... made it run, made it race against time ...

whoa, slow down, this is only a hobby.
Right? Besides, we have no engine.

Hey, that wouldn't have stopped J.P. Morgan.
These are not virtual trains blipping around on your puter screen, these are real, metal you can touch. They screech and rattle.

These are what hobos named Wily Jack and Tracker Bill ride on to Portland in. That's an Emperor of the North boxcar right there, Bud.
 

lyric from my CW song   -  Nashville Tennessee    

Ridin' in a boxcar, trackin' down to Tennessee, got myself some buddies,
  playin' music just like me,
  we ain't good lookin' but you'll know when we're in town,
  goin' to turn 'em, right upside down,
  we're on our way to Nashville Tennessee.

                                         © RC Westerholm  SOCAN

The most discouraging feature of the mania for book-collecting is, that it grows by what it feeds on,
and becomes the more insatiable the more it is gratified.  - - -  William Mathews

By Samuel L. Clemens. Illustrated. The Goldsmith Publishing Company - Chicago - New York That Mark Twain guy better look out, he musta stole his story from this Clemens guy! Hard cover, 412 pages, all browned with age, but very good condition, print is clear. No references to Mark Twain. 18 illustrations - initials EWK at first one. Explanatory at beginning about dialects used. Inside writing - “Merry Christmas to Adolph, from Mrs Warn 1940" Didn't Adolph also get Poland for Christmas in 1940? One of the most endearing stories ever written. "... but they was pretty close to me then, and sung out and begged me to save their lives - said they hadn't done nothing, and was being chased for it - said there was men and dogs a-coming."

... and other verses by Robert Service ... published 1911 by Edward Stern & Co., Inc. Philedelphia copyright 1907 by Edward Stern. "This was the song of the parson's son, as he lay in his bunk alone ... ere the fire went out and the cold crept in, and his blue lips ceased to moan, and the hunger maddened malemutes had torn him flesh from bone."

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

The Spell of the Yukon

 

---

 

Sometimes it's not about collecting at all, it's just not being able to part with some things ... RCW

  Gold pocket watches

Li'l metal motorbikers - circa 1930s
	These are stunt riders! Don't try this at home! The teeny bikers are less than 2 inches long, all metal, seem like hard rubber tires, probably made in Britain. They sorta look like WWII dispatch riders on a secret mission. The bike COULD be a 1931 AJS33 or more likely a 1931 Ariel Square-Four judging by the 'fishtail' exhaust and the gear lever alongside the tank on the right side. A stunning bike when introduced in 1931.

      Postal Telegraph circa 1940s

Postal Telegraph. Sir William Stevenson, codename Intrepid, Canada's own spymaster, might have sent urgent messages on this machine when he was parachuted one cloudless night in 1940 into occupied France and had only fleeting minutes under that staircase to alert Britain that . . . (to be continued)	... --- ... dots and dashes in the air ... --- ... spies among us everywhere	Be careful. - ... ...- -.-- .. - -. --- .-- All metal, about 8 " X 5".

April in Paris

It was Paris, 1941.
The rive gauche, the 7th arrondissement, on the rue Madeleine, in that tiny hotel des Pins, under the stairway - filled with the fragrance of tulip and the danger of war ...

We touched lips only a moment, you said au revoir but not goodbye ...
your chaleur still fires my lingering heart ........

Will you be there this April?

Las Vegas Bandit

Las Vegas one armed bandit bank. Is that a joke or what? Tell Tommy Lee Jones and David Jansen that we found the one armed man! I put a Canadian dime in it and it got stuck. Worth 7.8 cents, no wonder. But it works. Psst! And don't tell anyone, okay? But at the back is this cool little round thingy that can be unscrewed with a penny, and you can then get ALL the money out of it! Next time you're in Vegas, check them out, maybe the big ones have that too. Don't get caught. And don't tell, remember - what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas. Especially your money.

Can you write a literate memory about a favorite uncle's flatulence?

Meet the Bertrameister here

Old WWII Decal
	The decal is about 6 inches square, is in excellent condition and has the original sleeve packaging. Churchill is probably well preserved too.  Well smoked and well scotched.  He said once -  "The water was not fit to drink. To make it palatable, we had to add whisky. By diligent effort, I learnt to like it." And a doctor attending him after he was knocked down by a car in New York in 1931, Otto C. Pickhardt, actually issued a medical note that Churchill's convalescence "... necessitates the use of alcoholic spirits especially at mealtimes ..."  specifying 250 cc per day as the minimum. FDR drank brandy and would never leave for anywhere on a Friday. He left Earth on a Thursday.
Way better than a CAT sticker.

