Relentlessly rusty and rural, Iowa’s ‘American Pickers’ is a rewarding revelation of Americana
Posted: Monday, Oct. 19, 2020
Redefining a word, at least for the masses, is a major pop culture accomplishment. "Pick" (noun) would typically be regarded as a selection or a guitar accessory. "American Pickers," a reality TV series in its 10th year (21 official seasons) on the History cable channel, gives us a more intriguing option: The art of looking through someone's belongings and making offers.
Cynics could say "American Pickers" is just draining any good stuff before the yard sale. That's probably often true, although host pickers/antique merchants Mike Wolfe and Frank Fritz, with a TV contract in their pocket, can afford to pay higher amounts than regular folks taking a walk-through.
Like most reality TV, "Pickers," however interesting, shouldn't be considered a documentary of the antiques business. This is a TV show, though it's a TV show based on an antiques business. On their show, as in "Pawn Stars," Wolfe and Fritz deal almost exclusively with suppliers, not customers. A third party, the TV production unit, is financing (to some degree) the road trips. In order to create "inventory" (i.e., footage) for the program, Wolfe and Fritz need to spend considerable time at a lot of places that assuredly would not be cost-effective visits for a typical antiques dealer. Maybe all of Wolfe's purchases are justifiable inventory, or maybe some are made for the sake of television.
Upon multiple viewings of episodes spanning more than a decade, several things become clear about the owners of these items. Most — or virtually all — of the subjects of "Pickers" are septuagenarian or octogenarian white males. Most live in small towns or rural areas, where they can collect/store/possess/hoard a virtually unlimited amount of material. (One fellow even purchased a White Castle restaurant and plunked it down on his property, though he admitted the roof leaks.) Their properties appear to be the last resort for most of their items — if the stuff hadn't been picked up at an estate sale or flea market, it would've gone to the dumpster. Yet oddly enough, most of these people don't want to sell. A gas station sign may have sat unnoticed for a decade behind a garage panel, but when Wolfe sees it, he's told it's not available.
"American Pickers" is an endless road trip, which sets it apart from the long-running PBS hit "Antiques Roadshow," which is recorded around the country at locations that all look the same. Only a smattering of attention in "Pickers" is given to Wolfe's base in LeClaire, Iowa, though he often mentions growing up in Bettendorf. While Wolfe is the show's star, his newfound acquaintances are the heroes. In nearly every visit, it's impossible not to root for the pickee. (Some of them pass away after doing the show and are given dedications by Wolfe and Fritz.) Wolfe relentlessly describes them as the guardians of Americana, people saving the relics of our past that the rest of us were all too willing to let go of. The other side is that it appears that in many of these homes, there may be hoarding problems. Wolfe and Fritz can be heard to say things like "there's nowhere to walk" and "he's got stuff piled all over the place." Do marriages or relationships end over this kind of collecting activity? It's probably a safe bet that some do.
"Pickers," though, is guilt-free and controversy-free viewing, one reason it's a reliable and relaxing cable staple.
Fritz, who apparently lives across the Mississippi River from Wolfe in Illinois, is one of the more curious personalities of a TV hit. He is the straightest of sidekicks, all business on the picks, polite and cordial but not notably warm, never changing expression, never offering a joke but occasionally rolling his eyes at one. He must be the rare introvert in a profession heavily dependent on salesmanship. One look at Fritz at the end of an episode, and you'd never know whether they scored a massive haul or came up empty. Still, there's something about him that wins over viewers, perhaps his steadiness. He appears to specialize in toys, signs and oil cans and runs a separate business from Wolfe. His negotiating enthusiasm is a far cry from Wolfe's, and one wonders how many potential transactions Fritz has left on the table with his stoic demeanor. An impressed woman who wanted to make an "offer" for him couldn't even crack him up.
Wolfe, a megamotor, drives the show, with an insatiable appetite for people's stories and ... perhaps ... an insatiable ego. Curiously, he is indeed the salt of the earth, vigorously offering sincere tributes to folks for doing little more than collecting things and earnestly listening to their or their descendants' anecdotes, but in the van, he's also a braggart of various forms of endurance minutiae. Like probably all reality TV hosts, he loves the camera and wants it far more than Fritz does, which makes them an ideal pair.
Not getting enough air time is Danielle Colby, an astoundingly photogenic, down-to-earth, extremely well-spoken, heavily tattooed office manager. In at least one episode, Colby, who performs burlesque on her own time, reveals she once did roller derby (she actually owned a team); indeed, when she goes on a rare pick herself, she moves with athletic grace. Various bios indicate Colby has worked out of Chicago and is a picker herself, which she demonstrates (along with Wolfe's brother) in a smattering of episodes. Surely there must be a better use of her limited screen time than making cell calls, although to the show's credit, its quick cuts make the dialogue between HQ and the van snappy and believable. Colby is listed in the credits as "Featuring," while Wolfe and Fritz are given the title of "Presented by." (Note: Wolfe and Colby are not a couple, just longtime friends and business associates. Wolfe is married to someone else.)
