I couldn’t believe the quality of the artwork that was going up for auction. Again the amount of money that I thought would be sufficient, plus the lint, was off by a wide margin and I eagerly bid up to my limit, only to see others quickly surpass me and move the amount way beyond my budget. One object after another went on the block and moved to unheard of amounts. I became known as “First bid Fred,” and “Start the bidding Charley,” but everyone knew I was not a player in this game. Many of the bidders had just come from a Hall of Fame banquet honoring the greats among hot rod restorers and even with a bad economy; they had come to spend some money for a worthy cause. I had my favorites, the more esoteric metal plates and the framed artwork, but one by one they went where the money was. I was even desperate now for a mailbox, toilet seat, bowling pin or a Hawaiian tiki. I even bid on things that no sane man would show off in his home, and put first bids on the beautiful guitars that I knew would never stay in my range. I moved from one area to another, hoping that maybe a change where I stood would bring me some luck. Von Hot Rod harangued the crowd until he lost his voice and another man took over and kept the staccato of the auctioneer’s voice steady and unyielding. Coaxing the crowd, then lecturing them and finally threatening them a bit, the two auctioneers prodded and pushed the prices higher and higher. The Progeria Research Foundation would be the beneficiaries of these two manic zealots. One by one the objects left the stage and money flowed into the cash registers until only a few objects remained. The next to last striped auction was for two tiny mailboxes painted by Terry Foose herself and I bid. Another bidder entered the fray, but I was determined and I bid again, then again and finally the other voice fell silent. I actually missed the competition, but Von Hot Rod was exhausted and he stopped haranguing the crowd and then the words, “going, going, gone,” rang out and I was the proud possessor of two little metal mail boxes with little hearts on them, pinstriped by Chip Foose’s mother, Terry. I was as happy to get them as she was to raise the money to help in a cause that these kind-hearted pinstripers supported with all their zeal. Another benefit was that they were light and easy to carry. Someday I will see if I can get Terry to autograph them for me. I’m looking forward to going to the next pinstriper’s reunion and this time I will bring even more dough with me. I want one of those framed paintings from Miz Raven. Just letting you all know that I’m coming to outbid all of you next year.
Gone Racin’ is at [email protected].
|