When Barbara Mosgrove was in the position of cleaning out her parents' home, she hired an auctioneer. It was over in less than a day. The house was filled with antiques: bisque dolls, spool beds, a huge roll-top desk, very old quilts and her father's collection of soft porn from the 1930s.
"The auctioneer said, 'Oh, these will have friends,' " she recalled.
Anne Wohllenban of Falls Church examines a piece on the showroom floor at Adam A. Weschler and Sons.
(Michael Temchine For The Washington Post)
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Sure enough, once the auction began, "there was a certain group that was waving their paddles in a hurry."
The auctioneer helped set up the house for the sale, grouping like objects: trunks, quilts, books. Ads were placed and mailings went out to his regular clients, mainly dealers. "People showed up at 8 a.m., the auction started at around 9:30, and we wrapped up at 2:30 in the afternoon."
Mosgrove kept a careful eye on the proceedings. "Dad had a very good crowbar and I wanted it. I had to lean out a window in the back of the house, yelling, "No, that's my crowbar."
On-site auctions are rare in urban areas, said Bill Weschler, president of Adam A. Weschler and Sons, the venerable auction house in downtown Washington. "It could be a nightmare. There's the liability question and having to have lavatories and a snack bar so customers don't leave, and adequate parking."
Weschler said, "It's more beneficial for the owners or clients to bring things to a centralized location," such as his place. For fine silver, paintings and rugs, that might mean one of their "nationally and internationally advertised catalogue sales." For everyday household furnishings, it's the regular Tuesday auction.
On a recent Monday, viewing day, the cavernous gallery was bustling with people browsing around the elderly chairs and tables, patchwork quilts and boxes of broken chandelier parts.
There were some finds: a handsome walnut armoire with louvered doors, a wicker trunk, a pair of fat pineapple finials big enough to cap a roofline, 16 silver-plated goblets. There were also . . . oddments. Like the collection of lurid pink and green fish-tank castles and a gold spray-painted plaster bust of George Washington.
A well-dressed woman halted at a 1950s pouf, upholstered in something that resembled matted chartreuse dreadlocks. "That could come to life at night," she murmured, cringing away.
On her heels came a middle-aged chap with a stub of white ponytail and trendy little glasses who pronounced it "cool."
Junk is a very personal concept.
The auction house reserves the right to refuse items it thinks won't sell. "If we do accept it, it will sell," said Weschler. "Even if it's for a dollar."
What does best? "Wood furniture: mahogany, oak, cherry and maple. Dressers, chests, chairs, mirrors -- always find a market."
