Steve

House-made muffins, breakfast breads and fruit certainly were one of the perks of staying at the James Gettys. It’s customary for hotel staff to drop off a fresh plate of breakfast sweets to visitors. The morning of AR had finally arrived, and the goodies made the perfect carbo-load for our marathon day. After a quick run through town – as well as the surrounding battlefields – we downed a slice of cranberry, orange cinnamon bread and hit the road.

Harrisburg was only about 45 minutes away. We were headed to the Pennsylvania Farm Show Complex and Expo Center. It’s a massive building that hosts everything from car shows to cattle auctions. Today, it would welcome a different kind of breed: Antique fanatics.

We made our way down U.S. 15 with no traffic hang-ups. The complex was easy to spot from the road as it dominated the landscape with some 1 million square feet of event space. As we pulled up to the massive parking lot, I started to get jittery. Not sure if it was the coffee or sheer geek excitement, but I certainly was a little anxious. “I can’t believe this, I’m actually shaking,” I told Sarah, who laughed at me.

The scene outside our car resembled a bizarre mash up of Walking Dead and American Pickers. An army of people stumbled across a field of concrete toward the expo center. They carried by-gone swords, chests, paintings, signage, guns, life-size Mr. Peanut figurines… It was official: Sarah and I had joined a pack of collector nomads, each of us beholden to our vintage treasures.

We got out of the car, strapped down our container onto the dolly, and fell in line with our fellow wanderers. When we reached the main lobby, AR ambassadors stood ready to steer us toward the proper check-ins. “O.K., you all go over there,” a kind volunteer told us. “The line looks long, but it’s moving fast.” She pointed to two double doors leading to a large arena. Inside, hundreds stood in a single-file line. It stretched the length of what seemed like 50 yards then looped back around running in the opposite direction. It did this several times. Sarah and I took our spot.

In the rafters above, television cameras filmed b-roll of the crowd’s slow progress. Vendors sold pretzels or hotdogs at pit stops along the blue-carpet path, and those attending had lots of time to get to know their neighbors.

So we did just that, striking up quite a few conversations with the folks around us. We talked with one couple who told us they had tried to win tickets to AR many times before, but never succeeded until now. Another husband and wife chatted about their Amtrak model lamp, which originally was a feature decoration at Penn Station. The passenger car replica was large – about 5 feet in length – and needed a wagon for hauling. Two women in front of us – sisters – told us that they decided to team up and make it a bonding adventure of sorts. They had a couple of original paintings and ultimately would make it onto the main stage for a televised appraisal.

As we stood there with all of these wonderfully-colorful people, I realized that their stories were just as unique as the collectibles they held in hand. It was pretty amazing to hear so many different narratives, all brought to that moment by a common thread: The past. The excitement was palpable.

To be continued

The next day, Sarah and I checked into an historic hotel in the heart of Downtown Gettysburg. It was an antebellum, off-white stucco building, with maroon awnings above each window and a lit marquee over the main lobby entrance.

The story goes a gentleman by the name of John Troxell Sr. purchased the site in 1787 from the founder of Gettysburg, James Getty. He opened a tavern on the land in 1804 and dubbed it Sign of the Buck. Later on, the property became known as the Union Hotel and even acted as a hospital for civil war soldiers injured in the town’s famous battle.

After a rather lengthy stint dubbed the City Hotel, the property served for some time as an apartment complex and then a youth hostel. Finally in the 90s, the building was branded the James Gettys.

As we walked down the hallway toward the Keystone Suite, a rich sense of history coursed through the narrow corridors. Outside, museums propped up against modern boutiques in a cityscape of connected buildings. We had 24 hours left before AR, so it was time to explore. We placed our bags in the room and went to roam the town.

Sarah and I quickly learned that while entrenched in a significant past, Gettysburg’s present makeup leaned somewhat progressive. On one block, we’d walk by sprawling cemeteries marked with confederate and union tombstones. On another, we’d pull up a table at an outdoor café for craft bourbon and brew. One side of the street, crude wooden fences framed up a rolling battlefield. On the other side, comic book stores and bottle shops drew visitors with elaborate window displays. “Pro-Casino” yard signs sat in the forefront, with historic preservation placards affixed to doorframes. It was a unique setting to say the least, and in a way, made you question: “I wonder what they would think…”

To be continued

That night, we’d stay at my best friend’s civil-war era farmhouse in Gettysburg. It seemed fitting for us to hunker down on a historical property with our vintage ad collection – that though more recent and commercial – played its own role in shaping the past. Hell, half of these compositions would not pass by today’s standards. Nearly everything was boiled down into narrow political, social, and sexual views. Men like beer… Women like baking… Patriots conserve gas… Doctors endorse cigarettes… And these are the safe messages.

Sarah went to bed while my buddy and I shuffled through the binders. Both huge fans of Jeep, we paid extra attention to a few ad mock-ups that touted the Willy’s transition from battlefield to farm life. It was kind of a goose bumps moment, seeing as we were observing the first attempts to introduce the now classic vehicle to an unfamiliar civilian marketplace.

In a way, looking at this stuff almost feels like time travel voyeurism. You know something that they did not. Each piece represents just the beginning of that specific brand story. Most of the ads make references to people, places and trends of the time. Some even delve into future predictions, like the Atlas Tire composition that shows a small boy wearing a space suit, complete with laser ray. They didn’t understand where it all would lead, just that it resonated in that moment. They had no clue that brands – at least the ones that lasted – would wind up becoming so woven into our American fabric. It was the dawn of corporate culture, all packaged up nicely into a plastic container.

It was getting late and I needed sleep. We cleared the beer bottles and put the binders away. In my obsessive compulsive way, I checked on the AR tickets one last time. Yep, they were still there, tucked into a vanilla envelope inside our suitcase. My head hit the pillow around midnight, and I’d soon be dreaming of “what-ifs?”

To be continued