Vintage metal toys

Dinky Toys and London Toys. The red Wheel truck is TriAng, England as is the Minic Royal Mail van. The ambulance is Dinky Toy of England and the others are all London Toys, made in Canada. I love the front skirted wheels on the yellow coupe!  Don't try any U-Turns!
Cool ambulance, check out the suicide door! Wouldn't it be great to have this real car today? Way better than a modern SUV. It must have been through WWII, look at that schrapnel damage! And the windows blown out too.  Probably driven by a British girl of the Women's Royal Volunteer Service while ignoring her fear and danger to save lives. The women recruited to the service were usually from the privileged and wealthy as most women could not drive in those days. They responded and served with resolve and valor during the blitz. The W.R.V.S. still has over 50,000 volunteers.

I love Felix. Didn't know where else to put him, but he IS a childhood memory.

Leedy Olympian Banjo

Called a Leedy Olympian long-necked 4 string plectrum banjo by the old gentleman who replaced the head a few years ago. (silicon now) It is in great condition, made around 1927 in Chicago. None of the varnish is worn off. Mother-of-Pearl inlays along the neck with what looks like ebony under the frets. Wonderful cut scroll work on parts of the metal. Could be shined but I am leaving it alone so as not to screw anything up. No backboard thingy but it sounds great.  Stephen Foster anyone?

Ol' man river, he mus' know sumpin'  but don't say nuthin' ....... Oscar Hammerstein       Elderly man river, he must know something, but does not say anything  .... Stan Freeberg

Ukulele deal

" ... If you like a ukulele lady, ukulele lady like a you ....."
How much easier could it be? Is Fletcher Christian around here somewhere? Well look at this, a little ukulele, sort of made of hardboard or something. Stradie never ever made these things. Sounds pretty good though .... But wait! Here's the real deal ... an Islander Uke Chord Master! You got Arthuritus? Just press the buttons. Easy! Standard tuning too.  Arthur don't care. I think it belonged to some girl named Pat Pending, I see it inscribed on there.
" .... If you like to linger where it's shady, ukulele lady linger too ..."
© Richard Whiting & Gus Kahn
INFO: If you're visiting Maui, and you want the real goods,  go here to get a beautifully Hawaiian made uke - my friend Willi got one and she rooks marverous holding it -    Mele Ukulele - 1750 Kaahumanu Avenue, PO Box 1681, Wailuku, Maui, HI 96793   .... info@meleukulele.com  - www.meleukulele.com  AND you can go here to hear the greatest ukulele player not in Hawaii, Jake Shimabukuro, playing George Harrison's While My Guitar Gently Weeps - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=puSkP3uym5k  truly amazing!   excerpt ... from my novel - A Place in the Sky    It was dark. One of those rare Hawaiian nights that holds a foreboding as though the sleep of the gods has been imprudently disturbed. I was rising to the surface, floating upward through a velvet blackness. The wind hummed and hissed through the palms and occasionally made a low moan like a sick old man. The seething ocean relentlessly pounded the shore, matching the pulsating in my inner ear. Stars illuminated the sky like silver pinpricks. As my vision became clearer I could discern the silhouettes of fluttering palms overhead. I lifted my head and could see the faint luminescence of the foaming surf. I had a hammering headache. Couldn’t move my arms or legs. Was securely tied to a long flat log which extended inside a crude thatched structure in the blackness behind me. My mouth was gagged so tightly I could taste blood seeping onto my tongue and the knot dug into the muscles at the back of my neck. To one side there were high stone walls snaking off into the murkiness. A tall fence to my right was crudely made of thick straight poles sharply pointed like a stockade. I could see the unmistakable shape of huge Ki’i figures standing nearby. Those intricately carved man-gods who were all growling teeth and huge head-dresses and represented former chiefs and kings of Hawaii. They were ten feet tall, menacing in the wildness of the night. Smaller primitive figures adorned posts beside them. I discerned another grass-roofed hut a few yards away. I was in some kind of Hawaiian display place.    I pulled hard against my ropes, listened, heard nothing but the storming ocean and an irritated wind. A wisp of cool salt spray reached me. The knots were so tight at my wrists I had no room to even wiggle at them. Thought a few moments and realized where I was.   .... at Pu’uhonua-o-Honaunau, Place of Refuge on Hawaii, Big Island                          © RC Westerholm         Was that Tennessee Williams sitting there on the beach amid the logs writing in longhand? His hair all mussed in the wind and a plaid scarf loose around his neck. No wonder he wrote so beautifully, he wasn't pressing hard to make 4 copies, he was thinking every word onto the page. His emotions flowing with the ink from his fountain pen. Life was more simple then, better. He might have been using a Sheaffer Gold Dot pen. You too could look vulnerable at the beach with one of these,  intensity on your brow yet a certain softness in your lip. A girl might watch you for an hour before magnetically approaching to remark on the crashing waves and the freshness of spring. Make sure you don't answer her until clearing your thoughts, almost until she is about to wander away and then you say, asking her for an opinion on a thought ....  "When so many are lonely as seem to be lonely, it would be inexcusably selfish to be lonely alone." Gawd, she wants you so bad she's almost crying! You're IN man! Don't dribble ink on your white flannel pants.       Wooden WWII Jeep   '46 Ford   1940s metal truck     Wooden Jeep circa 1940s This is not your surfer dude's Yellow CJ, it's been around since the forties! All wood, including the wheels, large, about 16" long. Some parts missing, like the windscreen, but there was a war on then, what would you expect? I think this was the one Sean Connery rode in while making A Bridge Too Far.       Okay okay, maybe not but it is neat.   I hear Ford might be going into bankruptcy? Bad rumors? Well good actually, it might mean this brochure has huge future value for collectors of old auto brochures. Sort of like killing the artist. What's new for 1946? I really like that column shift, don't you? And the Super Deluxe coupe is my fave. Better than the '65 Mustang.   1940s metal truck, hard rubber wheels, all working, press the little lever under the box to dump the load. They made lasting stuff in those days. What's left of the label on the front says - Another Ellwood Toy, Windsor, Can. I still like it. It's about 15 inches long. What else appeared in the forties?   Jiminy Cricket, of course!   Appearing in Disney's unforgettable Pinocchio in 1940. Voiced by Cliff Edwards singing,  "When You Wish Upon A Star"   Can we ever return to that innocence of  being thrilled to hear a cricket singing? Jeepers Creepers!

