dd'ing article in today's Chicago Tribune
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http://www.chicagotribune.com/features/home/chi-0206160318jun16.story?coll=chi%2Dleisurehome%2Dhed
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finders keepers
When Winnetkans toss, the scavenger hunt is on
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By Mary Daniels
Tribune staff reporter
Published June 16, 2002
To say my day was trashed on April 29 is not a negative statement. I had
such a good time it made me believe scavenging is one of the most primal of
activities programmed into hominid brains, a thesis for which I found
substantial evidence during the village of Winnetka's Annual Spring Clean
Up Week.
I initially learned about Winnetka a few years ago from an interior
decorator friend, an arbiter of good taste and one of the most elegant men
I know. He told me the trash thrown out at curbside during the annual Clean
Up Week in Winnetka (the last week in April) was of such high quality,
containing real antiques, good furniture and other treasures, it attracted
hordes of hunters from other locales.
"Have you ever done it?" I asked my friend, who normally preens over his
personal peccadilloes. "Oh, years ago," he said vaguely, voice trailing off
into a dial tone. Which led me to my second theory: Everyone does it, but
no one wants to admit it, as one of the major art mavens in Chicago told me
with a suspicious slyness, when I told him I was thinking of doing an
investigative piece on "Dumpster diving."
(I later pried it out of him that he trash-picks for "sculptural rather
than functional objects," which he hangs on his walls.)
Dumpster diving is a generic term for trash-picking at the curb as well as
rummaging through the large containers behind apartment houses, stores and
offices. My personal stable of informers had been alerting me that this
"hobby," as it is listed on the Internet, is getting so hot there are
several Web sites and books on the subject.
Time, it seemed, for action. Often getting a story started, initial
contacts and all that, is like trying to rock a truck out of a mud hole.
Not in this case. One casual questioning of a North Shore resident and,
within moments, I had dates of the event, plus a driver and guide.
Rules of reporting demand attribution of quotes, but these volunteers
demanded an anonymity comparable to what the Federal Witness Protection
program provides. I could not use their names or what they did for a
living, and any photos had to have blackout bars across their faces. All I
can tell you is Companion X, of male gender, is a sharp-eyed collector and
garage-sale black belt. Companion Y, our safari guide, knows her antiques
as well as the Winnetka garbage pickup routes.
That is how early on April 29, writer, photographer, guide and driver
rendezvoused at a Howard Van Doren Shaw mansion of the 1920s, energized
ourselves with coffee served from a silver urn into blue and white Spode
china cups, then got into a late-model Mercedes-Benz sedan and went trash
picking.
Let the games begin
We didn't have to go far for a find, just to the end of the driveway, where
we got out of the Benz to inspect our driver's garbage as well as the pile
of her next-door neighbor's. The writer and Witness X started squabbling
over two '60s lighting fixtures in mint condition.
Primatologist Jane Goodall might have begun taking notes when a small
collection of Royal Staffordshire blue and white ironstone plates was found
in a box.
"The plates are mine," I snarled, while Witness X tried to pull them from
my hands.
I compromised by handing him a lovely green-and-white platter. "But it's
cracked," he protested. "I need the others to photograph for my story," I
lied authoritatively.
He backed off and was distracted by finding some old stock certificates.
(Which I also kept.)
Our expedition proceeded. We trolled the streets in the Benz for several
hours, stopping when the piles looked good, stuffing our finds in the trunk
but getting more discriminating as we went along. Eventually the '60s
lighting fixtures were returned to their original pile.
The sheer size of most piles was impressive.
But the best pile of all was in front of the home of a man with a British
accent, Michael Page, who was adding to the mound as we spoke. He was
moving to California, so he was cleaning out. "My wife doesn't even know I
am throwing this stuff out," he said, as he dumped more on the pile. I
silently wondered if she would add him to it.
He didn't seem to mind the half-dozen folks pawing through his previous
possessions. It worked for him, he said. Page had moved to Winnetka from
Connecticut in 1972 and, on that occasion, the whole front of his yard was
filled with trash. But by the time he moved, nothing was left.
While I was interviewing a woman named Roberta Harold, who nabbed a gilt-
framed mirror and several Halloween papier-mache pumpkins at the curb, Page
hauled out a garden bench with scrolled iron arms. The bench was a beauty
that inspired a squabble between three people, but the prize went to a
photographer, who stuffed it in the back seat of his Toyota Camry.
Getting back in the Benz and cruising the streets, we saw upholstered
furniture, aquariums, a gas grill (legend has it Jenn-Air ranges are thrown
out), crutches, a croquet set, lots of bicycles seemingly in working order.
We stopped to look at a monumental pile at the southern end of Green Bay
Road, attracted by a large set (around 16 pieces) of natural colored
rattan. As we were looking at it, two young Wicker Park women, Kristin
Shout, a singer, and Elise Blue, a painter, pulled up in a Nissan van and
swiftly began loading the chairs and tables into the back.
Shout said she had heard about Winnetka four years ago, and in need of
patio furniture, had rented the van and headed for the North Shore. The
homeowner, who said he had "no name," watched the women whip the wicker
inside the van. He was going to sell it at auction, but decided to toss it
out ("If it sits for more than three years, I like to get rid of it," he
said).
As we drove back north, despite the wicker find, Companion Y said, "I hate
to be an East Winnetka snob, but we have better junk."
The other side of town
True. The very best pickings were on a place called Private Road, where
Companion X found one of those vintage zinc boxes into which deliveries of
milk once were placed and I found a mint-condition cat scratching post.
