D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
April
2009
Hock Job
A tale of two watches, plus some silver spoons, pearls, silver dollars and a third watch from an old flame that doesn't work so well: Testing the market at pawn shops and other places that buy — maybe — your unwanted stuff in tough times.
By Jeff Berg
In case you haven't heard, the country — no, make that the entire world economy — is in complete chaos. There doesn't seem to be, at this time, any way to repair it, in spite of the blathering of know-it-all economists, bloggers and pundits, and the ranting of Rush Limbaugh.
 |
Aaron Alberson, a third-generation
pawnshop owner, operates both of Las Cruces' pawn shops. (Photo by Lisa
D. Fryxell) |
As of the day I write this, the national debt is $10,989,957,647,079.15. Your portion of that obligation, if you are feeling guilty and want to send a check to the US Treasury today, is $35,936.75.
Untold numbers of folks are in arrears, everything seems to be tanking at once, and no one really has a clue how to fix it.
On a personal level, I have felt the pinch, too. I'm not aware of any freelance writers who do much more than get by, although I am sure there are some who can afford to do something besides watch DVDs from Netflix at night.
I am not destitute, thanks in part to some accidental good financial moves before avarice and stupidity allowed for wallet miners to haphazardly create systems on paper that allowed everyone to be "well off," until reality caught up to them. My house and car are paid for. I want for nothing at this time, except more work. But I have started cutting out stuff and activities that I used to take for granted.
I've also been doing a "fearless and moral inventory" of all my belongings lately, giving everything the once-over. Lots of unneeded and unheeded items have found their way to new homes (maybe yours!) via Habitat for Humanity's Restore, the Salvation Army and the Safe Haven Animal Sanctuary resale store.
While doing said late winter cleaning, I came across three things that gave me pause. Pocket watches.
I have two very nice and, as it turns out, very old, pocket watches. One was a gift for my 50th birthday (umm, given 10 years early. . .); the other I found in my father's belongings when he passed away in 2002. It was apparently his father's. The gift watch is silver; the 'heirloom" watch is gold.
I have a third pocket watch, which runs sporadically, but was a gift from an ex, and I know it was bought with love, but not a lot of money. It has but a tiny bit of sentimental value since, and I quote, "I've met someone else and he has a boat." And she was gone.
I guess she meant that she had joined the Navy or met someone who owned a sail, row or tugboat, since I never saw her again. She might be a pirate for all I know.
I'm not a fan of wrist watches and cannot even remember the last time I owned one to wear. I raise an eyebrow each time I read the New York Times, especially around the holidays, and note the number of ads for expensive watches within. And wrist watches, in my humble opinion, are soon to go in the same category as typewriters, carbon paper, writing stationery and thinking, since anytime I ask someone on the street for the time (thus saving more money by not needing a watch myself), they inevitably whip out their cell phone to read the digital numerals on or in it. This makes me suspect that perhaps even being able to read an analog clock or watch will soon be in the trash heap along with handwriting skills and speling.
But I love the old-fashioned look and feel of pocket watches.
I used Boat Girl's gift watch for many years. Over time, the chain fell off, the crystal broke, and finally it said enough is enough and quit almost altogether, long after she'd left me. I'm not sure if it is waterproof. Maybe she could have found out for me as she skimmed across Lake Erie. Every now and again, I get it out, wind it up, and watch (!) what happens. It works on its own schedule, and is not working today, no matter how hard I stare at it.
After that gold-colored timepiece quit, I never really used one or carried one for years.
The second pocket watch, as mentioned, was given to me when I turned 50 (still 10 years hence). It is a beautiful silver piece and has a nice chain. It has gold hands and a gold knob that one uses to wind it. It runs perfectly and I do use it on occasion.
The third watch is gold, but apparently gold-plated. It is an Elgin, and brief research reveals that there were/are a lot of Elgin watches out there. It also runs, but has an unusual balking when one winds it.
This piece apparently once belonged to my paternal grandfather, who passed away in 1944. I did not know it existed until my father joined him some years later. Also in a box under the inlay was an old $50 bill, which I had meant to save, but spent accidentally about a year later.
Attached to the chain of this beautiful timepiece was another chain, with what appears to be a small square locket with a tiny stone on it, and a one-inch charm-size replica pistol. This little charm was so threatening to Homeland Security at O'Hare Airport that I was turned away when trying to get through the security line when trying to return to New Mexico. So threatening, indeed, that two TSA employees AND a supervisor had to come inspect the charm and declare it dangerous, thus requiring me to return to the ticket counter to get a special shipping container so the one-inch replica weapon could go into the baggage area of the plane. I was furious, but of course had to obey.
