Backstage at the Antiques Roadshow: A Tale of Two Shoes

When I opened the email from Oregon Public Broadcasting, offering one last chance to volunteer at a taping of the Antiques Roadshow at the Lane Event Center in Eugene, I thought it was SPAM.  (Note: story from 2011.)  I’d done PBS telethons in Portland during the 90’s and signed up again when I returned to Oregon in 2010; but I'd moved closer to Ashland so thought that was that.

This was one of those once-in-a-lifetime-opportunities and I wasn’t about to pass it up, despite being a starving artist.  I’d get there somehow. I, 'Yes, please'd immediately and received my handbook, release form and a map of the fairgrounds.  Mandatory volunteer orientation would be Friday evening, with Saturday's shift beginning at 6:30am and running all day.  The taping would be divided between 3 shows.  Unfortunately, cameras were not allowed inside during filming.

Volunteers would be allowed two items for appraisal.  I didn't have anything in my 16' trailer, so I asked Sis in N.J. to mail some of my stored jewelry and a Mizlou Sports poster from Dad’s old advertising business, slightly tattered. We’d be fed and given a blue polo shirt to wear and keep.  Comfortable shoes popped up in every communiqué:  "It’s going to be a long, but fun day."

I (was) 55 and in pretty good shape, but during the 12 years I was absent from Oregon I lived on my boat in Puerto Rico and shoes hurt my feet.  The starving artist reference is not just a joke; I was trying to accumulate enough to drive back & forth to Eugene (3 hrs one way) and hopefully a room for one night.  Buying shoes wasn’t in the budget, but Wednesdays are Senior’s Day at the local Goodwill so I decided to take a peek. 

1995

A brand new pair of white canvas Keds, no laces and a size-and-a-half too large, felt great for $2.99 minus 20%.  Plain shoelaces brought the total close to a gallon of gas, but as luck would have it, the afternoon’s mail brought an unexpected, “I know you’d do the same,” with a check from a friend in Washington who was unable to meet me in Eugene.  Bless her heart, the heat was off.  I stared at my sneakers.

I knew that once a spot got on my nice clean shoes it would make me nuts, so I considered how to 'mask' any stains or scuff marks.

White canvas screams for decoration; so why not paint Roadshow icons for different categories, and maybe leave space for some signatures?

It didn’t take me long to dive into the project, and once I added the beads to the laces on Friday morning, they were finished.

Friday’s orientation was from 4-6 pm.  I drove my 1990 F150 and stashed my things in a Springfield motel room.  Arriving early at Lane Center I signed in, picked up my shirt and people watched a bit. I guessed 95% of us to be at least my age; couples and friends were excitedly snapped one another’s photos.  Volunteer gigs always have affable, chatty people, and the room was buzzing while we read our programs and pigged on their refreshments.

I noticed the Keno Brothers weren’t among the list of furniture appraisers, darn; but there would be so many other familiar faces to spot.  As I looked around the rapidly filling room, I suddenly feared a friend’s teasing about my lack of facial-recognition might be true; for it seemed every table of volunteers had at least one familiar visage.  Get a grip, girl; it’s just jitters.

OPB’s Volunteer Coordinator introduced herself and several guests, including ARS Executive Producer Marsha Bemko.  Out of about 22,000 entries to attend the show, only 3,000 were selected in the lottery, 2 persons per.  One-hundred and eighteen blue-shirt volunteers and untold black-shirt crew would, as smoothly as possible, sort and herd humans with treasures from the entrance to their appraiser.

Guests were given specific times to appear, so we’d be hoppin’ all day. Some people will be disappointed with their answers, but whatever happens, the number one rule:  keep a smile on our faces.  No problem; I’d been grinning since I walked through the door. 

We were thanked, pumped and ultimately primed to determine our fates for the next 24 hours. There were several categories of volunteer work to choose from; each special and entertaining, none better than another.   Anything except an all-day runner was fine with me.

Wicked Witches mini gourds

65 were needed for the production set, but work may run a bit late.  Who’s interested?  Folks stood up all over; they were short one person, so I said I’d go. Good choice, the fellow whispered as I walked past him, through the door and into the Emerald City. (Note: Wicked Gourdaments available on Etsy.)

More choices.  One woman asked to hear the categories before we decided, but No, we’d never get out of there.  "Again, each is vital, they’re all interesting, and let’s begin."  I started staring at people’s athletic shoes as we were again warned to wear suitable footwear.   I hope I’m not crying by the end of the day.