... and some of us bought those 46 Ford                                      Superdeluxe business coupes

That's my wish, Your wife, Jette. 

This postcard is priceless! My Grandpa died without me meeting him, yet Gramma remains as an image of gentleness who transferred her caring feelings to me. A woman of love. 

 Don't discard these things, they have infinite value to the soul.

Look At Me

Look at me.

Over here, at the edge of the trail,

look what I’ve done.

Changed myself.

I’m the little red maple leaf on the ground. Among the broken twigs and damp brown earth.

Well, I’m not just red, I think I am scarlet, or carmine, no one wants to be - just red,

I am vermillion.

I left my tree yesterday. I was free on the wind for such a short time. But it was enough.

Some were already here waiting, daring to go first. Others still cling up there against a graying sky.

My whole life flashed in those seconds as I floated dizzily down.

I was so beautiful in the spring, a dainty innocent green furl surrendering to the lusty gaze of the sun. Young and soft and fuzzy, fluttering in the breeze, embracing the sky. I felt welcome in the world. And as I grew into a perfect green leaf I shielded that little wren so she could bring out her family. There was a picnic once below me. Children laughing. It made me proud they had picked my tangled tree. And lovers one time, at dusk in summer watching the glow of the sky fade into shadow. The twilight soft as their breathing.

I was mature by then. Able to sense the changes around me, knowing my three season life was unfolding.

Look at me. I still have a purpose. To nourish my tree as much as a grandmother nourishes her grandchildren even as she has passed. A memory of things. Like a natural traveler passing on the trail regards the view of my tree in autumn splendor and places it in his soul for feeding later.

 I have been part of that too.

Look at me,

I have been green. And orange and red.

Vermillion.

I am.

Look at me.

© 2008 RC Westerholm

                                  Lil Beaver Motor makes it make things.

Kewl shoes too!

Can we store the glow of the sunset?

Yes we can ... it's called love.

Baseball Cards

(We used to sit in the bleachers and make a nuisance of ourselves, smoking and running around bothering everyone else. )

If you look under the Smilin Buddha Cabaret sign, you'll notice the Western Sports Centre is there.  Located on Hastings Street just west of Main Street. I once wrestled for that club as a teenager in the Fifties. Larry Ross, George Bunka and Ralph Casperson were my instructors. Earl Kalani was the owner, a wonderfully pleasant Hawaiian who never pressured any of us young men for our monthly dues!  All the successful boxers of the day trained at Western too, The Walters, Len and Jim, Bill Brenner.  Buddy Pearson and many Golden Gloves Champions. Exhibition sparring matches often had crowds of cigar puffing Runyonesque characters in suits and cash betting on the outcomes. Hastings St. wasn't so bad then.

Nick Mohamed won the Mr. Pacific Coast body building title there.

But the basement weight room was the domain of  Doug Hepburn. Lifting hundreds of pounds and breaking world records even before he was our Olympic Gold medalist and became known as the World's Strongest Man! We delighted in being able to try our best to punch his stomach without breaking our wrists. Gentle Doug just smiled at our feeble attempts. But I did get him to sign the back of that picture. The sweat and aura and memories of the Western Sports Centre will remain vivid images forever.

Collecting things - stamps - http://imagesoftheworld.org/stamps/collecting.htm

Wikipedia on collecting - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Category:Collecting

Big Little Books official website - http://www.biglittlebooks.com/

Felix the Cat website - http://www.felixthecat.com/

* Most items on this page are for sale - contact via email for info, prices and more close-up pictures.