The dirtiest word on the show is "reproduction." Wolfe and Fritz will occasionally point out to disappointed sellers that their item isn't an authentic original, although it is sometimes noted that the reproduction is fairly old too. And even Wolfe and Fritz admit big mistakes at times, such as when Fritz agreed to pay $2,900 for a gigantic ship wheel that the seller asserted was from the "olden days ... probably 1850s," a tale that eveidently grew taller and swallowed hook, line and sinker by Fritz when the seller added that he had visions of "Mark Twain standing behind the wheel."
A popular word is "porcelain," and yes, it's important for more than just bathroom responsibilities; it appears to be the gold standard for old signs; some even have neon lighting.
Hazards of picking are occasionally illustrated. Aside from uninterested sellers, there are bee stings, leaning barns, raccoon poop, dead rats, rickety steps or floors, maybe a snake here or there. As Wolfe will say, if you're into this kind of work, you'll just do it.
Often the term "retail" is thrown around, but for these purposes, "retail" means what the item could possibly fetch, often cleaned up and/or restored, from an established seller ... and "possibly" is a key word, because, despite the hosts' enthusiasm, it's not clear at all that anyone really is pining for a hundred-year-old rotting drafting desk no matter how much wrought iron it's got. There are probably important pearls of wisdom that Wolfe and Fritz could impart to these collectors (or more importantly, their heirs) about how best to get rid of their stuff — one such obvious tactic being that if a couple guys in a van with a TV crew drive by, sell them anything they want, 'cause you're not going to get a better offer.
In some instances, the sellers seem aware of the supposed market value of the items Wolfe and Fritz want. In other instances, the sellers seem to regard any offer as a gift. Sometimes, property owners will tell Wolfe and Fritz they'll "think about" an offer, which generally means no. But in a few episodes, as Wolfe and Fritz are leaving, the owner has a change of heart as the van is backing up.
Often, Wolfe and Fritz are heard to grumble about an owner's unwillingness to sell desirable items. But consider what's going on here. It seems odd that Wolfe and Fritz need "leads" to find clutter. If a person wants to sell stuff, can't that person (or his or her relatives) hold a yard sale? Go to a flea market? Put it on Craigslist? Call an auctioneer? Evidently, Colby's job is to provide Wolfe and Fritz with addresses (the term "coordinates" is thrown about during cell conversations) of people known to have old stuff but not known to be parting with it, a strange club. The argument is made that owners should sell because it's going to these hosts who "appreciate" the item and respect what it represents. But in all likelihood, the item is just going through the way station to an end user who will pay Wolfe or Fritz more than Wolfe or Fritz paid the seller.
The show would have viewers believe that Wolfe and Fritz simply start driving to some distant state — say, Texas — and then Colby starts cold-calling people in the same ZIP code. How Wolfe and Fritz end up at the places they do isn't really clear, but many of the subjects seem genuinely surprised to see them. That appears to be a distinction from programs such as Marcus Lemonis' "The Profit" (early seasons are reviewed on this site) and "Survivor," where people contact the show in hopes of appearing. Future participants of those series figured out from watching early episodes what they're supposed to do, sapping those shows of spontaneity. Refreshingly, on "Pickers," a lot of the property owners appear oblivious to how the show works or even to the show itself. Many times, a younger relative surreptitiously sets up the Wolfe-Fritz appointment in hopes of unloading some of the stuff. Presumably they are paid for appearing on television. Faces of bystanders who evidently don't sign a waiver are blurred out.
Wolfe and Fritz will occasionally detail a "freestyling" excursion, which supposedly means showing up announced at collectors' properties. It stretches belief to think a businessperson could make money this way or that an entrepreneur would consider it a wise use of his or her time. As presented by this program, the owners are always at home, never preoccupied, always available on the spur of the moment to let these fellows look around and negotiate some prices.
Most antique stores specialize in furniture and art, tableware and glassware, clocks and signs. These are bulky or sensitive items that are virtually eBay-proof, not easily or cheaply shippable. That is the plus for selling. The minus is that the customers are a limited pool; nearly all of them are going to be local, people who are able to look over the items firsthand and drive them home in a truck.
But watching people negotiate a price is entertaining. The items on "Pawn Stars" are typically common collectibles with established values known to buyers and sellers. One of the strengths of "Pickers" is that many of the discussed items are one-of-a-kind things most people never think about, and viewers will often find themselves surprised at how much, or how little, Wolfe and Fritz are willing to offer. On the one hand, according to depictions on the show, Wolfe and Fritz spontaneously make offers on obscure items reflexively, but on the other hand, they occasionally admit that they're not really sure what they might get for an item.
