Greenville SC antiques, flea markets, dealers

George Singleton teaches fiction writing and editing at the South Carolina Governor's School for the Arts and Humanities in Greenville SC. He lives in Pickens County, South Carolina, with the clay artist Glenda Guion and their eleven dogs and one cat.

First off, there are two flea markets in Pickens County: one's "the old" and the other's "the new." They're side by side, and both only open on Wednesday mornings. Unless you're some kind of Upstate historian, there's no need to ponder the socio-economic nuances of side-by-side flea markets open on Wednesday mornings in a town of some 4000 residents. From what I understand, the old Pickens County flea market opened because of corn, tomatoes, and livestock. I don't know. Nowadays, there's not much livestock, outside of pit bull puppies, Rottweiler puppies, goats, and chickens. Produce is available year-round, though not always grown in the area.

In order to fully appreciate the flea market -- which basically means being able to find whatever you want for near-to-nothing -- it is important to get to the flea market early. Four o'clock in the morning's about right. Leave your home, drive to downtown Pickens, and get on Main Street. If you hit downtown at four, then there will be a traffic jam. Follow the cars. Take a left three miles from town.

Before I get into the Warman's Americana and Collectibles aspect of the Pickens County Flea Market, I would like to go through a list of what you might need to take on your journey. First off, you'll need a high-powered flashlight. In winter, bring along two jackets; summer bring two shirts. The flea market's on a large creek, which makes it cooler than normal, especially right before dawn. Wear hiking boots or golashes always. Bring along two cloth shopping bags, or a pull-along buggy, or a wagon. Don't expect the vendors to have plastic shopping bags from Winn-Dixie, though most do. You will need two cotton balls.

I'm not condoning anything, but you might want to bring along a flask of bourbon, just to feel like an outlaw. This is a real adventure, remember.

Carry along a wallet of one dollar bills and pockets full of case quarters. Bring a sense of humor. Don't bring a camera -- most flea market vendors aren't that hip to someone taking their pictures. If you collect something specifically -- say, fishing lures - don't wear a big dopey hat that reads "I Collect Fishing Lures" or "I Pay Top-Dollar for Unusual Glass Ashtrays Because No Company Makes Them Anymore" on it. I'll get into all this later.

Now, I'm no historian or journalist, so I don't know the particulars in these two side-by-side flea markets, but I know this: the old flea market has a covered area, and a circular labyrinth of outside tables. The new side has covered tables beneath a tin roof, and about a quarter-mile of outdoor tables in one long line.

Park beside whatever stranger you followed in.

It doesn't matter where you start, but here are things to consider at four a.m. -- some of the vendors are going to want to make a big sale early, and others only want to make the five-buck table rent right away. Some of the vendors have spent the night in their RVs and make a living on the flea market circuit between central Florida and mid-state Pennsylvania. A portion of the local vendors have shown up yard sale-style, because they don't want people parking in their yards. In either case, you might get lucky and find whatever it is you search -- say, yellow ware -- and get a deal.

Or the vendor might have it priced right at what it lists in Warman's Americana and Collectibles.

Here's what to do. Say you're in search of farm implements in order to fully decorate your kitchen, outbuilding, front yard, or child's room. Let's pretend that you want a single- or double-tree. You flash your light at a table and see one. First off, don't get all excited and yell out, "Oh my God, that's what I've been looking for for 10 years!" like that. The seller will know you'll pay his or her price. Instead, kind of turn your light towards some other things. Say, "How much that lard bucket?"

Believe me on this one - use as few verbs as possible. Say, "How much that lard bucket?"

He'll say, "Twenty," or "Fifteen," or "Twelve." If he says, "Dollar," then buy the damn thing.

He won't, though. Say, "How much on the Bunny Bread sign?"

Do not say, "How much on the nicely-rusted Bunny Bread sign," because some hammerhead just came out saying how rusted things are the in thing.

He'll probably say either "Fitty" or "Hunnert-fitty."

Then go back to the single-tree and say, "What about this thing? Hotdamn, supply and demand must not be working for single-tree. They're all over the place."

