The Village Squire, 1981-07, Page 19two -fifty
remembers Gethke. "I told him, 'I guarantee if you buy it, you'll
pay for it." He laughs a deep, down-home laugh.
Out on the grounds, shortly before show time, the chauffeur is
studying up. As he mingles with other buyers, he picks through
boxes of apparent junk - old sealer jars, grease guns, tools,
anything imaginable - and, finding nothing catches his eye,
moves on to the next cache. An object that appears to the
untrained, naive eye to be a customized washboard, curved in
the middle for elbow -grease efficiency, sits off by itself. "That
there's a roof climber," he answers the stupid question with
sincerity when he has every reason for mockery. "Like for
putting shingles on a roof like that one up there," he nods at one
of the out -buildings. Some washboard.
"Hokay folks," hollers Gethke as he vaults onto a wagon full
of items for bid. A mile a minute he sets out the terms of
purchase. Buyer beware, cash terms, if you haven't got a
number, get one. "Let's go."
The small items, like washboards, go first. Threshers,
tractors and assorted farm equipment are saved to the end to
keep the predominantly rural audience around. That's the big
money.
Up goes an old battery. "Who gi' me fi'," shouts the caller.
"Fi' dolla, fi dolla', fi' dolla. Three, three, three. Gi' me two,
two, two. C'mon Cecil. Two. Good battery. Just charge 'er up.
C'mon Cecil, two. Dolla, dolla, dolla, who gi' me dolla. Start the
bid. Dolla, dolla, dolla."
Finally, it starts and the third base coach, in a flurry of hat and
cane, signals for the bid and run. The cost climbs slowly, then
levels off. "Two -fifty, two -fifty, two -fifty. Two -fifty to Cecil
he'.'
"Two -fifty."
"You bought it, Cecil."
Bidding in the city
In his office, at first, Paul Gardner seems suspicious. His
answers are curt, and he's anxious for the seven o'clock starting
time for the evening's auction to arrive. In the end, it arrives too
soon.
In a few short moments he warms to unveil a smiling, friendly
You
bought it,
Cecil!
Auctioneer Ron Gethke's
been goading and
selling since 1966
personality of a driven man. As seven too rapidly imposes itself,
he relates what a heart problem three years go meant to a man
in his early thirties. "It changed my whole cutlook on life," he
explains of the heart failure that resulted in open heart surgery.
"A couple hours before it, two lawyers were making up my will. I
couldn't even sign it. I had to mark an X. It was a real eye-opener
for me. If people could just get an insight into death, they'd
enjoy life from then on. If you're a conscientious person, this
business is very hard on you physically. I don't plan to stay in it
for the rest of my life."
His business is auctioneer and for Gardner, based in a
building on York Street in London, it is not uncommon to see
$140,000 change hands in an evening. The lofty sum means
pressure. "You'd have to know the history of the ailment," he
says between hauls on an endless flow of cigarettes, "but it (the
heart difficulties) was precipitated by the business."
An improperly diagnosed duodenal ulcer led to the surgery.
Infection from the ulcer caused a huildup of poison in his chest
cavity which restricted the arteries. "1 was three hours from
death," smiles Gardner. Pictures adorning his office walls of his
family remind him of how close he came.
VILLAGE SQUIRE/JULY 1981 PG. 17