There is so much automotive-related reality TV, one wonders if "Pickers" is trying to get in on the act or simply can't avoid it. Probably at least a third of the time, Wolfe and Fritz visit someone who has old or antique cars in a crammed, dusty garage. There's almost never a purchase, and the discussions become a waste of time and serve as little more than filler. Wolfe's half-hearted offers are almost always met with a "not for sale." One problem is that there is reliable price info available for vintage cars, restored or unrestored, and so Wolfe and Fritz have no edge, and unless an owner is desperate to get rid of the vehicle (and they never are), the owner will always ask for more anyway. Another problem: Wolfe and Fritz regularly admit they're not in the car-restoration business; they probably offer less than someone who is.
Motorcycles and bicycles are coughed up far more easily, though there is occasional resistance to unload these items. Wolfe and Fritz make a bid on virtually every motorcycle they see, really old or not so old, high quality or junky, doesn't matter. Wolfe also would have viewers believe that ANY spare part to a motorcycle or bicycle or antique car in his hands is equivalent to a brick of gold.
As with much of reality TV, there are a decent number of "Pickers" episodes that justify only 45 or even 30 minutes. Some of the sellers have little in the way of interesting inventory or interesting stories. Yet the savvy producers know how to make a full hour click: item count. Show us everything they've got. Even if Wolfe and Fritz do not want to buy something, it's interesting to hear them opine on it. The hosts' narration of the footage, obviously recorded after the visit is complete but presented as the negotiations are in progress, is in the manner of "Pawn Stars," but the soundbites are more informative. Appraisals, the rare restorations, and other features such as the oyster-eating bet or trip to the Field of Dreams (where it seems the fans are staring right into the sun, but that's how it's built) are used judiciously and bring life to the series.
After multiple viewings, as with other long-running reality hits, viewers will quickly absorb the cliches: Maybe this can be a megapick ... we might pay a little more than we want in order to make that first purchase and "break the ice" ... what Wolfe likes isn't so much the item but the story ...
What are the most common items at the places Wolfe and Fritz visit? That would probably be gas station signage or Coca-Cola machines. It seems like almost everyone has gas pumps in their back yards. Wolfe and Fritz typically ignore Coca-Cola items, but they'll buy just about any old sign or oil can. If you think there is minimal interest in these items, you might be surprised at the places where you see a decorative gas pump.
The hosts tend to sound a little euphoric about some of their discoveries, although only pros would know for sure. Wolfe said he had a condom machine in his shop once and it was gone in a day.
Probably the best way to get Wolfe to buy something is to mention the great-grandparent who once owned it. "Pickers" producers know the show needs some kind of emotional connection. To Wolfe's credit, he doesn't go to nearly the ridiculous lengths of Marcus Lemonis' Dr. Phil act, but not everyone is a hero just because they lived 100 years ago. (The "Pawn Stars" guys don't even mess around here and refreshingly, bluntly, declare they couldn't care less about an item's backstory, but they enjoy describing the item in detail, and their show has considerable heart.) It's odd when Wolfe offers to buy a deceased couple's wedding photo from several generations past. Who exactly is in the market to buy 80-year-old wedding photos of strangers who are not famous people? Wouldn't displaying such a photo raise far more questions than answers? "Whose wedding picture is that?" "I don't know, but an antique shop had it, and it's a great photo." "Oh."
Most CNBC reality offerings, including "The Profit," prefer testy drama to no drama. Business deals or building rehabs fall through, and the cameras enjoy catching people storming out of meetings. "Pickers" doesn't need that and doesn't want it — no one's about to get backstabbed here. Wolfe and Fritz's excursions are not business trips but celebrations of a shared culture.
It's really impossible to know whether Wolfe and Fritz are, in terms of business churn, actually doing a good job. Nearly every purchase is followed by a favorable graphic suggesting the item was bought for roughly 50% less than it will be sold for. Whether those future sales ever happen(ed) is left to the imagination.
Not many TV shows have succeeded at delivering rural America. When you see the "Pickers" van on 2-lane highways, the back roads of America, and know these two fellows are making a decent living out there, there's something invigorating yet relaxing about that. Hustle is rewarded, for sure, but this is not the rat race. The sellers may not think of their places as anything special, but these are people appreciating the more laid-back advantages of life, not casualties of the corporate grind. Most of their stuff, Wolfe and Fritz will admit, is never going to sell ... for anything. No matter.
Some of the pickees are heard to say "the thrill's in the hunt," or in other words, acquiring an item is far more satisfying than actually owning it. That seems illogical, until you notice the condition of some of these attics, basements, sheds and warehouses and witness how many of these supposedly desirable items are hardly well-kept. But watch the frustration as Wolfe and Fritz try prying away items that owners actually had forgotten they owned, and it's clear that it's hard to give it up.
Very quietly, "American Pickers" provides a hopeful message for the future, to all those who wonder whether, a hundred years from now, anyone will care about us or what we did.
Chances are, someone will.
3.5 stars (out of 4)
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