The Last Bastion of American Enterprise

“V nickels? Buy or sell?” he asked as he bumped into me. He was rather short with grey stubble covering his friendly face under the flop hat. The little man had on faded bib overalls and high top shoes, but his most noticeable feature was his eyes. They were cloudy white where mine and yours have color. Yes, he was either blind or very near being sightless. Clutched in his hand was a roll of nickels. I told him I wasn’t interested, and he went on his way.

This was my first venture into America’s last bastion of free enterprise, the flea market. It is the purest form of modern commerce. There are no regulations, no taxes, policies, just free enterprise at the grassroots level. I’ve long been a fan of flea markets, sometimes called jockey lots. The term flea market we get from the French. It seems that fleas were commonly found in used clothes and bedding. I’m not sure where the term jockey lot comes from. I’ve been a buyer and seller at flea markets. To me it is the land of colorful characters, not to mention an endless variety of merchandise.

Recently, I overheard this conversation.

“It puts out 50,000 volts and that packs quite a wallop”, he said.

“Will that stop somebody attacking me?” she asked.

“Ma’am, if that don’t stop ‘em, ain’t nothin’ gonna stop ‘em short of a bullet!” he said.

“How much is it? She asked.

I didn’t hear the rest of the conversation as someone started up a weed eater nearby, and I began looking at a 12 gauge shotgun for sale by a lady at the table next in the row. She said that it was made in the late 1800’s and could have been; the action was very loose. A few tables further down some fellows told me that the gun wasn’t what she claimed. I wasn’t interest at the price level at which she was selling it. As I walked along I deftly picked up a butterfly knife from a seller’s table and flipped the knife open with one quick, easy motion. The flash of sunlight off the seven inch blade caught the vendor’s eye.

“Every time I try that I cut myself,” he said.

“Yes, but they cause nothing but trouble!” I responded.

“But, you’re pretty fast!”

“Even the more reason I should leave it here,” I said as a lay the knife back down.

There’s an old song by Arlo Guthrie that says; “You can get anything you want at Alice’s Restaurant”. But, Arlo hadn’t been to the flea market. I am always amazed at the variety of products. The root doctors are quite interesting. They have the remedies for what ails you. Some of them remind me of my grandmother’s. Some believe in those back woods medicines or, more properly known as folk medicine. Who is to say the yellow root and willow root aren’t medicinal, and I must have sassafras for tea. I haven’t seen any root doctors in the Carolina low country like there is in Anderson and Pickens counties.

The Anderson Jockey Lot is the largest in the southeast with over 1,000 vendors. It was once fairly small but grew into an outdoor Wal-Mart with prices about the same on some items. I like to get out away from the sheltered areas to where people just put their goods out in front of their truck and sell. Sometimes it is pure junk, but sometimes… I bought a black tea set that polished out as silver plate. My wife loved it. I missed buying a pair of slave leg irons, I didn’t know exactly what they were when I saw them. At a flea market in France I saw a Thompson submachine gun, but I thought I would never get it through Customs if I bought it. Flea markets are great for people who collect things. Whether it’s comic books or Hot Wheels cars, you can usually find some at the flea market. I usually buy used tools. Good quality tools last practically forever, and new ones are expensive.

There are the vegetable vendors with local and other produce. This also includes chickens, ducks, quail, and pigs. I remember one vender in particular who sold his produce by the bag. You could hear him call out, “Vegetables, two dollars a bag. Just put something in the bag, lady! Just put something in the bag!” He sold a lot of vegetables. Frequently, the grower would be selling his own crop. Somehow you get that extra connection to the land when you buy it from the man that grew it. Seafood is commonly for sale locally at the Ladson Flea market. Fresh fish and shellfish abound, sold by Vietnamese fishermen. Puppies, kittens, birds and other pets are for sale as well. I’m not real crazy about the reptiles, but different strokes for different folks. There are fighting chickens for sale too but you have to be careful who you ask about them. A fighting cock which has won a number of derbies can demand an unbelievable high price. It is illegal to fight chickens in South Carolina but not to raise and train them.

I have a lot of fun bargaining for the things I buy. I My rule number one is never pay the asked price. I will either buy it cheaper or not buy. Many times I’ve walked away only to come back to the same vendor and buy at my price. Toward the close of the day the prices on everything go down. Of course, you take a chance on not finding what you want late in the day. There are some caveats; the merchandise may be stolen or counterfeit, and there are no guarantees.

Some flea markets, like the one in Pickens, SC, have a band that performs when the market is open. I’m not sure if there are more than two or three regular band members. But there always seems to be at least five players. In true string band fashion there are guitars, mandolins, banjos, Dobros, harmonicas, and washtub bass. They seem to be mostly octogenarians. Once I saw a very thin old woman dressed in faded clothes playing a banjo and singing. She had a kerchief around her head and wore a man’s faded flannel shirt. Upon her feet were tennis shoes and white socks. The banjo she played was an old homemade gourd one with a head that probably was once the skin of a tom cat. The knarled hands played the instrument claw hammer style and her voice had that high nasal twang. Her face showed the ravages of time, but her voice was clear as a bell as she sang the old songs of the mountains. She sang “Shady Grove” and “Wayfarin’ Stranger” and others before a wonderful version of Ralph Stanley’s “Gloryland”. The crowd was hushed as she sang “Gloryland” a cappella, the way it was recorded in the thirties. I had only heard it once before and that was at the Music Farm in Charleston. It was sung to a silent audience there as well. If you go to the Pickens County Flea Market you’ll hear some of the best bluegrass music right out of the hills, but I don’t know if the old woman of the mountain will be there.

I’m sure I’ll be at a flea market at the next opportunity but I don’t know which one, something about them just draws me back.

		Ralph Stanley, born February 25, 1927 is the grand old man of bluegrass and old-time music. he started playing the banjo clawhammer style as a teenager and with this brother formed the band "The Clinch Mountain Boys". He contunues to perform today. He re orded "O Death" for the soundtrack of the popular Coen Brothers movie, "O Brother, Where Art Thou?"