The Gray Areas

Still busy, but making progress, enough to take a moment and finish one controversy before I start another. So here’s that other thing I bought recently that you may or may not recognize, from that same seller I bought a couple of other “questionable” models from, and who very well may block me from bidding on items in the future after talking about this:

This Merrylegs was sold as a “Custom” and I suppose technically she is, but in the same way that a lot of Marney Test Colors from the 1980s were: being something painted (or touched up) at the factory using factory paint by someone who wasn’t directly employed by the factory. 

She was advertised on eBay as such because she has the dated signature of her painter, D’arry Frank:

D’arry was a good friend of Marney’s and sometimes accompanied her to the factory in Chicago to also paint things. Even though these models now exist in a kind of “gray area”, the powers-that-were at Breyer at the time gave them the same consideration – and sometimes, moreso – as the Tests and Variations created by the hourly or contracted employees.

The rationale for that being that hobbyists are going to try and paint things that they – and other hobbyists – wanted to buy.

Yes, this is a rather long-winded way of saying that she’s a Vintage Test Color, however we choose to define them. And even if I accepted the original explanation, it would still be a win for me, because I have wanted a custom by D’arry since the mid-1980s anyway!

The real question now is whose collection is this, really? This was clearly someone who knew what they were doing. And a seller (or assistant) who doesn’t quite.

(Still doesn’t make up for the Performance Horse, but water over the bridge, yadda-yadda…)

Identifying Marney Tests

How do you identify a so-called “Marney Test”, a Test Color either created or rescued by famous hobbyist and Breyer Consultant Marney Walerius? It’s both more, and less complicated than you might think!

Marney worked for Breyer in some capacity from the late 1960s through the 1980s, so they are limited to molds produced in that period. Many also have a little provenance: some of Marney’s Test Color photo albums and sales/auction lists still exist. There is definitely little chance of two or more of this gal existing anywhere, for instance:

She also tended to favor certain colors and models. The Hess Stock Horses (see above) were a favorite, as were Adios and Sham. Paint jobs were often (but not always!) pretty basic – lots of solid colors, with minimal markings – and limited to the paint palette they had on hand. 

A lot of them were simple (or not so simple) variations of colors and color schemes that eventually went into production; whether they were preproduction pieces or things that were cobbled from flawed production models is usually unanswerable.

I have a feeling this girl was an early preproduction of the eventual Black Appaloosa Regular Run release, possibly to more closely match the Bay Appaloosa Stallion, but that is just a guess on my part based on her raised hoof.

Marney frequently did the retouching herself, so some of them could probably be classified as “Factory Customs” today, but the question is moot, since most of them are not going to set the showing world on fire. 

(But I love her, regardless. If you know where she is, drop me a line!)

Context is also important. Unless they’re found within the collections of former hobbyists, most random Test Colors found “in the wild” are probably Employee Take-Homes, especially if they’re found within a certain radius of Chicago. Things were pretty casual back then, in every sense of the word; almost anyone could take a little something home from the factory, and they often did. 

A Very Brief Report From Your Ambassador to Another Planet

Here is the extremely condensed summary of my Chicon 8 report, in the style of Grant Morrison’s All-Star Superman:

• Made friends.
• Forged alliances. 
• Plotted the destruction of my enemies.
• Partied like a rockstar. 

I had a wonderful time, and I wish (more of) you could have made it. A bigger and better report of the trip will be posted in a couple of days, after my ears stop ringing and the laundry gets washed.

(And also: I will neither confirm nor deny that there may be video of me dancing somewhere on the Internet.)

The Spanish Fighting Bull

(It appears that I am having some profound technical difficulties with my computer, yet again. I will spare you the details, but it took me two hours to edit a picture for this post today, which normally takes me about two minutes.)

First, two notes.

One: The Gold Elephant currently on eBay looks like a fake to me, and not a very good one either. Aside from the gold paint looking too bright and pristine, the footings of models from the 1950s through the 1980s were rarely that neat and clean.  

As for the price, some hobbyists have a far higher tolerance for risk than others. 

Two: Yes, I am aware of the Black Appaloosa Pony of the Americas on MHSP, and I am not going to put in an offer. While I am more confident of that item’s authenticity and I am not entirely uncomfortable with the starting price, I am emotionally tapped out right now.  

We’re also just entering the “silly season” of Web Specials, Holiday Promotions and Year-End Sales Events, and I have no doubt that even crazier things are upon us, if that’s even imaginable.