Postings were announced; hands shot up, including mine, but time after time I wasn't selected.  It was becoming painfully reminiscent of grade-school gym class.  Dreadful at sports, it was usually down to me and the kid with Coke-bottle glasses.

“We need one person.  Who loves furniture?”

You could’ve heard "ME" in Seattle.  (My painting experience began with helping Dad refinish old furniture.)  My job would be to hand the front-of-the-line people off to the appraisers.  Cool.

Our group leader led us to the set.  Blue curtains were strategically placed to control the lines, with Volunteers positioned to help move the crowd along.  The set was divided into “Quads” of categories, each with a carpeted area for rotational filming.  Lights and cameras were everywhere, and we gawked while stepping over cords and around equipment.  There were a few more instructions, including the start time, and we were let go for the evening.

I hadn’t worn my shoes, I didn’t want to get them dirty; but I brought them along to ask about getting signatures. Pulling them out for a gal on the set, she led me to cameraman Chris, who took a few shots.  Everyone liked the shoes, and no one thought there would be a problem with approaching the Appraisers towards the end of the day’s taping, when it would be calmer.  I went back to my clean, budget room, tried on my new shirt and enjoyed cable TV for a change.

By 7am we were at our stations.  Each category was represented by one or more appraisers seated behind a long table, waiting for the next in line, like a bank. Furniture, however, was an entity unto itself, and several large pieces were already set up in the area. While reading the printed descriptions, I tried to act nonchalant as I eyed one appraiser after another.  Do I know that face?  Reception on the boat was iffy, and my travel trailer doesn’t get TV at all, so I’ve missed more shows than I’ve caught.  Will host Mark Walberg be here?  V.I.P.’s and press mingled with cast and crew.  I kept reminding myself to breath and concentrate.

A self-assured looking fellow sat down on one of the bar stools in our section.  I went over and smoothly asked, “Are you one of the furniture guys?”

“Yes.”

“I’m your furniture volunteer,” and we introduced ourselves. I  babbled, and then apologized for being annoying.  Brian Witherell said something nice about my enthusiasm; he had no idea.

Appraisers were chatting and joking with one another, so I left Brian to allow him an easy out; when all of a sudden Mark Walberg was walking in my direction.  He smiled at my hanging jaw, stopped and patiently waited while I formed my timid request,

“Would you please sign my shoes later?” 

Glancing down, he declared, “Those are great!  Why not now?  I’ve got a pen.”

While Mark decided where to sign, I briefly recounted a snippet from life on my trawler in Puerto Rico: how the Roadshow was one of the few programs I could watch; and how disappointed I was if Ruff Life was swinging in the wrong direction to receive a signal. Mark smiled, said, “Aren’t you sweet,” and gave ma a hug.  I floated back to my station.

(Note:  Mark was accompanied around the set by PBS exec, Paul Loofburrow, who took this photo and the one of me at the show, top. Paul remarked that I was quite lucky, for Mark W. didn't often give autographs (and P. wasn't about to take an unauthorized photo of the signing).  Paul very kindly emailed me the photos after the event.  As you see, Mark was indeed my first signature.)

Furniture was directly behind a filming area, and since it was a bit crowded already I was considering traffic control.   “Don’t worry, you’ll be on TV plenty,” a crew member said as I stared at the blue carpet, but that wasn't my thought - I was just hoping not to be caught with a stupid expression, or my shirt bunched up.

Gathered together for the pre-show rally, we formed a huddle and exploded with the familiar ROADSHOW!  Let the games begin.

Oregon’s weather cooperated beautifully for the guests waiting outside.  Deep inside, the visitors slowly trickled in, eyes sparkling as they gazed at their latest surroundings.

 “Are the Kenos here?”

  

No, I replied, but you’ll recognize these appraisers, too.  Look, there’s Karen Keane, ready to see you now.  Or John Solo in the suit; Andrew Holton, a fellow New Jerseyan with the bow tie; or Gary Sullivan, who resembles Bill Gates.

“Oh, I recognize them!”

Of course you do!  Have a great time!

By the time they got to me, guests had been directed from line to line and their weariness sometimes showed.  One woman said she was tempted to just leave, right then and there.

