Garbage Picking
If you've seen the television show American Pickers on The History Channel, you know that these
two gentlemen travel around the United States, scouring barns, junkyards, basements and backyards looking for diamonds in the rough.
I'm here to confess to you that I was a habitual garbage picker in my youth, and occasionally those old habits return, even to this present day.
“CLEAN UP WEEK OCTOBER 10-15” That sign on one of Fereday and Myers garbage trucks in my hometown of Hillside, NJ, sent ripples of delight thru my adolescent body. It meant that for that week, one could put virtually anything out at the curb for the garbageman to pick up and they would so, gratis. I guess it was a way to stimulate the hoarders out there to part with the crap they had accumulated over the past year or so, and to encourage everyone else to do some fall cleaning.
Let me tell you, it worked! Homeowners in Hillside put more stuff out there than you could possibly imagine. Everything from washing machines, lawn chairs, furniture,windows, car parts, wood, old bikes and boxes and bags of potpourri that defied description.
The potpourri is what got me excited. You never knew what could be found in those boxes and bags at the curb. Comic books, toys, tools, sporting goods, books and assorted other treasures. I still have a salesman's sample case of crushed rocks and metals! I didn't realize it at the time, but we were not well off financially, so Clean Up Week was like Christmas around our house.
Our garbage pickup was on Mondays and Thursdays, which meant that folks started to put out their unwanted treasures late on Sunday afternoon. My job was to ride around our section of town on my trusty Columbia bike and make a mental note of the locations that I could hype up to my father, so we could drive around together around dusk and garbage pick. I'd feel out my dad a few days before this, to find out what on his list for that year. Maybe it was screens, windows, or lumber. Whatever it was, I had to make it worth his while to drive me around that night. Looking back, it wasn't all that difficult, as my dad shared my love of getting great stuff for free. While there was quite a dichotomy of what he was looking for, versus my my own desires, the essential attraction of that evening was mutual.
We would get out in the early evening, flashlights and rope at the ready. I would navigate for my dad, directing him to the caches I had scouted out earlier on my earlier reconnaissance. One had to be nimble as the competition could be fierce from both the professional and amateur garbage pickers. We avoided glances with our fellow seekers, who were out there in force that night, sheepishly doing the same thing we were.
As my dad stopped the car, I would excitedly jump out of it to further inspect any garbage pile that looked promising and shout out to my dad what I had discovered..a good screwdriver, jars of nails and screws, garden tools, a plant stand, or whatever. I balanced Dad's needs with my own, rummaging thru the piles for the books, records, sports gear or any other kid type stuff that caught my eye. The anticipation of what one MIGHT find was almost always greater than the actual outcome.
Although, one year, I hit the garbage picker's mother lode!
It happened when I was out there by myself on a Monday , on my bike, still hoping to glean any last minute treasures. Because of the sheer volume of garbage, the trash collectors were still out there even as the day was ending.
I was in a neighborhood pretty far from my own, on a dead end street that I rarely frequented. The garbage pile in front of this house was not spectacular, but my picking instincts were finely honed by this point , and I instinctively knew there was something good in this particular trash pile.
Some unfortunate kid's mom must have dumped out most all of his stuff from his opulent toy box. It was a spectacular collection of army men and vehicles, other toy trucks and some other great stuff that had me pinching myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Just as I began to rifle thru this amazing assortment of great stuff, I heard the sounds which are every garbage picker's nightmare....it was a garbage truck bearing down on me, and it was maybe 3 houses away, coming towards the garbage stash that only occurs once, if ever, in a lifetime.
I quickened my efforts, heart racing, adrenaline pumping, and continued to stuff my pants pockets with everything I could manage to cram in them. Did I fill a box or bag with what wouldn't fit into my kid pants? I don't remember, but I'd like to think I did. I do recall that some of the precious items in there for the taking, had to be left behind, as I triaged my way thru this unbelievable stock pile, grabbing whatever I could, intensely excited with my good fortune.
Then quickly, the garbage truck was upon me, and I had to reluctantly retreat. That was the greatest collection of stuff I had ever picked and no other time could match it. I did pick more valuable stuff at other times, like a set of Lionel trains for instance, but that afternoon's picking still resonates with me. Maybe it was the pressure I was under to glean those treasures so quickly....like being under enemy fire in battle. Or maybe it's because I rescued those items from certain doom at the dump.
Maybe it's unusual to have one of your fondest kid memories be about a garbage picking triumph, but it still makes me smile to this day.
I just wish I could have crammed just a little more stuff into my pockets that day.