Moving on to the Spanish Fighting Bulls I mentioned previously, here are “The Boys”:

As you can see, one has distinctly painted light gray hooves, and the other has solid black ones. This doesn’t mean that one is significantly older and/or more valuable than the other: with the #73 Spanish Fighting Bull, whether or not he had black or gray hooves was a matter of who was assigned to paint him. 

The Spanish Fighting Bull sold moderately well – he was in production from 1970 through 1985 – and even though the mold itself was more complex than many other Breyer Bulls, he also came with a fairly simple Solid Black paint job.

But as I’ve said many times before, quality control at the Chicago factory was a variable thing, and sometimes painters took shortcuts to make production quotas. Details like subtly different hoof colors would be the first to go.

Aside from the hoof color, the other two significant variations of the Black Spanish Fighting Bull include the Presentation Collection piece, and the Chalky Era releases with Gray Plastic horns. Like most Presentation pieces, the former is quite rare, and the latter somewhat less so. 

You’ll also very rarely see examples with unpainted ears; they were separately molded pieces attached to the horns and – in the case of the original Black – often weren’t attached until after the body color was painted. That’s why many of them have horns that appear to be very cleanly masked. 

The ears would have then been painted with the same paint used to finish the horn tips, but if that step somehow got skipped or missed, sometimes so would the ears!

My original Spanish Fighting Bull is currently in storage, but I think the gray-hooved variation here might be an upgrade. It’ll be a few weeks before I get around to digging him out and I know for sure.

The Chicago Radius

Here’s one of the things I’ve bought during my recent shopping binge:

It’s a really, really nice Cull of the Appaloosa Gelding!

So nice, in fact, I kind of wonder what made him a “Cull” in the first place? The very slightly splotchy left eye? The tiny bit of flashing on his barrel? The rougher than average seams?

If you were a child of the 1970s or 1980s, receiving New in Box Breyers with these kinds of flaws was not unusual, and I often received some that looked far worse.

I am presuming here that this was simply a nicer than average Employee “Take Home”. “Take Homes” were models that Breyer employees took home, as a perk of the job, usually as gifts to children or other family members.

(Things were definitely more lax back then!)

Most of the time these Take-Homes were some flavor of Cull – either deliberately set aside, or pulled from the Cull bin – though occasionally you’ll see a Regular Run model that’s a little bit “off”: the markings might not be quite right, black points might have been added to an otherwise Chestnut model, or not added at all to something that was supposed to be Bay.

Or maybe it didn’t pass some sort of arbitrary quality check – something that was also more lax back then! I could easily imagine that this guy passed through the production process, only to get pulled just before packing and shipping because someone finally noticed that his halter was unpainted.

And sometimes that didn’t happen, either.

So what I am saying is that all this speculation could be so much poppycock, and he could have been bought off the shelf this way, and where he came from could have been a complete coincidence.

Generally I’ve found that most Culls and other Chicago Era Oddballs haven’t wandered too far from Chicago. And I’ve had enough experience finding these sort of oddballs to think there’s a better than average chance that he’s a Cull or Take-Home.

What I am saying is: any odd-looking, pre-1985 Breyer horse found for sale within a three-hour driving radius of Chicago – I sometimes refer to it as “The Chicago Radius” – has a pretty good chance of being one.

(For your information, I live a couple hours beyond The Chicago Radius. However, I do live in an area was blessed with a surfeit of independent toy and hobby stores.)

They Find You

Another thing that was entirely predictable: after telling myself and the world that I’m trying to cut back on buying horsey stuff for the duration, I find a box lot of 1970s-era body quality models at the Salvation Army literally the next day:

It really does seem like I plan this sort of thing! But I swear to Vita that I didn’t.

The first thought I had when I found them was “When I stop looking for horses, the horses come looking for me.” (For what it’s worth, I was there looking for clothes and shoes for work. I swear.)

The worst part, though, was when the cashier made the comment “Boy, these horses are selling like hotcakes!”

OMG, there were more? 

Anyway, as you can see, they’re mostly models from the mid- to late 1970s, or basically my prime horse-crazy years. These were the kinds of models I then aspired to owning – in better condition, of course.

Their previous owner once thought very highly of them too – many of these horses have glossed hooves, and the Bay Proud Arabian Foal was at one point decapitated (accidentally, I presume) but repaired.

Most of the models from this era had extended production runs, and all of the models here are definitely body quality, so the likelihood that I missed something awesome is rather slim.

The only thing that really bothers me is that there might have missed some cool variations: while  collectively quite common, models from that time period have a reputation for variations. Things like random socks, funky dappling, and dramatic body shading can turn a body quality model into a shelf sitter right quick.

