by Douglas R. Kelly

You’d think I’d know better by now. I’ve been hunting and grooving on vintage toys for more than 40 years, and I’ve learned my share of hard lessons. But this time, school was back in session.

Originality pushes my button in a big way as a collector. There’s something a little amazing about coming across a toy or a device or a comic book that’s in the same condition as when it left the factory or the printer in 1939…who was its first owner? Did he or she ever use it, or was it placed in a box and forgotten about? Did someone else come along decades later and discover it and how did that happen?

A result of this appreciation of (obsession with?) originality is that there are very few pieces in my collection that aren’t in perfect original condition. Once in a blue moon, I’ll acquire something that’s worn or damaged, but there has to be a really good reason, such as the object’s rarity or its association with a special person or event.

Last September, a good friend from Indiana visited us here in Connecticut, and we spent a Saturday hitting flea markets and antique shops in the northeastern part of the state. One of our stops was a vintage toy shop that we got to just as the owner was closing up for the day. When I told him my friend lived in Indiana and might never be back this way again, the owner was kind enough to let us come in and look around. I found a couple of small 1940s Pep cereal comic character premium buttons (Kayo and Skeezix, beautiful condition) and was at the register paying for them when I noticed a case on the wall with several cast iron cars.

Arcade’s five inch Plymouth sedan: not everything it appeared to be. — *Arcade’s five-inch Plymouth sedan: not everything it appeared to be.*

Now, cast iron generally isn’t on my radar screen. I’ve found that the vast majority are chipped or otherwise in less than original condition. But the five-inch-long blue Plymouth sedan in the case looked gorgeous, so I asked the owner to let me take a closer look. It weighed a ton, of course, as cast iron always does, and it sported its original tires – which were brittle and cracked, but that’s the kind of patina that actually can help an old piece.

Made by Arcade in Freeport, Illinois during the 1930s—their line of Plymouths was based on the 1933 models—the sedan just looked right to me as we stood chatting at the cash register. Its pre-war charm and excellent condition hooked me and, after offering the owner $80 as opposed to his price of $95, I coughed up the cash and placed the Arcade—and my rose-colored glasses—into a bag the owner provided.

At home the next day, two things jumped out at me as being off when I unwrapped the Plymouth. One was the fact that the car was missing the connecting/bracing rod that Arcade placed in many of its toy cars. The company made its toys in two pieces, split down the middle, and the rods were then added to help hold the toy together.

*Your correspondent failed to notice the absence of the connecting rod and mismatched paint on the Arcade.*

But I have no excuse for missing the red flag in the paint finish. Had I taken the time for a proper look at the paint, I would have seen two clues. One, the paint on the roof overall was much smoother than that of the rest of the car; and two, the roof also had several sanding marks that became visible when you turned the toy under a light. The cherry on top (so to speak) is the fact that the blue paint used to re-paint the roof and sides of the model doesn’t match the blue of the fenders, running boards, and rear of the car.

The repair work got past me because I let it get past me. I wanted that Arcade to be what it appeared to be, and I allowed that to guide my decision.

The experience, though, didn’t put me off cast iron. A month or so later at the Allentown antique toy event, I spotted a beautiful-looking tow truck made by Pennsylvania-based Hubley in the 1930s, a little less than 4 inches in length. It helped that it was sitting on the table of a friend who is known for buying and selling only original toys; nonetheless, I gave that wrecker a good going-over, eyeball-wise, until I was satisfied that it was all original. It’s sitting on a side table as I write this in our toy room. Kinda looks like an only child wishing for a new friend.

*The Hubley tow truck passes muster in terms of originality, even if it does sport a few small paint chips.*

Douglas R. Kelly is the editor of Marine Technology magazine. His byline has appeared in Antiques Roadshow Insider; Back Issue; Diecast Collector; RetroFan; and Buildings magazines.