Saturday, November 01, 2003
Where I wish I were going today
The Tulsa Flea Market, where people get things like this (scroll down to the desk). Seriously, it doesn't sound like much, but it's amazing. Something like 300 dealers now, and very little in the junk or craft categories. It's most Saturdays, and I understand they're charging $1.00 admission now; it was free when I started going, circa 1981. Of course, at that time it was probably more like 100 dealers, and you could get some real bargains: records for a dollar; old movie posters from the 50s for five (the ones from the 40s were higher because Tulsa was having a noir revival at the time, with 40s film festivals at the Brook and that sort of thing). I bought a metal clarinet for about $15, a metal pin shaped like a llama for 75 cents, a guitar for $20, and a ton of vintage Frankoma pottery (and if any family members are reading this, hint hint, the 70th anniversary pacing leopard sculpture would make a gratifying birthday/Christmas gift).
Anyway, prices are a little higher now, thanks to online auctions (and to be fair, the general better availability of information about collectibles, which has resulted in fewer incidences of the kind of seller ignorance that used to work to the buyers' advantage). But I would still love to spend the better part of a morning going from table to table, looking at old linens, weird dishes, records I had forgotten, perfectly preserved kitchen appliances someone got for a wedding present in 1951 and stored for 50 years, World's Fair memorabilia, pink flamingo collections, junk jewelry, Dawn dolls, sugared pecans in cellophane cones, celluloid dresser sets, and rustic cast-iron pots and pans, all in a huge noisy room saturated with the smell of fresh popcorn.
And then I'd go to Weber's for a hamburger and a root beer.
I've never found anything like the Tulsa Flea Market in my travels, although I understand there's one in Wichita that's maybe even better. The mind boggles at the thought.
But Wichita is about as far as Tulsa is from where I am now, and if I were to go to the airport right now and catch a flight that leaves in half an hour I still wouldn't get there before the flea market closes.
The Tulsa Flea Market, where people get things like this (scroll down to the desk). Seriously, it doesn't sound like much, but it's amazing. Something like 300 dealers now, and very little in the junk or craft categories. It's most Saturdays, and I understand they're charging $1.00 admission now; it was free when I started going, circa 1981. Of course, at that time it was probably more like 100 dealers, and you could get some real bargains: records for a dollar; old movie posters from the 50s for five (the ones from the 40s were higher because Tulsa was having a noir revival at the time, with 40s film festivals at the Brook and that sort of thing). I bought a metal clarinet for about $15, a metal pin shaped like a llama for 75 cents, a guitar for $20, and a ton of vintage Frankoma pottery (and if any family members are reading this, hint hint, the 70th anniversary pacing leopard sculpture would make a gratifying birthday/Christmas gift).
Anyway, prices are a little higher now, thanks to online auctions (and to be fair, the general better availability of information about collectibles, which has resulted in fewer incidences of the kind of seller ignorance that used to work to the buyers' advantage). But I would still love to spend the better part of a morning going from table to table, looking at old linens, weird dishes, records I had forgotten, perfectly preserved kitchen appliances someone got for a wedding present in 1951 and stored for 50 years, World's Fair memorabilia, pink flamingo collections, junk jewelry, Dawn dolls, sugared pecans in cellophane cones, celluloid dresser sets, and rustic cast-iron pots and pans, all in a huge noisy room saturated with the smell of fresh popcorn.
And then I'd go to Weber's for a hamburger and a root beer.
I've never found anything like the Tulsa Flea Market in my travels, although I understand there's one in Wichita that's maybe even better. The mind boggles at the thought.
But Wichita is about as far as Tulsa is from where I am now, and if I were to go to the airport right now and catch a flight that leaves in half an hour I still wouldn't get there before the flea market closes.
permalink posted by The Vintage Reader @ 9:12 AM 
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