The 2008 Triangle (Raleigh) Pen Show is history. And what a show we had! It wasn’t the biggest or the fanciest or the most famous or even the best attended show since Noah came over on the Mayflower, but it was a wonderful show. Among other things, Terry Mawhorter had dedicated it to the memory of his wife Sonya, who passed away unexpectedly in May. Virtually all of the show-circuit regulars knew Sonya and loved her for her infectious good spirits. Sonya made pen shows work, and she made you glad you were at one of her and Terry’s shows. She was missed and will continue to be missed — but, as Linda Jordan said during a brief memorial ceremony at the dessert party, she lives on in us all and will continue to live on as long as we’re alive to do something, or refrain from doing something, or say something, or hold our tongues, because that’s what Sonya would do. The sense of community and the camaraderie were especially heartwarming and welcoming at this show.
As the fifth Raleigh show, this one showed a marked increase in attendance and activity over all its predecessors. Dealers who might have packed up early on Sunday stayed well into the afternoon; only a very few tables became empty, and the interest and activity of the public was refreshing to see. I wasn’t nose to the grindstone/shoulder to the wheel busy (a very uncomfortable position, by the way), but I wasn’t sitting on my thumbs, either.
Barbara and I established a personal record at this show: we did not leave the hotel from Thursday afternoon, when we arrived, until Sunday evening, when we couldn’t face the hotel restaurant’s menu again and so went out to the Bonefish Grill, where we stumbled into our good friends Bob and Anna Scott, Bernie Barston, and Bernie’s friend Sunny. A good time was had by all!
The auction Saturday night, after the dessert party, was fun, with a generous serving of the usual levity. Many really sweet lots went under the hammer for ridiculously low prices, a couple went for far more than I thought they merited, and the vast majority were bought for good -- but not outrageous -- prices. I experienced a buying frenzy, taking more than a dozen lots of which exactly zero were intended for my collection. This, you might opine, seems a highly unusual circumstance; why did Richard not lard his collection with great pens like the red second-year Hundred Year set he bought last year:
Well, it’s like this. Early Saturday morning, in the breakfast line in fact, Barbara and I bumped into one of our dearest friends in pendom, whom I’ll call Ambrose because that’s not his name. We enjoyed a delightful repast with Ambrose, and then we went our way — to our table — while he went his — to the tables throughout the ballroom.
Fast forward about half an hour, when who should appear in front of our table but another of our dearest pen friends, whom I’ll call Martha (see above for explanation). Martha showed me a red second-year Hundred Year Pen that she was intending to sell. “We already got one, silly k-nigget!” you may be thinking, but that ain’t perzackly the case. The one I bought last year was a Standard, this one was a De Luxe (oversize). The one I bought last year was grooved, this one was smooth and, incidentally, near perfect. The one I bought last year was engraved, this one wasn’t. Be aware before you read further that the Grail I was questing for at this show was a full-size, full-length Gold Seal Eversharp Doric with a plunger filler. So I wouldn’t even look twice at this Hundred Year Pen Martha was waving under my nose, right? Wrong. I made an offer on the spot. Martha gave me a disdainful look and declined. She was, she explained, entertaining possible offers from two other prospective buyers. I upped the ante, but not far enough. The pen walked away with Martha.
Fast forward another hour or so, and Ambrose appeared at our table to buy three pens and have them reground. He and I got to talking while I was hacking iridium off his pens’ nibs to turn them from mediums into extra-fines. He opened his pen case, and what should be resting there, staring me in the face? Nope, not a red second-year De Luxe smooth Hundred Year Pen. It was a Standard Emblem Pen, in the white color that Waterman made for practitioners of the healing arts. It came in a set with a mechanical pencil and a thermometer case, but those accessories weren’t present. Beautiful pen nonetheless, and I congratulated Ambrose for owning it. Ambrose took it out of his case and gave it to me. I was taken aback, and I said in all seriousness that I couldn’t possibly accept it. Ambrose was firm. He wouldn’t let me refuse.
So there I was, set with a pen that was IMHO much nicer and more desirable than that silly Doric I thought I wanted. I had my Grail, it was the real one, it just wasn’t the one I’d been expecting. Flexibility is a good thing.
Now turn back the clock to Friday. Andy Lambrou had come to our table as he was setting up, to show me a couple of prototypes he’d had Paul Rossi make but had decided not to pursue. They were lovely; one was Flame Red, and the other one — thinner and a perfect size for my hand — was Garnet Fire. They were also unique; there was only ever going to be one of each. I declined to return the Garnet Fire pen, instead demanding a price. Andy gave me a price, a very generous one, and I became the owner of the Garnet Fire prototype. I loaded it with Waterman Blue-Black, tuned the nib, and put the pen in my frog, where everyone could see it. (By which I mean yours truly could see it.)
Skip forward again to Saturday. Ambrose saw the Garnet Fire pen and admired it. I handed it to him, and he liked the way it felt. So I gave it to him— not that I wanted to give it away, because I really did like it a whole lot, but because I just felt that it was supposed to be Ambrose’s pen. He was as surprised as I had been, but he accepted the pen. This was extremely cool. Each of us had given the other, unprompted, a very nice pen.
Come the afternoon. Ambrose returned to our table, with a pen in his hand that looked remarkably similar to the one Martha hadn’t sold me. Actually, I knew immediately that it was Martha’s pen, and I asked him if he was doing a deal with a [description deleted] woman. He said no, and asked my opinion on the pen: was it a good example, and should he buy it? <sigh> She’d sold it. It was a good example, as I’ve said, and I figured that since he had bought — but given away — the doctor’s pen, he ought to put this pen, even better than that one, into his collection. I told him this, and he thanked me and went away.
He came back a few minutes later and slipped the pen into my pocket. Now this was too much! I protested vigorously that he simply could not do this. He said he could do it, and he had done it. I took a deep inward sigh and bowed to the inevitable. Not that I was unmoved or displeased — quite the contrary! This pen was a princely gift, the most wonderful pen anyone has ever given me. But WOW!
(Sorry for the crappy photo, but it’s the best my cellphone can do at such close range.)
It turns out that Martha had sold the red pen to George (see above), whom she and I have both known for the best part of a decade and who had subsequently sold it to Ambrose. Eventually, all four of us learned the complete story. When I next trotted away from the table for a pee break, I ran into Martha, who showed me a delightful little Black and Pearl Moore flat-top that she’d been trying for about five years to wangle away from George, who had set on it a price higher than she was willing to pay. With all the facts in evidence, he sold it to her for her price. Cool, huh?
Now you know why I didn’t buy anything for myself at the auction. The third pen in the picture? Oh, that’s an Emblem Pen, a “mint” stickered Lock Slip cap model that I lent to George a couple of months ago for use as reference material for an article he’s planning someday to write.
Another very good friend came to the show, a local resident we’ve known for several years as we’ve watched her and her partner raise their two children. This friend, Elizabeth (her real name), makes cigar box pen cases. They’re like the ones Don Fluckinger makes, except that Elizabeth uses all natural-fiber fabric for the lining, and she makes the dividing ridges by gluing in lengths of dowel rather than use the very serviceable pen-tray divider sheets that Gary Lehrer sells. Elizabeth makes very sweet boxes. She doesn’t sell them, but I have acquired one from her, and I think it will have to become the home of my Hundred Year and Emblem Pens.
This has been some weekend. I gotta go to bed and sleep it off so we can drive home in the morning.
Moral: if you haven’t yet stirred yourself to get out and become part of the real live pen community instead of merely lounging behind your keyboard and monitor, you might want to think about the kind of friendships that await you out there. Get off your duff and come to a pen show!
