My Antiques Roadshow Experience

My gal-pal Fumiyo drives a Subaru Forester, and because Subaru is a corporate sponsor of PBS’s Antiques Roadshow, she received an offer for VIP tickets to the Seattle taping of the program. She kindly asked if I’d like to join her, and as a Roadshow fan, I enthusiastically said yes. The VIP tickets included a backstage tour, line-skipping privileges, and access to the Subaru “Relaxation Station,” complete with refreshments and massages at the end of the day.

When Fumiyo received the tickets, they came with instructions and tips for attendees. Two points stood out to me: ticket holders could bring two items (no cars, fossils, coins, bicycles, explosives, or glass fire extinguishers), and attendees were advised to wear comfortable shoes.

Fumiyo had trouble deciding what to bring for appraisal. Years ago, a neighbor left her some jewelry, and she ultimately chose an old sterling silver ring. Since she only picked one item, I had the opportunity to bring three. It was my turn to decide.

Being a bit of a record collector, I had several albums that seemed like good candidates. However, since it’s easy to use eBay or Popsike.com to determine their value, I didn’t see much point in bringing them. I also considered my original From Russia with Love movie poster from 1964, but again, I already knew its worth. I debated bringing two vintage United Nations posters from 1947 that I’d bought at a garage sale for a dollar. They promoted the virtues of world cooperation, and one was so cool I’d had it framed. While I didn’t know their exact value, I didn’t want to lug fragile, oversized items around all day. I decided against the posters.

I also own a first edition of Strength to Love by Martin Luther King, but it’s a book club edition, so it has little monetary value. My mom, after hearing David Sedaris on NPR reading Santaland Diaries in 1992, wrote him a fan letter. Sedaris replied, and the two corresponded for over 10 years. She gave me the letters, including one in which he described meeting with a publisher while still cleaning houses for a living. However, since Sedaris isn’t dead yet, I figured the letters wouldn’t fetch much. I’m patiently waiting for the Mark Twain of our generation to pass so I can cash in.

To be honest, my main motivation for picking items was their potential to get me on the show. After inventorying my collection, I kept coming back to my records.

I ultimately chose an early “blank back” pressing of Introducing The Beatles on Vee-Jay Records, valued at around $500; an RCA-Victor promotional compilation from 1957 featuring an Elvis Presley track, valued at $300; and an LP by Hank Thompson called Songs of the Brazos Valley, signed by Hank and his entire band. While Hank isn’t a highly collectible artist, I figured the signed record might be worth $100. All three were thrift store finds, so my investment was minimal.

The day before the taping, I heard a producer promoting the event on the radio. She suggested bringing items that were truly unusual or hard to research on your own. Her advice made me reconsider my choices, but I couldn’t think of anything else that fit her criteria, so I stuck with the records. Given Introducing The Beatles was the most valuable, I did a quick web search for “Antiques Roadshow Beatles record.” I found that the show had previously featured a still-sealed copy of Yesterday and Today with the “Butcher Cover,” valued at $10,000. I clung to the hope that Roadshow might feature another Beatles record.

The taping was held at the Washington State Convention and Trade Center (WSCTC). During the mid-2000s, I made a habit of sneaking into conventions and meetings in downtown Seattle, nabbing free lunches, and writing about it. Since the WSCTC was one of my frequent targets, I was familiar with the layout. On the big day, Fumiyo and I entered the building, strode through the expansive concrete-and-glass atrium, and rode the escalator to the fourth floor. My old nemesis, “Lionel Richie” (a green-jacketed usher), was stationed at the door to the main room. This time, I didn’t need to sneak in or use one of the fake badges I’d made back in the day. I sensed a flicker of recognition in Lionel’s eyes as I walked past.

The instructions with our tickets said to check in at the VIP table, where a representative would guide us through our “line-skipping privileges.” Unfortunately, the person at the table didn’t recognize our VIP status and directed us to a long line at another table. Drawing on my past experience, I decided to take matters into my own hands. With Fumiyo in tow, I confidently marched into the next room, bypassing hundreds of people and instituting our own version of line-skipping privileges.

We entered a massive room with a snaking line of about 500 people. We joined the queue, settling in for what looked to be a long wait.

I was struck by the overwhelming uniformity of the crowd—mostly Caucasian, gray-haired, and dressed in khaki shorts. Oh, those khaki shorts! They were everywhere. Though I have white skin and graying hair myself, I couldn’t help but judge.

Of course, I had seen Antiques Roadshow before, and the casual-bordering-on-shabby clothes worn by attendees always bugged me. It often looked like people had been lounging in their backyards at a barbecue, glanced at the clock, and said, “Oh my gosh, Mabel, we’re late for the Roadshow! Let’s go!” I swear I once saw a guy with a mustard stain on his shirt.

Among the sea of shorts and baseball hats, I noticed a few people who had clearly planned their outfits, likely hoping to be on TV. One stylish couple in their late 30s had a hipster-patrician vibe: he wore a seersucker suit, vintage straw hat, and Keds, while she sported a vintage sundress, leather sandals, and a wide-brimmed hat. But they were the exception. Most people looked like they’d wandered in from a hardware store.

Despite the questionable fashion choices, the atmosphere was friendly. People were chatting, showing off their items, and sharing excitement. It reminded me of the camaraderie you feel during a power outage—or, oddly enough, September 11, 2001.