When I was finally able to make it home, I took the watch to Jones Jewelers, a locally owned and well-respected (for good reason) business, to see if it was indeed worth anything. I did not want to sell it, but did want to learn part of its history if I could.
At that time, I was told that it was indeed of some value, and they offered $450 for it. This was in 2002.
These watches aroused my curiosity at the same time that my editor had a brainstorm about doing an article about pawn shops or other forms of alternative revenue during these hard times.
I pack up the watches and a couple of other items that I think might be of value — my wife's inherited box of inscribed silver personalized souvenir spoons that she got from her grandmother, her mother's nice strand of Mikimoto pearls from Ginza, Japan, and one of several "proof sets" from the US Mint that my mother has given me over the years.
Traderman Pawn at 122 Avenida de Mesilla is my first stop. Thinking that the proprietor would have the least amount of interest, because of current events, I walk into a shop that was far less cluttered than I thought it would be.
I am greeted by the owner of the shop, Aaron Alberson, an amiable gentleman who also operates Las Cruces' only other pawn shop, MMJ, located at 2215 N. Main.
Alberson tells me that the he is a third-generation pawnbroker, and is operating the shop that his grandmother started in the 1970s. His mom and an uncle are still involved in the operation, with the uncle being a partner in the business.
I open the little box with the two watches that I have brought. Alberson gently picks each one up, inspects it, and then pops the back off each to inspect the insides. Since both still work, he allows me $50 for each piece. I didn't know what to expect, but I didn't expect $50. Maybe a couple of hundred bucks. But, as Alberson explains, there really is not a market for pocket watches now, a truism that I will hear three more times over the next couple of days.
"It's a 30-day loan," he explains, "$10 per month interest and after three months, the item goes up for sale." Alberson adds that you can also make payments on your item, and even a payment on part of the principle is okay.
I look around Traderman, at the variety of goods that have found their way here under these terms. Plenty of frustrated guitar players have been by, not to mention those with too many tools and too little cash.
"Business is steady, and there really hasn't been an increase in traffic lately," Alberson says. "Our busiest times are January and August when we get a lot of students coming in."
I ask if he gets any brigands coming in to try to sell "hot" items.
"No," he replies, "since we work closely with the police and trade reports every day of what we get and what has been stolen. And we can usually tell when someone looks suspicious. We get two or three of those a month and most thieves won't come here, since they know they have to show an ID."
Smiling, Alberson relates the story of two NMSU students who came to the shop one day trying to hock two bicycles. Turns out the bikes were freshly stolen and the theft had already been reported to the police. Alberson was able to contact the police, who came and arrested the two students before they even left the store.
"Another time we had a regular who would come in every few months with his toolbox. We'd give him $20 for it, and he would come back and claim it a short time later. Well, one time he brings in the toolbox with a padlock on it. He said he forgot the key at home, so since he was a regular, we took it, but then he didn't come back. So, later, when we broke the lock off the toolbox, we found that it was filled with rocks. He's never come back," Alberson says with a note of "got ya."
I decide not to pawn my watches (I did not take the other items into Traderman) and move on to Jones Jewelers.
I've done business with Jones before; in fact, it was here that I was told the gold watch was worth $450. I like the store, and the old-fashioned feel and look to it. Service is great, and the staff is professional and courteous. Hal and Sally Jones, the owners, have operated the store in Las Cruces for 17 years, with previous stops in Houston and Kentucky. They are here to stay.
Hal Jones is happy to look at my watches, but in spite of their good condition and vintage, he is unable to even make an offer on them. Boat Girl's watch receives a cursory glance and is immediately dismissed.
He escorts me over to a three-by-three-foot showcase that has a beautiful display of pocket watches, all from estates, including one with a price tag of $1,200. If I was an idiot with money, I immediately identify several that I would like to have myself. But I also see Jones' point: He doesn't need any more watches to sell.
"This is about half of what we have. I bet I have 50 more in back that we don't have room to display." We talk briefly about the price of gold, since about a year earlier I had sold a gold ring here from still another failed relationship from days of yore, thinking I would cash in on the high price of the metal at that time. The "promise" ring designed by my love du jour, which cost $550, netted me $35 and would be melted down, of course. Figuring that $35 was worth more than a sad memento, I took the dough and bought a tank of gas.
As it happens, two wholesale metal and coin buyers are in town the week I try hawking my goods. Both run full-page ads in the daily newspaper, trumpeting their willingness to buy anything of value — coins, paper money, precious metals, wristwatches, some costume jewelry and, yes, even pocket watches.
I head over to the Hotel Encanto, where a representative from International Rarity Collectors has set up shop in one of the hotel's meeting rooms. To my surprise, no one is in the room except for Clay Joiner, a 22-year veteran of such things, set up at a table with a phone, laptop and small scale. Joiner's grip almost breaks my hand when we exchange introductions.