I try to comfort myself with the thought that at the time I got there and the day of the week I went shopping, any of the other models that sold before I arrived went to the grandparents of horse-crazy preteens.

And if those models help inspire a love of Breyer models from that era with the younger set, I’m all for it.

Anyway, most of these guys will be heading to the body sales box. The Galiceno is tempting and I’ve seen a couple of really neat Fantasy customs on the Classic Andalusian Stallion, but I don’t have time to finish the customs I’ve already started, much less start more. Then again, by the time I have time to start selling things again, my creative calendar might be clear too.

In the meantime, my extended weekend will be spent cleaning the house, the office and the garden. Finishing at least one quilting project would be great too, if I can manage.

Brown Rin Tin Tin Variation

On the left is a standard issue #64 Rin Tin Tin from the 1950s or 1960s. On the right is the re-release #327 “German Shepherd” from the early 1970s.  But who’s the mostly-brown guy in the middle?

Heck if I know!

Normally I’d just chalk him up as a later variation of the original Rin Tin Tin, with looser, less defined markings. The #64 Rin Tin Tin ran for about ten years (from ca. 1956 through 1965), and variations are not unusual in production runs that long.

My fellow on the left is the most common variant – dark saddle and tail, white chest, face and tail tip – but I’ve seen him lighter and darker, with more shading and less, with pink tongues and red. I’ve even seen a Chalky one!

The thing is that this brown one was being sold as a part of a collection that was obviously from a collector active in the Chicago area during the Chicago era (pre-1985).

Whenever something a little unusual is found under those circumstances, it makes you wonder if there’s more than meets the eye. Test Color? Oddity? Employee Take-Home?

I know there’s at least one Matte Brown German Shepherd floating around; the 1972 and 1973 Collector’s Manuals show a photograph of a light brown one, and one was listed in Marney’s estate sale in 1992 (though the list doesn’t specify if it was Matte or Gloss).

In spite of the fact that Breyer was phasing out Gloss finishes by then, they still continued to experiment with them on Test Colors in the early 1970s.

So it’s possible that there’s something more than meets the eye with my newest Rin Tin Tin.

Most likely not, though; too many of us automatically assume that whenever we run across something we haven’t seen before, it must automatically be something rare, or unusual. Sometimes it’s just something we haven’t run across before – nothing more, nothing less.

He does make a nice trio with my other two though, doesn’t he?

Another Oddball Stud Spider

Something short today. Work’s been running late this week and my brains feel like mashed potatoes right now.

In spite of my best intentions, I bought a horse this week. You can totally see why:

It’s a Stud Spider with two socks!

Like the #48 Black Morgan, the original Stud Spider release was prone to variations. I’ve seen multiple blanket variations, gray hooves, black hooves, missing stars, and oh goodness, the socks.

Right fore sock, left fore sock, four actual socks, no socks at all? Seen them all before, and own most of them. And now, another! As with the Morgan, an alarming number of Stud Spiders variations have turned up on my doorstep over the years. Few are turned away.

Most variations from the right front sock “norm” were incidental, occurring randomly within day-to-day production. (The four-sock version was allegedly a one-day production error.) They show up in the market with varying frequency; the left front sock variation seems to be the least difficult among them to find.

This two stocking combo is something I haven’t seen – or even had heard of – before. That’s saying something, coming from me.

It’s possible that he was some sort of Chicago factory employee “Take-Home” model. I have good reason to suspect it: it’s from the same Chicago-area seller on eBay who recently sold that oddball Palomino Family Arabian Mare with the Black mane and tail for over $1000.

That particular kind of oddball is actually semi-common: it seems to have been a thing back for employees back then to touch up botched Palominos Culls into quasi-Buckskins. Or even as production salvage jobs: every once and a great while I see a “Bay” Grazing Mare or Foal that suspect started life as a Palomino.

(“If we put black points on this we can totally pass this off as a Bay, right?”)

Semi-Gloss Buffalo

Another recent addition to the family:

A Semi-Gloss – or Glossy, depending on who’s looking – Buffalo, with pink hand painted nostrils and lips.

He has a few condition issues, but he’s got a great provenance: he (and his brother) were a part of that odd stash of models from Chicago that sold on eBay a little while ago. Back when most of them were still being listed in smaller batches or even individually – and thus somewhat affordable to the likes of me.

All of the listed models appear to have been manufactured prior to 1966/7, and from some of the oddities and anomalies that were visible in the photos – and later in person, via my purchases – it’s apparent that this collection was that of a former employee or jobber.

