their offers relayed to the auction floor in New York. Audiences in London and Paris also participated by satellite TV. The painting finally went to the Museum of Fine Arts in Fort Worth for $105,000; proceeds went to help restore Italian art treasures damaged by the flood in Florence. In 1962, Parke-Bernet also hosted the auction of the year, at which Rembrandt's Aristotle Contemplating the Bust of Homer was sold in four minutes for $2,300,000. Eighteen hundred tickets were printed for the sale; white ones admitted well-heeled collectors and dealers to the main gallery; pink and blue tickets opened the doors to side galleries, where the proceedings could be watched on closed-circuit TV and bids relayed to an attendant.

Even if you don't live in or near New York City, catalogs of forthcoming Parke-Bernet auctions are available on a subscription basis. Categories include antiques and ethnographical art, books, manuscripts and autographs, paintings, drawings and sculpture, prints, furniture and objets d'art. Write-in bids are invited.

Oddball auctions, such as those held periodically by railroad-salvage companies, police departments and the Post Office, are also fun as well as rewarding to attend; good buys in bicycles, books and records often turn up there. At these sales, quality merchandise is sometimes coupled with junk and offered as one lot--winner take all. Catalogs are seldom printed; buyers usually arrive early for a quick once-over of the merchandise. For the adventuresome, "unopened" boxes and crates are sometimes proffered, with the buyer taking potluck on the contents. This type of buying, of course, is highly speculative, and low bids are usually placed strictly for fun, not profit. One such lot not long ago went for a whopping $50, and the gentleman purchaser, upon opening the case, found that he was the not-too-proud owner of two dozen pairs of foam-rubber falsies.

Antique-car auctions are becoming increasingly popular both here and abroad. The sums for which such cherished chariots as De Dion Boutons, Duesenbergs, Bugattis and Talbot Lagos sell depend on several factors: scarcity (a much-sought-after Rolls-Royce Silver Ghost 1910 double Pullman limousine was sold at Sotheby's for $26,000), how much restoration must be--or has been--done to the car and, of course, whether or not the vehicle can be driven as is.

Last October, at Rippey's Veteran Car Museum in Denver, a shiny array of vintage vehicles plus items of automobiliana went on the block in a one-day sale supervised by Parke-Bernet. Prospective purchasers were requested to register on the day of the auction and then were assigned a numbered paddle for ease in bidding. During the day, classic-car buffs acquired a 1912 Ford runabout with a replica body for $1900, a 1930 Duesenberg Model J Beverly sedan for $23,500, a 1930 Rolls-Royce Phantom I convertible for $4200 and a 1933 four-seater Alfa Romeo with a Boneschi body for $18,000.

If you're long on appreciation of fine-looking old cars but short on mechanical know-how, don't hesitate to solicit the opinion of an expert concerning the condition of the engine and the cost of any body restoration needed. Once a car is yours, it can't be returned because of a warped head. Another point to remember is that the auctioneer can't be held responsible if the car is incorrectly described. At a farm auction you may happen to run across, the auctioneer may or may not be absolutely certain that the old Buick stored in the barn was manufactured in 1931. Ask to see the registration papers and, if these aren't readily available, weigh this fact carefully before placing a bid. Cars, of course, can't be faked as easily as antiques or paintings, but unscrupulous auto dealers abroad have been known to mount new custom-made body copies on original chassis and then auction the hybrids off as antique machines in mint condition.

An auction of vintage wines and spirits invariably attracts bidding bibbers eager to round out their cellars and liquor cabinets with rare potables. If a trip to London is in the offing, be sure and drop by Christie's. Wine auctions have been held there since 1766; their earliest catalogs listed wines among the china, jewelry and chamber pots destined for the block. Occasionally, oenophilists are given the opportunity to taste a glass or two in order to judge the quality of the vintage. More often, bottles are sold in unopened lots; the contents may be perfect or they may be vinegar. Not long ago, a random sampling of untasted 18th and 19th Century alcoholic oddities from the cellars of several English blue bloods was offered to connoisseurs. Christie's showroom, already crammed with antiques and fine oil paintings, was the perfect setting for such a sale. Included in the catalog were such bizarre bottlings as a magnum of Canary Island wine, vintage 1740, from Tenerife (it fetched $518) and 15 half bottles of milk punch dated 1750 (they went for $25 apiece). Bidders also had the chance to take home some of Château Lafite's good years (before phylloxera ravaged Europe's vineyards), including the vintages of 1858, 1864, 1865, 1871 and 1874, for around $70 each.

Real-estate auctions aren't for casual onlookers; bankrupt businesses, small homes and backwoods lots usually comprise the auctioneer's agenda. Occasionally, however, unusual pieces of property appear--tracts such as an entire college campus, which a horseflesh fancier might wish to purchase and turn into a private riding estate. In 1966, Upland College, located just 45 miles east of Los Angeles, went on the block--lock, stock and land. The entire prize package, which included 11 acres plus 12 buildings and their contents, finally went to the Salvation Army for a song--$525,000.

If you're looking for such items as leaded Victorian stained-glass windows, try to take in a demolition auction. Mansions filled with wood paneling, fancy fretwork and mosaic tile are often torn down after the elegant built-ins have been carefully removed and put up for sale. The buyers are free to tote home their finds and have them installed in their digs by a carpenter.

Up to now, we've concentrated on guidelines for attending auctions. Here's where to find them. The following urban auction galleries and companies specialize in such merchandise as antique furniture, paintings, sculpture, rugs, objets d'art and silver pieces--all of varying quality. The list, of course, is by no means comprehensive; it's just to get you started on the right road to smart bidding.

Boston: Louis Joseph, Inc., 840 Commonwealth Ave.

Chicago: Chicago Art Galleries, 5960 N. Broadway; Direct Auctioneers, 1920 N. Milwaukee Ave.; Hanzel Galleries Inc., 179 N. Michigan Ave.; Samuel L. Winternitz and Co., 38 S. Dearborn St.

Dallas: Samuel Hart Galleries, 1901 McKinney St.

Denver: C. W. Rosvall Auction, 1238 S. Broadway St.

Los Angeles: A. N. Abell, 1911 W. Adams St.; Ames Art Galleries, 8725 Wilshire Blvd., Beverly Hills; Marvin H. Newman, 426 S. Robertson St.

New Orleans: Forsythe-Sanchez Auction Galleries, 1810 Magazine St.

New York (Manhattan): Cathedral Auction Galleries, 825 Broadway; Alex Chapin Associates, 299 Madison Ave.; Coleman Auction Galleries. Inc., 525 E. 72nd St.; Fischer Auction Gallery, 111 Fourth Ave.; Lubin Galleries, 342 Third Ave.; Manhattan Galleries, 201 E. 80th St.; Parke-Bernet Galleries. Inc., 980 Madison Ave.; Plaza Art Auction Galleries, 406 E. 79th St.; Savoy Art and Auction Galleries, 18 E. 50th St.; Winegarden's Auction Rooms, Inc., 12 E. 12th St.

Philadelphia: Samuel T. Freeman & Co. Auctioneers, 1808 Chestnut.

San Francisco: Butterfield & Butterfield Auctioneers, 1244 Sutter St.; Nob Hill Auction Gallery, 1630 Polk St.; San Francisco Auction Gallery, 2077 Union St.

Washington, D. C.: C. G. Sloan & Co. Inc., 715 13th St.

Bidding at an auction is great sport, once you're familiar with the rules of the game. Now that you know the score, put your expertise to the test. If you play your hand correctly, chances are you'll come away a winner--and maybe even have more fun than you bargained for.