The couple behind us had a woven hat made of wood branches and straw that looked at least a hundred years old. They couldn’t find any information on it and hoped to learn more. The hat looked Native American and authentic to me. I told them they might end up on TV. They claimed they weren’t interested in being filmed and only cared about its value. I couldn’t help but think, If you don’t want to be on the show, why are you here?

They asked what I had, so I showed them my records. The Beatles LP impressed them, giving me a glimmer of hope that I might make the cut. Most people kept their items hidden in bags or boxes, but I saw some larger pieces, like vintage wagons, lamps, paintings, and old signs. One unlucky guy brought a glass fire extinguisher and was promptly tackled by security and hauled away, screaming.

As we all know, Public Television in the U.S. is not really public. There are corporate underwriters for most, if not all PBS programs. That said, the corporate presence inside the giant space was refreshingly minimal, consisting of just two large signs hung high on the wall. I was a bit surprised that the corporate sponsors of the Roadshow were Subaru and Liberty Mutual Insurance. Judging from the crowd, I would’ve thought Lipitor and Depends Undergarments would be more appropriate.

After about an hour of waiting, we finally reached the front of the line. Here, several tables were set up, each staffed by an appraiser who determined which category your item belonged in. We were given three “Collectibles” cards for my records and a “Jewelry” card for Fumiyo’s silver ring.

The next room was as big as the first, but this one had the Antiques Roadshow set in the middle. The setup consisted of dozens of television lights hanging above a circle of 15-foot-tall partitions spaced to form entryways to the inner sanctum. The back of each partition bore a sign identifying an appraisal category. Long lines of people stretched out from each entryway, so we were in for another long wait.

We were greeted by a friendly KCTS volunteer guide who asked which categories we had. She explained that the longest lines were for our categories: “Collectibles” and “Jewelry.” We decided to tackle the collectibles line first.

While waiting in line, I noticed that no one was in the sports memorabilia line. It must have been a Seattle thing because I can’t imagine that happening in Boston or New York. Here, someone could waltz up with a Roger Clemens steroid syringe and an autographed blood-stained jersey and be appraised immediately. The Seattle Storm notwithstanding, the city hasn’t had a major championship team in over 30 years.

After another hour in the collectibles queue, which seemed to slow the closer we got to the front, we were finally ushered into the appraisal area. Inside the set, long rectangular tables were arranged around the perimeter, with signs hanging above each one indicating the categories. In the center, a cluster of bright lights illuminated the filming area where appraisals took place. Four large television cameras surrounded the space, focused on capturing the interactions between appraisers and their guests.

The collectibles table was to the left of the cameras, about 30 feet from us. We could only see the back of the guest and appraiser as they discussed a large painting. The line moved slowly, but soon it was my turn.

I approached the table and was greeted by a pretty brunette appraiser in her early 30s with gorgeous eyes. It was Laura Woolley. She had a fetching Janet Wood-meets-Mary Ann Summers vibe, which I always preferred over the Chrissy Snow/Ginger Grant type.

We shook hands, and I handed her my records. Naturally, she was most interested in Introducing The Beatles. She turned it over, and when she saw the blank back cover, she seemed intrigued. She grabbed the iPad in front of her, typed a few words, and showed me the Popsike.com page displaying the record’s average value: $500. She repeated the process for the RCA compilation, confirming its value at $300. She noted that the Hank Thompson album wasn’t as collectible, but since it was signed by the entire band, it might fetch $150 from the right buyer.

Laura asked where I got the records, and I told her they were thrift store finds. She seemed impressed and said she loved the look of old records, mentioning Herb Alpert’s Whipped Cream and Other Delights. What? Herb Alpert? I couldn’t believe my ears. I told her I had 40 copies of that album hanging on the wall of my basement music room. (Translation: “I’m a musician, baby.”) She told me Herb Alpert owned a restaurant in Bel Air called Vibrato, which she loved. I mentioned that Delores Erickson, the model from the Whipped Cream cover, had recently been in Seattle signing copies of the iconic album. We bonded over Herb Alpert, which was unexpected and cool.

Before I left, Laura told me these were the best records she’d seen all day. I felt validated, but where was the confetti? The excited producer ushering me into the green room for a makeup session and pre-interview? Sadly, nowhere to be found.

Afterward, Fumiyo and I debated whether to wait in the jewelry line. I was relieved when she said no. We decided to explore the Subaru Relaxation Station instead.

The Relaxation Station had round tables scattered throughout, with Subaru VIPs chatting, two massage chairs manned by masseuses, and a table of snacks. The walls featured large TVs playing a loop of Subaru commercials. The food selection included coffee, tea, bottled water, cheese, crackers, and bread with spreads. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was decent.

We turned in questionnaires handed out by excessively friendly Subaru staff. When they asked if we were both Subaru owners, I disavowed any connection to the brand, pointing to Fumiyo. She proudly declared, “I have a 2005 Forester XT,” which earned her a swag bag filled with goodies like a T-shirt, flashlight, and coffee mug. As a non-owner, I got a keychain and some brochures.

As we ate, a staffer arrived with trays of cookies, brownies, and cupcakes. He took an agonizingly long time arranging them, clearly relishing his power over the snack-hungry crowd. Finally, he left, and we all dove in. Fumiyo also managed to snag a massage.

Although I didn’t make it on TV and Fumiyo missed the VIP tour, it was still a fun experience. When the 2012 Seattle Antiques Roadshow episodes aired in 2013, I eagerly tuned in. Much to my chagrin, my Feedback Room clip didn’t make the cut. But hey, there’s always next time.