These were not your run-of-the-mill mid-1960s Breyers!

These Buffaloes have all the indicators of being really early releases, including the absence of a USA mark and the Semi-Gloss/Gloss finish. Since the Buffalo debuted in 1965, it is most likely that they are simply first-batch runs, but the circumstances in which they were found raises the possibility that they might be Photographic Samples, Salesman’s Samples or even (though most unlikely) Test Colors.

The more time I spend examining my purchases (including a Jumping Horse and a couple of Poodles) the more I regret not upping my bids on the ones I lost. Clearly there was an interesting story here I would have loved to uncover, but the seller was either unwilling or unable to offer more.

And certainly I couldn’t afford more – especially the giant lot that was thrown together after the first batch, consisting of all the previously unpaid lots and a Donkey sporting a yellow(!) Elephant’s Howdah tossed on top: a gold-plated maraschino cherry on one of the most expensive sundaes ever.

Auctions like that make me wish I could somehow structure a small hobby history syndicate to keep the collection in situ long enough to research, photograph and document it, before releasing it back into the wild.

It wouldn’t work for a number of reasons (trying to imagine the custody battle over that Donkey alone, yikes!), but the history that gets lost when collections like that are sold like that keep me up at night wondering what if…

Missed Opportunities

I must confess I’m feeling a bit burnt out, Breyer-wise: the Chicago trip was a big emotional drain, and in the past few days all I’ve wanted to do is watch cartoons and make quilts.

The Internet chatter is not helping my mood: it sounds like a lot of people are about fifteen minutes away from declaring the Chicago event an “Epic Fail”.

It was flawed, yes, but I wouldn’t go that far. I wasn’t party to any of that discussion, but the event felt like it had some issues from the get go.

The Special Run situation is the one getting the most discussion, and it certainly could have been handled better. Issuing them in equal quantities (80 each?) would have tempered the obvious resale motives that were in evidence during the sale on Sunday.

I actually liked most of the Specials: this was meant as a hobbyist-centric event, so I was expecting a nerdier-than-average selection. I had suspected that we’d be seeing the Family Arabians again in some form, so I was very pleased to see the Mare and Foal set “Addison and Clark”.

Can’t get any nerdier than that! (Okay, I’ll spot you the Modernistic Buck and Doe. And Benji and Tiffany, too.)

We haven’t seen either of those two molds as a production item since 1997’s Galena and Julian. Is this a hint, perhaps, that we’ll be seeing more of these two in the near future? I hope so.

From the somewhat dismissive tone of the discussion on Friday night, assumed that I’d actually be able to get the ones I wanted, regardless of my position in line. My first choices were among the less popular: the Family Arabian set (of course!), and the Appaloosa Performance Horse “Ferris”.

What struck me most about the event, though, weren’t the models but the missed opportunities: first and foremost, the reasons why the location was so significant to the model horse hobby in the first place.

Chicago is the “birthplace” of the Breyer Molding Company. It was also the home of Model Horse Congress, the BreyerFest-before-BreyerFest held by Marney Walerius, the first among us to work in a semi-official capacity for the company. The modern hobby, essentially, was born there.

Outside of a single bus trivia question, there was no acknowledgment of Breyer’s connection to Chicago. Heck, we weren’t even anywhere in the vicinity of Chicago. The only connections the event seemingly had to Chicago were the names of the models themselves. That seemed very strange to me, especially as a history-oriented hobbyist.

The resources were available. There are still plenty of us from the “Chicago Factory” days around to assist, if needed be. We could have pointed out some of the sites of hobby-historical interest, provided a slideshow, wrangled some of local hobby celebrities out of their retirements, or even just serve as raconteurs or tour guides.

I could go on; I won’t. I don’t regret going: I made the most of the opportunity and had a good time, for the most part. Things went more right than wrong; the biggest sticking points with many attendees – the model selections, and the food – were not an issue with me at all. The Dancing Horses trip thing was cheesy, but we still had fun with it; I just imagined that it would have been exactly the kind of thing nine-year-old me would have eaten up with a spoon.

Whether I go to another one of these events will depend on the circumstances. A lot of things had to happen to make this happen, and I’m not sure if that can be replicated.

As far as getting the models I wanted…

Like about 25 percent of the attendees, I found myself consigned to the back of the line where our choice was limited to the Glossy Dapple Gray Desatado, or the Glossy Dapple Gray Desatado. When you price the highest piece run item (144 for the Desatado Four Stars) the same as the lowest piece run item (50 for the Make a Wish Burnham) that’s what’s going to happen.

