Behind the Scenes at the ANTIQUES ROADSHOW - Chubb's Antiques Roadshow

Kiplinger's Personal Finance Magazine, Feb, 1999 by Kimberly Lankford, Margaret Ringer

Word spread quickly among the 5,000 people lined up at the Richmond Centre that a woman had passed out in the nearly 100-degree August heat. An ambulance came, but the woman wouldn't let the paramedics take her away. She didn't want to lose her place in line to get her heirlooms appraised.

Welcome to the final stop on last summer's Chubb's Antiques Roadshow tour. Collectibles-carrying enthusiasts looking for their few minutes of fame--and perhaps a small fortune--had started camping outside the arena at 3 A.M. By 6:30 A.M., the line had grown to 500 people. By 9:30, two huge rooms in the Richmond Centre were packed, as the rest of the line streamed around the side of the building, down a block, around a parking lot and under an overpass. Some people were lugging tables and large urns. One had a giant bird cage.

A similar scene greeted the Roadshow in every city it visited. So many people swarmed to the Portland, Ore., filming that traffic outside the exposition center came to a standstill. In Los Angeles, the doors were closed at 10 A.M. when the crowd reached the 7,000 capacity, leaving thousands of disgruntled antiquers on the streets.

Why the incredible buzz? Roadshow is a little bit game show, a little bit history lesson, a little bit pop-culture phenomenon. Those who tune in can easily get hooked when they see, say, a $25 garage-sale table appraised for more than $200,000, or a strange flea-market hat that's identified as an Eskimo hunting helmet worth up to $75,000. And there's the suspense that builds as the appraiser talks up an item, asks the owner what he or she thinks it's worth, and then reveals it as a valuable collectible--or a nearly worthless reproduction. (For a schedule of the show's 1999 stops, which should be available soon, check the Antiques Roadshow Web site; go to www.pbs.org, then click on "Antiques Roadshow.") It gives us all a little hope for the stuff collecting dust in our own attics. Maybe a bit too much hope.

FEW ARE CHOSEN

The way the show is edited, it looks as if everyone has either a great find or an embarrassing fake. But of the 7,000 people who get appraisals in each city, only about 50--the ones with the most interesting objects--are filmed, and only about 30 survive the cutting room.

If you get in the door, you're directed to an appraiser who specializes in your type of item--and you stand in line again. If your antique looks as if it would make good television, the appraiser asks you a few questions about its history, then you wait while the appraiser has a private powwow with executive producer Aida Moreno (of Championship Ballroom Dancing fame), who decides what gets filmed. She usually looks for objects with good stories, such as the acoustic guitar at the Houston filming that was signed and damaged by Jimi Hendrix, who played with the owner's uncle. If your item is selected, you sign a release and are whisked away to the green room without learning anything about your object, so that you will be surprised when you're in front of the cameras.

After three seasons on the air, the appraisers have mastered the art of suspense. With the cameras rolling, they draw the story out of an object's owner, ask for a guess about its value, then explain each clue to its history before revealing how much it's worth and capturing the owner's reaction. The price even pops up on the TV screen.

The remaining 6,950 people get about $10 worth of an appraiser's time for free. Each person may get two oral appraisals (some brazenly pull more objects from their pockets) from one of the 70 professionals. The appraisers become experts at rapidly identifying the object, then explaining its history and value at breakneck speed. Only the furniture appraisers view any of the objects in advance (before the show, people send pictures of their furniture to WGBH-TV in Boston, where the show is produced; the station will pay for shipping if a piece is selected).

Kathleen Guzman, managing director of Phillips/ Selkirk auction house, says she appraises about 150 pieces of sports memorabilia, collectibles and "everything that doesn't fit into another category" at each Roadshow. She may spend three to five minutes with each person. Even at that brisk pace, she talks for more than eight hours straight. Most people leave the set without a new-found fortune. "Only about 5% of the items are worth anything," says Frank Boos, who owns the Frank H. Boos Gallery in Bloomfeld Hills, Mich., and has appraised silver, furniture and paintings on the show.

Most of the appraisers are from elite galleries and auction houses, such as Sotheby's, Christie's, Butterfield & Butterfield and Skinner--appraisers who can command more than $100 per hour. "These people are superstars in their field going out of their way to tell someone about his $15 chair," says John Buxton, who has appraised items on the show.

In a business not known for its celebrities, these superstars attract loyal fans. For example, furniture-appraising brothers Leslie and Leigh Keno--known as the Furniture Twins--make antiques about as scintillating as they can be. "It's very sexy in the leg," says Leigh about an 18th-century walnut Queen Anne chair worth $40,000. "It reminds you of the curve you see in a beautiful woman's back." The twins breeze through the set acknowledging their adoring fans with a nod and smile.