In the family neighborhoods we passed through, there was a lot of kids'
plastic play stuff, best of which was a kiddie beauty parlor. One woman
scavenger told me when she moved into Winnetka a year ago, she furnished
her back yard completely with Clean Up plastic play items, which she said
would have cost her hundreds of dollars otherwise.
Junk moves in Winnetka, but it sometimes does so in a boomerang pattern.
"Kids walking to school are often late for class because they are so busy
looking through the trash piles," said Companion Y. "Junk comes back," she
added. "Kids come home, see you've thrown out their toys and go crazy."
70 years and going strong
The Winnetka Clean Up was started in the 1930s by the local fire
department, who wanted to get any inflammable elements out of the houses,
says Terry Burns, Winnetka refuse supervisor. "They decided this was the
quickest way to do it."
The only thing that has changed is it used to take place the first full
week of May and now takes place the last week of April. ("We try to do it
before the large rummage sale they have at Winnetka Church," said Burns.)
Those in the know come the weekend before the Clean Up, when residents
begin putting stuff out.
The pickup takes weeks of preparation, getting the trucks ready.
"The street guys pitch in and help the refuse guys," he said.
And do the refuse guys ever find treasures for their own homes? "On
occasion," said Burns, "but generally there's not too much out there when
we get to it."
On Ardsley Road, Carlos and Mildred Garcia of Chicago were examining
stuff--hopefully to add to a gas grill in the back of their pickup.
I lingered long over a rabbit hutch on legs but I would have needed a truck
to cart it away.
Heading north we spied two large paintings leaning against a tree at Pine
Street and Sheridan Road. We mulled over them like critics in a gallery and
finally passed, returning them to the tree trunk, but this time face
outward. Companion X found a brand new Christmas tree stand, he said he
"felt forced to take."
We turned west down Pine, made a turn to the left and about 10 minutes
later, when we came back down Sheridan, to reconsider the larger painting,
it was gone.
As 11 a.m. approached, the traffic, much of it vans, trucks, SUVs, began
choking the streets. "Do not slam on the brakes no matter how good the
pile," was Companion X's warning.
The traffic became so heavy with hunters, around 11:30 a.m. we decided to
stop.
Companions X and Y said they had a great time, as we headed for lunch at a
nearby restaurant, where my escorts were greeted warmly by neighbors and
friends who had no idea we had been trash picking.
Next day, I checked in with Tony Kavanaugh, the proprietor of and dealer in
Period Garden Ornaments and an all-around classy guy, whom I knew planned
to do Winnetka. He had scored big: 18 tall, narrow vintage windows from a
large enclosed porch and old French doors with slip-out glass and copper
screens, enough to do a greenhouse at his second home in Michigan. Also
four very nice iron chairs, an Arts and Crafts chandelier, and some vintage
picket fence.
Kavanaugh, who grew up in Hinsdale, has been scavenging all his life. "All
we're doing is recycling; which is all we're doing with antiques."
As for the propriety of it, he added, "If it makes you feel good, go for
it. If you see it, stop and get it. Don't wait for dark." (Many people
prefer to scavenge under cover of night.)
"At dark it is being polished, and by the next day," he said, "it will be
in someone's shop."
Picking protocol
Here are some tips on the etiquette of scavenging, otherwise known as the
active search for interesting stuff others have thrown away.
- Know the law. First, find out if scavenging is illegal where you plan to
pick. Some suburbs require scavengers to be licensed.
- Park at a distance from the pile if anonymity is a big issue.
- Don't make a mess. Leave piles the way you find them.
- Watch out for broken glass and metal. It helps to have a good long stick
in your car's trunk to pick at bags.
- Some folks go up to the door to obtain the owner's permission to take
things from the curb. In most cases, this is polite but superfluous.
- Don't wait for nightfall. When you return, interesting stuff will be
gone.
- Persistence is everything. Learn toss-out cycles. Many suburbs have
canceled spring and fall pickup days as their scavenger contractors allow
one large item a week, making this a year-around activity.
- Never, never, never dump your trash on someone else's pile.
-- Mary Daniels
So many curbs to troll
Still high from all the fun had curbside in Winnetka, we went on to the
Highland Park annual spring cleanup days the following week.
Though I trolled the streets relentlessly for nearly three hours, I found
nothing to compare to the treasures thrown out in Winnetka.
What I did see were myriad old sofas, stacks of old wood, and endless old
appliances.
Through calls to area public works departments, I learned most other toney
suburbs years ago canceled their once-a-year cleanup days because their
waste management contractors allow one large item a week to be picked up at
curbside, eliminating the need.
Nevertheless, we checked out a couple 'burbs on their regular pickup days.
Both Oak Park and Flossmoor had large containers lined up along their
residential curbsides, all waste neatly concealed within. In Flossmoor, all
I saw beyond that were some neatly stacked piles of old wood.
While friends who live in Oak Park say one can sometimes pick up old
siding, old wood and other construction materials from time to time, I
found almost nothing of interest.
Curiously, the best curbside picking I found was in my own neighborhood in
Homewood, during regular garbage pickup days in May.
I found small, still usable pieces of furniture, such as a two-shelf wooden
bookcase and a large blue oval braided rug, unraveled in parts, but
otherwise barely used and able to be repaired.
I saw several sofas and loveseats out there, still with plenty of wear in
them.
But the prize was found two blocks from home. I pulled out a 3-foot copper
washtub--the kind used decades ago to launder clothes. I plan to clean it
up, fill it with red geraniums, put it out in my yard as a planter, and
hope no one in the neighborhood recognizes it.
-- Mary Daniels
Copyright Š 2002, Chicago Tribune
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