We tried to make the best of the situation by spinning it as an opportunity to handpick: one of mine was a little darker than average, and is quite lovely in person. Nevertheless, he was my fifth choice of the five.

I still had the Mustang (Beautiful!) and the Stablemate (Blue Roan Appaloosa, yes!) and lots of wonderful memories to go with them. I figured it was just my special kind of luck again that would tease me with special runs seemingly designed to my quirky specifications, and put them just out of my reach.

Then a lovely thing happened. One of the many beautiful souls among us offered to trade her Addison and Clark for one of my Desatadoes. She couldn’t bear to see my sad face, she said.

I thanked her over and over then, and I thank her again here, in public: you are the kind of hobbyist I like to think we are all capable of being.

And one of the reasons I stick with the hobby, in spite of the grief it sometimes dishes out. Just little griefs, they are; as they say, you can’t have a rainbow without a little rain.

This Year's Trip to Chicago

So, that happened, as some of you may have guessed from the previous two posts, and from some of you actually seeing me there (or even gossiping about me as I walked by, at one point. That was weird!)

Anyway, I kept it on the down low mostly because I wanted to treat it as a vacation-vacation, rather than have it turn into the working vacation that BreyerFest has become.

It worked wonderfully as a vacation – the hanging out with friends part, especially – but as a Breyer event, maybe not as much.

There were some great parts (sipping champagne and eating fancy cheeses during the Lipizzan performances, the impromptu “product development” meeting on the Orange Bus, the kindness and generosity of some of my fellow hobbyists) and some not so great parts (being in the back of my Special Run line and getting “Double Desatadoed”, the rushed nature of the Saturday night party, no acknowledgement of how adorable we all were in our party outfits).

The griping about the centerpiece model – a pearly dapple gray Roemer – got to me enough that I had to restrain myself from yelling “If any y’all don’t want him, I’d be happy to take him off your hands.”

Even a model like Roemer has his fans; until that night I had some hopes of completing my collection this year. One of my roommates was lucky enough to win one, so I got to touch/fondle/sniff him, at least.

Ah well, I’ll always have my Bay Pinto Test.

I’ll go into greater detail about the whole thing next week; I’m still trying to sort my feelings out about it. And catch up on my sleep, too.

The First Trip to Chicago, Part Two

The next day, during a lull in the action and without a lot of fanfare, Marney strolled in with a couple boxes of Test Colors. Every hobbyist in the room, including those who I had thought incapable of moving without motorized transport, immediately leapt up and ran towards those boxes with arms outstretched.

I think the Traditionals were 40 dollars and the smaller scales and Foals were 20: I grabbed an Action Stock Horse Foal in Splash Spot Black Leopard Appaloosa, not just because he was more affordable than a standard Traditional, I had seen nothing else like him, ever. I had to have him!

We were allowed one Test Color, regardless of size and No Exceptions, so when the feeding frenzy was over, stray Tests remained, including some all-black Little Bits Unicorns and Shams in various states of Bay. Every time I see one of those Shams on eBay – I’ve seen several over the years, going for sometimes silly prices – I just laugh. Those were the leftovers.

I can’t recall if it was that day, or the next that Marney told us we could visit her house, and peruse the models she had stored in her garage, too.

Michelle and I hitched a ride with Cheryl Greene: we soon found ourselves sliding around on the bench seat of Cheryl’s pickup, as she dodged in and out of rush hour traffic like Steve McQueen. In addition to the lack of seatbelts, the suspension on her truck was shot, so we were bouncing, jiggling, and giggling (both in anticipation, and fear) the entire way to Marney’s house.

We were the first vehicle to pull into her driveway, which probably shouldn’t have surprised me.

The door opened, and Marney’s Miniature Schnauzer DeeDee ran out to inspect us, followed by who I assumed was Marney’s mom. DeeDee paid particular attention to me, giving me a stern look and short bark: we had just gotten our Miniature Schnauzer Spike earlier than year, so I assumed this extra greeting was to acknowledge that I smelled like a Schnauzer.

Whether that was acceptable or not to her, I was not sure.

Other cars quickly pulled in, including Marney’s. The door to the garage opened slowly, revealing – oh, just the dream of every model horse collector everywhere. It was an entire garage full of horses: bins, boxes, barrels and sheer piles of them. There were pieces of models, finished models, culls, things that she had touched up or altered in some way.

And at least one full drum of Stablemates, that I promptly plunged my arms in as far as I could reach, scratches be damned. Because why wouldn’t I?

