Dorothy Brush "Random Thoughts" Published Oct. 22, 2003

Garage sales part of America culture

Who first hatched the idea or when is not recorded, but garage sales are here to stay. Perhaps it was one of those women once described as a trapped housewife who was cleaning out closets and, as the unwanted clothes piled up, she wondered if they were worth anything to someone else.

It really doesn't matter who or when, these sales fill a need.

It didn't take long for those planning such a sale to realize they must advertise if they were to draw customers. Sellers became creative as they worked to use appealing words in their short classified ads. A sale is a sale, but more descriptive adjectives were used. There were garage, porch, patio and lawn sales, but often superlatives were used, such as "a tremendous garage sale." Another brought to mind a cozy get-together by calling it "a neighborhood basement sale."

One gem was heralded as the "ABC Sale" - attic, basement, closet. Another ingenious mother prodded her children to clean out their toys by allowing them to have their own kids' garage sale. Of course, there are spoil sports who insist on calling a spade a spade and their ads tell it like it is - rummage sale.

As the practice of these sales grew - no matter what they were called - they were a threat to the balance of economic power for those in the secondhand business. It was whispered that more than one of these business owners blanched visibly as they read the classifieds

No matter how you describe these sales, they serve as a low-cost method of transferring junk. With best wishes from our house to your house, or our loss is your gain. Here the nickel comes into its own. Clothes priced at 3 to 5 cents. Even the best are marked at just a few dollars. Unknown treasures go for a pittance. Bric-a-brac that became excess junk to the seller becomes a conversation piece in the eye of the buyer.

It is a long day for Mrs. Merchant-for-a Day. No matter what time is set to open, there are many browsers there long before. When it finally ends and the take is counted, it may have been a profitable venture or a disappointment.

How to explain this mania is impossible. Its variations run deep in the family of man. What kid hasn't gone through a period when picking through the trash in a neighbor's backyard was irresistible? What man hasn't dreamed of finding hidden treasure on a remote island or the ocean floor? What woman, then, can turn her back when she is invited to sort through another's cast offs?

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Several weeks ago in this column, I told about the investigation under way in New Mexico on Billy the Kid. His death from Sheriff Pat Garrett's gun in July 1881 should have put an end to his exploits, but the rumors persisted that it was not the Kid dead, but someone else.

The story went that he fled to Texas and lived out a normal life, and he is buried there in Hico, TX. The residents there accepted his claim that he was Billy the Kid.

This week the committee appointed by the governor to investigate and find the truth have filed a petition asking for a court order to exhume the Kid's mother's body for DNA testing. If permission is granted, her DNA would be matched with the Texas pretender's DNA and would answer if they were related. Some citizens consider it a cheap publicity stunt and a bunch of malarkey, but I'll try to keep you informed.

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Dorothy Copus Brush is a Fairfield Glade resident and Crossville Chronicle staffwriter whose column is published each Wednesday.