Sunday, January 31, 2021

ebay

When William Faulkner said, "The past is never dead. It's not even past," he of course didn't know about computers and the emergence of ebay, but the phrase certainly anticipated ebay, where objects of nostalgia go waiting to be plucked off the screen with a mouse click and delivered to your door in a sturdy cardboard box. The past is in my workshop garage.

When I sat down to write the posting about can openers that were called church keys in the '50s I didn't know that by the end of the piece I would be recounting the brown can of Schaefer beer that was in our cellar in Flushing, holding nails.

But when I did remember it, I wanted a picture of it, so of course Google was asked to take me there. And it did. Right to ebay where any number of people were offering cans of Schaefer from all decades, for all kinds of prices.

I once read of the people who collected beer cans as a hobby. The cans were of course empty, opened from the bottom so as not to spoil the aesthetic of the top. The story went that the collectors didn't buy cans from each other, they traded cans, like kids did baseball cards umpteen years ago. The story further said this insured a more democratically created collection. Money couldn't buy you the items you wanted to complete your collection. You had to contact someone and arrange a trade.

ebay and computers of course changed that. Collectors now had a way to cash in on their doubles, or liquidate their collections. Just post a photo on ebay and wait for someone so struck by nostalgia that they were willing to pony up the price you were asking, or win the bid. 

The photo Google took me to for my posting was an ebay offering. I used the photo, but then started to think, why not buy the can. It's not really all that much, and so what, I've done this before. The garage has several examples of signage I've bought over the years and stuck in various crannies of the workshop. A somewhat huge Devoe paint metal advertising piece hangs from an old metal cabinet. For some reason there is a figure of an Indian on the piece. I found out the American Indian was used in their advertising because the paint has been around since 1754, "the first American paint."


1754 puts the paint in use in North America before there was a United States and around the time of the French and Indian War, or the Seven Years War as it is sometimes called.

It would be hard to believe that the American Indian used Devoe paint when they wanted to paint their faces and "go on the war path." All you would need to know then is that if they were stopping by the general store in numbers and stocking up on paint, then someone should be informed. The settlers were in trouble. An early warning system based on the purchase of paint.

The use of the image of an American Indian is reminiscent of the ads for Levy's rye bread that used different ethnic groups in their advertising to assure you, "You Don't Have to be Jewish to Love Levy's."

Devoe paint is still around, and is good paint. My memory for Devoe paint is etched by their being a sponsor for Marv Albert's radio play-by-plays of Ranger games in the '60s that I listened to.


The Schaefer can I ordered from ebay came from PosiTivoli Collectibles out of Brighton, Colorado. The can arrived yesterday, as pictured on ebay. The top is fairly rusted, and the bottom bears the can opener punctures that would have been used to drain the beer, and hopefully for the owner of the can, to drink it.


As I remember cans being opened in that era, a small hole was needed at one end to allow the air to escape, and a larger hole was needed to pour the beer from. This particular can has two large punctures. Works just as well, but shows the person lacked a bit of finesse in opening the can. They were very anxious to get at the beer.

Holding the can and trying to squeeze it shows just what I wrote in the prior posting: you can't crush these cans unless your grip can win you a kewpie doll as the strongman at the carnival. These cans could support a locomotive or a suspension bridge.

eaby and my workshop: Where the past isn't even the past.

http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com


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