After we had made our purchases, and found ourselves shooting the breeze outside (“You know what Breyer needs to make? A Missouri Fox Trotter!”) Marney offered us a very brief sneak peek into her collection.

All I remember clearly were two things: a transparent Belgian, sitting on one of her higher shelves, and a box about half the size of a refrigerator filled to the very top with models, some of which (all of which?) may have been Test Colors. I remember a resist-dappled Chestnut Foundation Stallion, sitting on top of the pile.

I often wonder where he ended up.

Sunday morning came, and it was time to leave. I made my goodbyes, paid my hotel bill, called the cab, and waited outside for it arrive.

And waited. And waited. I began to worry that I wouldn’t make it to the train station on time. In fact, for the first time during the whole trip I actually began to panic.

In frustration, I threw my wallet down, and it burst open. The money fanned out, and I momentarily stared at it in awe: I had sold enough extra models – and somehow managed my money well enough – that I was coming home with more money than I had started.

I did get to the station on time, but the stress was not over: before I could get the last box on the train, the doors closed and the train began pulling out of the station. The conductor made it a point to visit me after that last box was loaded and the train restarted, to see the girl who had momentarily stopped his train.

I was wearing my Wayne State University T-shirt that day; an older couple of fellow commuters noticed it, and struck up a conversation with me. Either one of them or a family member were alumni, and they were so pleased to see someone with a shirt from the school they recognized, so far from home.

When we got to Chicago, they helped me carry my bags and boxes to the Amtrak station, saving me the stress of another cab drive. I wish I could remember their names; I will always remember their kindness.

The rest of the trip was trouble-free. I may have slept most of the way home. I deserved it: I made it all the way to Chicago and back, and I even made a little money for my effort!

Anyway, that’s not all of it, but that’s most of it. Some details are undoubtedly misremembered, and the days blended together so some of the timing is also off. I ended up going to Model Horse Congress two subsequent years, and some of the memories of those may have drifted into this one. (Was it that year, or another, than a famous hobbyist got into an argument with a parrot in the Holidome?)

But now I hope, in this rambling and imperfect account, you can catch a glimpse somewhere in it of why the hobby was and is so important to me. Thirty years ago, and now.

Versta?

Versta.

It’s just another way to say I love you.

The First Trip to Chicago, Part One

It was a birthday present.

It was also the first time I had ever been on a vacation by myself, without the company of friends, family or schoolmates. I had fantasized about going to Model Horse Congress for years: prior to BreyerFest, Model Horse Congress was THE MODEL HORSE EVENT of the year.

But the most important part was that it was a vacation by myself: many of our previous family trips had me questioning the entire notion of vacations being “enjoyable”, and I wanted to see if it could be.

I had a driver’s license, but I lived at school at the time, and barely drove. I had too much stuff to fly, so I had to go by train.

We arrived 28 minutes before the scheduled departure time, at the Amtrak station in Dearborn. I remember this vividly, because apparently you had to arrive at least 30 minutes ahead of time to allow for the loading of your luggage. The person at the ticket counter was adamant that they weren’t going to let me check my bags and boxes – because I was two minutes “late”.

I was speechless. Dad was not: he made a fuss, in the polite but slightly snarky way that he could, and my bags and boxes were loaded.

The trip there was otherwise uneventful. I brought along a book to read – Mary Stewart’s The Last Enchantment – and when I wasn’t reading that, I watched the southern Michigan countryside roll by. For lunch I went to the food car, and bought a hot dog and a chocolate Danish. Two little boys across the aisle were playing with their Masters of the Universe figurines, including (I could smell him!) the notorious Stinkor.

There was a brief bit of panic when I entered Chicago, finally: how on Earth was I going to get to the hotel, which was a Holiday Inn in Rolling Meadows?

I had to find a way to get to the commuter train, obviously.

The people at the station in Chicago told me I that that station was a couple blocks away. I could hoof it, or take a cab. Since I had too many boxes to lug, a cab it was.

That was… probably not the world’s best first experience with a cab. I won’t elaborate, because I honestly can’t remember: at the end of it, the driver basically left me and all my stuff in the middle of the street. Somehow I managed to get myself and all my stuff situated on the train and on my way to Palatine, the closest station to the hotel.

The second experience by cab was a more pleasant one. While I don’t remember this cabdriver’s name, unlike Ahmad he was talkative and cheerful. When I told him what my plans were – a toy horse convention, and we showed them just like real horses! – he made a few affirmative noises, as if he actually understood what I was talking about. Marney had made sure that the hobby had gotten enough press in the Chicago area that it might have actually been the case.