Point your flashlight in his face. Using your knowledge of the human condition, figure out how desperate the man might or might not be. Also, throw into this equation the weather, fishing conditions, and if it's the first or last of the month.

It's best to shop the Pickens County Flea Market at the end of the month, by the way.

If he says, "Twenty," and looks desperate, then nod. Go look around. He won't get a buyer for $20. Go home and change the oil in your car. Clean out the gutters. Cut the grass. Return at noon, offer him five bucks, and drive away with a farm implement in the back of your car.

The reason why you have case quarters and one dollar bills in your pocket is because you want to dicker. You don't want to find a woman selling a perfect Charles Chips cannister for two dollars, ask her if she'll take a dollar, have her say "Okay, I guess," then giving her a 20 dollar bill. It's rude on your part. It's like having bicyclists on Old Highway 25 riding two-abreast uphill when you're trying to either pass or not hit them, but that's another story.

Likewise, you don't want to have a woman selling ancient lace for 50 cents each, ask her if she'll take a case quarter, have her say, "Yes'um," and then you give her a dollar bill.

Amy Vanderbilt needs to have a section on flea market etiquette, if you ask me.

Now. It's gotten light and the place is filled. You've pretty much scoured the whole place in three hours. Go back to your car and write out a list of what you need, what you want, and what you really need. If you're sane, then this piece of paper should be empty. Hell, you might write on your hand that you need some paper for all I know -- and there are some stationery people at the Pickens County Flea Market.

But no one's sane at the flea market, so there will always be something. Let's say it's a whirligig made by an unknown primitive artist. Let's say you've talked yourself into believing that you can get whirligigs, and then sell them later on in life for 10 times their value to New Yorkers.

Some of the vendors have bought whirligigs from primitive artists, and hope that New Yorkers might just be visiting the Pickens area. I know some New Yorkers. They don't bring up Pickens County very often in conversation.

Oh, I almost forgot: it's nine o'clock in the morning. Put those cotton balls in your ears. I'll get to this.

Think beyond whirligigs: one time I saw a woman trying to sell a guitar, and the base of the guitar was a bedpan. I said, "How much?"

She said, "My husband make them."

I said, "Yeah, okay, but how much?" I wondered if it was called a "panjo".

She said, "Seventy-five," which probably wasn't a bad deal. After all, I hadn't seen a guitar made with a bedpan before.

I said, "Will you take a quarter?"

Here's the reason for the cottonballs: men selling lawn mowers, weedeaters, roosters, and guns need to prove to their prospective buyers that they'll -- the buyers -- get a good product. Don't be surprised that -- even in this time where kids get gunned down in schools, where innocent kids at Jewish centers in California find armed men shooting, where police officers in Greenville can't walk safely on the east side, etcetera -- guns get sold at the Pickens County Flea Market. There's some talk about guns getting sold at gun shows. Screw gun shows. Don't be surprised that flea market shotguns get tested in the air, that clouds get shots in the name of accuracy. If, by any chance, you are one of those people unable to buy a gun at a regular sporting goods company, pawn shop, or gun show, then start practicing your talk two weeks before showing up at the flea market. Listen to a clucking chicken is what I'm saying, so that when you talk it sounds like, "Brr brr brr brr brr brr-damn NRA's right- brr brr brr brr brr brr -Charlton Heston- brr brr brr brr brr brr -right to bear arms- brr brr brr brr brr brr -them commies, them commies, them commies...."

I can't say this for sure, but I've seen men selling guns take other men in the back of their vans. I don't think any kind of sex took place; I'm no logician, but I bet there's some pistol, semi-automatic, or AK-47-type action going on.

But I'm no historian or journalist.

Anyway, if you're not looking for a gun, then wear those cotton plugs, look out for the people carrying firearms around with them, and imagine a world without violence. There's a man selling herbs and bullet-proof vests straight ahead.

Finally, you're not wearing a big dopey hat advertising what you might want to buy only because people might see you coming and jack the price. Don't wear a hat advertising any political affiliations, either. Don't wear a hat, ever. Look for children's clothing. Look for used books.

---by George Singleton, Greenville author.

--gs