Sam Smith - After World War II, Maine was a poor state and getting poorer. The Navy had pulled out of Portland, the deep water port closest to Europe, and things were falling apart. Which is why there were so many auctions.
My mother loved auctions and was not embarrassed as she gobbled up anything that caught her eye, even a grocery store-sized carton of dozens of rolls of toilet paper that she purchased to guffaws at a farm sale. A nearby lady said, "I wonder what she's going to do with all of that?" Replied her friend, "I guess she'll use most of it."
I have notes from one auction:
"God damn you, Tom Soule, get around front here where we can keep an eye on you." Tom's reply was lost in the ripple of laughter that went around the crowd. "All right now, who'll give me 25 cents for the lot?" Another pause. The auctioneer started to laugh. "Well I guess I can't fool you folks. Pile some more stuff on, boys."
His assistants piled it on.
"What do I hear now?"
A feminine voice bid twenty-five cents.
"Sold! Now lady, what is your husband going to say when you come home with that junk?"
Next was an electric pump.
"Now folks, to tell you the truth there's only one thing wrong with this pump. It came from Old Lady Thompson from down to Pownal, and folks, she had the by-goddest woodchuck water you ever did see." The auctioneer was laughing again. "I used to see Old Lady Thompson every so often and she'd say to me, 'Erv, when are you coming over to have some woodchuck water?'
"So folks, you may want to clean out the pipe before you use it. She used to say it was better than castor oil for you, though."
The pump went for $25.