I've brought the pearls (I note on the Mikimoto website that a similar new strand will cost you $2,320), but Joiner quickly tells me that there is no interest in pearls now. "You should take anything you can get," he says.
In all of my visits, except at Jones Jewelers, eBay is clearly stated as a better option to sell all of my items.
Boat Girl's watch is too tired to offer, but Joiner inspects the other two watches closely. He says that both are in wonderful condition and are beautiful examples of formal men's watches of the time. Both are from the turn of the century (the previous one, thank you), and the gold watch's case is indeed gold-plated. "It's gold overlay, and you could get $50-75 for it," he says.
The silver watch holds Joiner's interest for a few brief moments longer before he announces that it was made between 1895 and 1910. If I found "the right collector," I could probably get $100 to $150 for it, thus vanquishing my thoughts of selling it to pay for a small ship cruise to Antarctica.
(The silver watch is a Zenith, the same brand of watch that Mahatma Gandhi carried. Gandhi's watch, made in 1915, had sold four days earlier for the record price of $1.8 million!)
The spoons he examines for a moment, then says that, again, for a collector, the larger ones could probably fetch $10 to $15; the smaller, $5 to $10.
All hopes dashed, I chat him up for a while. Joiner says that he has been busy this trip, but in Las Cruces, he has sent his other staff members on, while keeping his only security person with him.
"I've been coming to Las Cruces since 1995," Joiner says, "and we call these 'special events.'"
He tells me that he has offices in Los Angeles, New York and Chicago, but he is based in Texas.
Collectors seem scared to do much buying at this time, Joiner adds. "But I have no doubt that better days are ahead."
Okay, one more stop, and this time it is across town to the Comfort Inn, where I meet Manny, the representative of Duke's Coins, based in Phoenix. Manny didn't see better days ahead in his previous job in the real-estate business, and took an offer from the owner of Duke's about a year ago. He has been on the road ever since.
An LA Dodgers fan, Manny, like Joiner, is friendly and strikes me as being very open and honest, an observation that I find even truer as we visit. Both men admit that they end up doing more appraising than buying.
He looks over the watches, as he tells me that the most desirable watches have 19 jewels (the Elgin has 17). He figures that I could fetch $40 to $50 for it. Sigh.
Interestingly, through the Elgin Watch website, we are able to look up the very watch we are looking at through its serial number (elginwatches.org/databases/elgin_sn_intro.html) The information Manny finds indicates that it was made between 1909 and 1922 (although a second check indicates that it might be from as early as 1895). He would buy it if I want, but he clearly states that he doesn't want to.
"The family value in the watch is certainly worth more than that," Manny explains.
He puts the spoons on his scale after briefly looking at each one. The total I could get for grandma-in-law's spoons, based on the spot price of silver that day, is $106.56.
"I wouldn't do that either, if I were you," Manny cautions.
The proof coin, a 2006 silver dollar, much to my surprise will already net a whopping $18.97, and the Zenith watch, well, it's worth $40 or $50 also. All of this makes Alberson's offer of $50 at the pawn shop all the more generous.
"Man, I just came from a few days in Pueblo (Colo.), and we were busy all week. There were people filling all the chairs in the room," Manny says as we glance at the small but empty conference room at the Comfort Inn.
Manny says that business has been so-so, and like Joiner, he notes the irony of having two dealers in town at the same time. Both observe that this isn't good for them or for their customers.
Behind him, Manny has a five-gallon-size bucket in which he temporarily stores the items he buys before shipping them off later in the day. The man that Manny talked with before my turn was pleased to have turned a silver chalice he'd found at a garage sale for $3 into a $35 investment.
Manny talks a bit about the industry and says that there is some interest in gold, but it has to be 14k or higher. Pearls, he confirms, are pass. "No one is wearing them now."
But it could be worse. "Be glad you're not trying to sell diamonds." Manny adds. Not only is there no market for diamonds, but they are really nothing more than a gimmick, he says. The world is awash in the shiny stones, and the dealers hold them back on purpose to artificially raise the prices.
I also get a lesson in moizonite, which is a manmade diamond. "Some shadier jewelers will pull a real diamond out of a ring and put a piece of moizonite in the setting instead," Manny tells me.
In all of my marriages, I've only ever bought one small diamond (engagement) ring. I'm glad that I have an excuse to give all of those exes as to why they never got one — if they ever find me.
I pack up my booty, bid Manny farewell, and head for my thankfully paid-for car.
On the way out of the motel lobby, I notice a penny lying on the carpet and pick it up, as I do with all orphan coins that I see.
If I write off the mileage that I log on this trip, I can proclaim that I did, after all, make a profit today.