He then motioned to our right. “You see that big black cloud over there?” It was indeed huge; it took up most of the sky. “That’s Arlington Park, burning to the ground.” I mentally crossed that off the list of non-Congress things I thought I might get a chance to do.

The Holiday Inn was a Holiday Inn, nothing terribly noteworthy about it. I walked into my room – on the third floor, of course – and before I had a chance to open or unload anything, the phone rang. It was Dad.

“Did you get there alright? Your mother is worried.”

“I’m fine. I just got here.” I wondered how he had managed to get the phone number of the hotel and time the call just so; I suspected he had called the hotel earlier and told them to call back when I checked in. You know, to check in on the daughter taking her first big trip out of town, by herself.

“You be careful, now. Versta?” Ever since I was very, very small, Dad had always punctuated our little talks with that word. I had assumed, back then, that it meant I love you.

It was only later that I learned what this word was, and what it really meant: it was a Flemish word he had probably picked up from his Belgian grandfather.

Do you understand/do you hear me? 

“Versta.”

I went out on the small balcony, and noticed an unopened can of Old Milwaukee beer sitting on the ledge, which I thought was an odd but not unwelcome gift. Looking down, I noticed two fellow Michigan hobbyists – Sue Maxwell and Linda Leach – unloading their car. Their room was just down the hall from mine.

After they had settled in, they invited me to go visit Marney Walerius – the showholder and the hobby legend! – with them. She had a room on the first floor, near the show hall. When we arrived, the room was full of other hobbyists as well, some of them I had only heard of in my newsletters, or Just About Horses.

They were swapping stories and pictures, and gossip. Even though I considered myself a relative unknown then, I never felt unwelcome; in fact, I finally felt as though I had finally found my home. I even managed to sell someone my spare Calico Kitten, which I had just recently upgraded via the local flea market.

I was showing Novice the next day, and my table was next to the Bentley Sales Company’s table. The biggest fuss was about the Congress Special Run, a beautiful light flaxen chestnut Proud Arabian Mare. There were plenty of her to go around, though (288 of them, in a giant cardboard bin, no less) so my attention turned to the mixed boxes of models, loosely wrapped in bags, fresh from the recent cleanout of the Chicago factory. I dove in, pulling out a couple of Test Colors, some oddities, and some unpainted things.

These were my first genuine Test Colors and oddities, and I have them still. No model in those bins cost me more than six dollars, but this was also back when Traditionals cost less than twenty. The Special Run Proud Arabian Mare was only 11.99, herself.

Later that day, Marney asked me if I could accommodate a roommate who was arriving that afternoon by bus, and of course I said yes. Aside from leaving me with more money to spend, why wouldn’t I want to help a fellow hobbyist?

We ended up spending the night talking comic books: Batman, Jonah Hex, the Legion of Super-heroes. It was strange and wonderful, and we got along perfectly. Michelle is the reason why, even today, I tend to believe that even hobbyists who are strangers to me can and will be good roommates. We share more in common than we do with a lot of our family members, so why shouldn’t we?

I did only modestly well at the show; contrary to some reports you might hear elsewhere, I was not raking in the awards. My Collector’s Class entry did garner some attention from Peter Stone himself, who chuckled and pointed at my Modernistic Gold Doe; apparently there had been a funny story about how Breyer acquired those molds, but I only caught a few fragments of that conversation, none of which made any sense until years later, when I finally did the follow up research.

It may have also been that day – I can’t remember which, specifically – that Peter had brought a box of the latest Just About Horses, fresh from the printer. We all excitedly leafed through them, and I nearly fell over when I noticed that it was the issue where they published my very first article: “The Ethics of Repainting”.

I was my first real experience with being model-horse-famous!

The show wrapped up early that day – very unusual, then as now – and at the end of the day there were just a handful of us in the now cavernous show hall. I was talking to Michelle and made a comment about how my penpal – and fellow hobbyist – Erica said she might be here, but I hadn’t gotten the latest letter from her before I left.

One girl behind us turned around and said “Are you talking about me?” It was her!

Roots

Lots of news the past few days…

If you haven’t heard by now, the BreyerFest program was released earlier this week; if you download it now, though, you’ll notice the auction page is missing.

Apparently, in the first iteration of the PDF, all they did with that page was cover it with an opaque white picture box, and on some computers it wasn’t always the first item on that page to load – thus revealing all the auction models, even the “mystery” ones.