“You can’t do that, Ma’am!  You’re 10 feet from gold!”  In my batter’s box, this frustrated stand-up-comic suddenly had a captive audience. I’d show off my shoes, tell what I’d read about the furniture in the background, and encourage everyone to relax and look around.   I offered chairs to wobbly ladies, mints to people pre-interview, and jokes to folks with scowls. 

Asked directions towards their next item’s appraisal, I gently tried to explain that once finished with one category, it was necessary to go back out and wait in the next category’s line.  Expressions drooping, I countered with,

“This is a day of lines, people, but not everyone gets to do this.”

Nodding their heads, all agreed that attending was an opportunity they just couldn’t pass up and they were glad they’d come.  Even if the Kenos weren’t there.   I can honestly report that out of the entire day, only two people were just a smidge less than pleasant, but 99.9% of us had a fabulous time.

I left the appraisers alone for the most part, but whenever I did summon the courage to speak they were always friendly.  I rarely listened in on their appraisals; we were too busy, plus after all that waiting it should be a private time for the attendees, like a confessional.  Sure, I tried eavesdropping now and then, but I figured I’d just wait and hear about the primo pieces on TV like everyone else.

Logistics became a challenge whenever an Armoire passed a Piano, especially once the rotational filming began behind us.   “Try to avoid having people walk on the blue carpet while we’re shooting,” but of course that can’t always be helped, despite several volunteers exclusively charged with standing guard for the moving film crew.

We volunteers developed our own systems for signaling one another, from Macarena-like eye movements to flight-line gestures.  I tried holding up fingers to indicate how many more to advance, but that didn’t always work because it could be two highchairs or two hope chests; and a couple of times the signal was misconstrued.

Another common question was who decides what gets filmed?   The Producer.  Appraisers made their pitch to her, just as we’d make ours to them.  There are numerous qualifiers, including the possibility that a similar item, no matter how spectacular, has already been shown.

As I walked my own treasure to the sorting table, I smiled at the festival-like atmosphere in the hall.  Many had the forethought to bring folding seats and sustenance.  People were looking at one another’s items, laughing, telling stories.  It reminded me of waiting for rock concert tickets way back when. You couldn’t look anywhere without being captivated, and I was thrilled to be there.

My LeRoy Neiman poster signed by Arnold Palmer, even in pristine condition, was basically worthless, and my squash blossom necklace was about the same as I paid for it 24 years ago.  Tempted to prop my foot up on the table, I was afraid of startling an appraiser and attracting Security.  I also meant to turn my head and let the Tribal Arts expert take a look at my buckskin-beaded hairpiece (above), which drew loads of compliments during the day, but in my haste I forgot.  Probably just as well; I can save it for the next time.

By 7pm I was released from my duties, and it was time to gather what signatures I could.  The furniture line was finished and some of the appraisers had already scattered, but Brian and Andrew were happy to sign.

Neighboring gun guys Brad Witherell (Brian's dad) and Rafael Eledge cheerily obliged, then I went over to an appraiser standing with arms folded; known to viewers in part, I’m sure, for his booming voice, handlebar mustache and plaid suits.

“MADAM, I WILL SIGN MANY THINGS, BUT I WILL NOT SIGN YOUR FEET.”

I felt like Dorothy with the Wizard.  "No, not my feet, my shoes…see, Mark Wahlberg already has."  Worked every time.

“OH MY GOSH, THAT'S THE BEST THING I’VE SEEN ALL DAY,” Nicholas Lowry lied pleasantly.  He looked over each shoe before choosing a location.  As he signed, his associate kidded,

“We’ll probably be appraising those in 20 years!”  I should live so long.

My final stalking was toy man Noel Barrett, who still had people stacked deep, but took time for me as well.  I hope everyone realizes how much all this means to we little people.

My shoes were so comfortable, I’m buying Hobbit-size from now on.  As usual, things always work out better than I can plan. I completely forgot about the Feedback Booth; that was a missed opportunity, darn it. But I had a terrific time, and encourage people to volunteer themselves.  The three Eugene, Oregon episodes are part of Season 16, available to watch on PBS Passport or Amazon.  So while you may not see my face during the shows, you just may see my shoes!

ADDENDUM:  September 2025:  This experience occurred prior to  this blog but I never posted a proper story here.  At the time, I did submit a piece to my local paper, which was one of my earliest publications. Unfortunately, the paper shut down years ago, but here is a link to the article.  And then, after being published, I returned to Goodwill to show off my shoes and paper; where they asked to display them for awhile.  Small towns.