I won’t reveal them here, but you shouldn’t have too much trouble locating them…elsewhere. (Think of it as a Treasure Hunt!) All I’ll say is one of them fits with some of the recent speculation of who the Surprise SR might be.

The program also revealed that the piece counts for the two known “souvenir shop” Specials – Art Nouveau (500), and the Caves of Lascaux (650). I was expecting Lascaux to be a bit higher; I am not thrilled with that, but I’ll deal. There doesn’t seem to be a Souvenir Shop Stablemate listed in the program, but I’m not counting it out, yet.

The Sweet Home Chicago promos went up on the Breyer web site too. While it is a one-ticket-per-person deal as we suspected, it’s by drawing and not first-come, first-served. The model is a Vintage one – the rearing Traditional Mustang – in a very modern paintjob, a beautiful matte silver bay:

My luck on these kinds of drawings has been pretty spotty, so it’s another thing that’ll have to go in the “can’t worry about it” file. The only thing working to my advantage here is that a lot of hobbyists aren’t willing to travel alone, if need be, if their pre-arranged partners aren’t also selected.

Except for a few rare cases, I have almost always traveled to model horse events alone. I don’t want to get too deep into the personal details here, but it’s just been easier that way; most of my closest model horse friends are not physically close, and my other friends and family are beyond disinterested.

One time I did pick up someone locally it did work out great, but most of the time it’s ended up feeling awkward and weird. 

Some people are kvetching that this set-up is not fair to couples, but look: there’s no way to make everything fair all the time for everyone. Many of these Exclusive Events were pairs-only, and disadvantaged the singletons.

And let’s be honest, here, it’s about time there was an event that catered to us lonesome oddballs. That’s how hobbies get started: it’s when these lonesome oddballs find each other, and make a second family from it.

For an event that celebrates the founding of one of the companies that helped make this hobby exist, it only seems appropriate that the event would harken back to the hobby’s roots. 

(And really guys, take my scary roommate stories with a grain of salt. Most of them aren’t even in the hobby anymore – or likely to even enter for such an event.)

Chicago

For the record, I will be trying my darndest to get to Breyer’s "Sweet Home Chicago" Exclusive Event this year. It’s within a reasonable driving distance, and I already potential traveling companions if need be. There was some business I wanted to conduct in Breyer’s "ancestral homeland" anyway, so the trip could turn into an extended weekend for me.

I sort of suspected that Chicago was going to be the location this time around, with Reeves celebrating Breyer’s 65th Anniversary this year. It’s also an anniversary for me, of sorts: it was 30 years ago that I attended Model Horse Congress, in the Chicago suburbs.

For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, it was like a combination of BreyerFest and NAN, organized almost completely by hobbyists, for hobbyists. It was my first vacation out-of-town, without my family.

It was wonderful, beautiful and terrifying. I’ll get around to writing about it here, someday.

While I’m sure they’ll try to incorporate a drive-by of the original factory for the Event, there probably won’t be much to see there. The building is nondescript, there hasn’t been a horse in the place in nearly 30 years, and it’s not like we’ll see the ghostly shadows of models past painted on the walls or fragments of Woodgrains embedded in the pavement.

It’d be nice if we could get a historical marker or plaque, but I think we have a better shot at either organizing a National Model Horse Day, or getting "Breyer Horses" inducted into the Toy Hall of Fame.

It’s about darn time that there was an Event in this part of the country, though. In the hobby’s earliest days, the Midwest was the hub of the hobby, with Model Horse Congress being The Event. Not having had an "Exclusive Event" there in more modern times was starting to feel weird. Sure, BreyerFest is in Kentucky, and not all that hard to get to for Midwesterners, but this is a different class of thing.

The rumor going around is that the tickets may be sold individually rather than in pairs. It’s based on some vague wording in the original announcement on the web site:

"The event will be limited to 200 Collectors Club members…"

I certainly hope this is the case. Another one of my sticking points with these Events is the "two-by-two" rule on ticket buying: it effectively shuts out all of us singletons who don’t have family members as reliable back ups.

In an Event that exclusive, I’d rather have a higher percentage of the attendees actually be hobbyists. This isn’t like BreyerFest or any other convention where capacity isn’t that big an issue. The guest list is limited, and The Event is The Event: being able to wander off and do your own thing is not a part of the package.

Whether I actually get a ticket (or tickets), though, is another issue entirely. Ironically, if they do open up the tickets to individual sales, they may sell out faster than the pairs. My work schedule changed recently, and after what happened with the last Event, I’m a little fearful that I might not be online when the announcement is made.

I’ll just have to worry about it when the time comes. I have enough to worry about now.