blankets.
The St. Anthony Fightinâ Yankee Antiques store was the flagship of a chain started by the Scroggits in 1974, more as a place to store their sizable and growing collection of artifacts than anything else. Business boomed for a while, and they expanded to another store, in the suburbs, in 1981, and then a third, in the midsized city of Chester, about seventy-five miles to the south, in 1985. The sprawling thirty-three-part Civil War public television epic, Four Awful Years, in the mid-nineties, kept interest high and sales brisk. The Scroggits expanded to three more stores in two neighboring states and plowed their profits into what had become the largest Civil War artifacts chain in the nation.
At that point, the Scroggits turned the day-to-day operation of the St. Anthony store over to their staff, and concentrated on beating their competitors to the most highly prized artifacts of American history they could find, by whatever means possible. Their cutthroat methods kept their stores filled with top-flight merchandise and the mail order branch of their business humming, but it alienated other dealers, who began blackballing them from shows and leaving them out of the dealer-to-dealer sales loop.
As mass interest in American history in general and the Civil War in particular waned, the embargo on dealings with the Scroggits by all but the most unscrupulous dealers began to hurt their business. By 2005, they had shut down the three out-of-state stores and scaled down the rest of their operation. By 2010, they had found smaller spaces for the two other instate stores.
It was now becoming clear, even to the Scroggits, that the market for the kinds of big-ticket artifacts they specialized inâan authentic .58-caliber Springfield rifle-musket and Revolutionary Warâera ceremonial sword, for instanceâwas fading fast. And now, to have to deal with this irksome matter about some unpaid taxes, which were being illegally assessed anyway!
On this particular day, the store was empty except for Matthew, the manager, and a geeky-looking teenager who was looking at the minie bullet collection.
âHey, kid,â barked Artis. âEither buy the merchandise or scram. No loitering in the store. Weâre a business, not a museum.â The teenager stared up at him with owl-like eyes, then slithered silently out.
âKinda slow today?â said Artis to Matthew, who was standing at the counter, his elbows splayed out languidly over the glass case displaying replica Confederate money and authentic letters home from three officers who served in the Iron Brigade.
âYeah, boss. As usual. We sold a couple of minies, three uniform buttons, and some old Civil War cards. No big-tickets, though. We got that other battle flag coming in Tuesday. Fair-to-poor condition. A couple possible buyers. Weâre asking $16,000, but I doubt if weâll get that. The saleâs coming up next month. Weâre advertising in the local papers. I bought a spot cheap on the university radio station.â
âWeâre still losing money, though?â asked Nimwell. âHand over fist?â
âThat would be correct,â said Matthew. âBut thatâs nothing new. Weâve been losing money for the past three years, ever since Iâve been here. And you were already in the hole when I got here. Unless we can find something unique, like an intact sutlerâs wagon or a real six-pounder Napoleon, weâre gonna be shit outta luck.â
Artis didnât like his managerâs tone. He didnât like his track record either. Besides, why did he seem to be in the dark about the big-government wolves at the door? Artis wondered why they had kept him on as manager so long. There was no reason in the world why genuine relics of American history couldnât sell, and sell for a pretty penny, given competent and enthusiastic sellers. Obviously, the staff that remained were getting jaded.
The St. Anthony Fightinâ Yankee Antiques store was the flagship of a chain started by the Scroggits in 1974, more as a place to store their sizable and growing collection of artifacts than anything else. Business boomed for a while, and they expanded to another store, in the suburbs, in 1981, and then a third, in the midsized city of Chester, about seventy-five miles to the south, in 1985. The sprawling thirty-three-part Civil War public television epic, Four Awful Years, in the mid-nineties, kept interest high and sales brisk. The Scroggits expanded to three more stores in two neighboring states and plowed their profits into what had become the largest Civil War artifacts chain in the nation.
At that point, the Scroggits turned the day-to-day operation of the St. Anthony store over to their staff, and concentrated on beating their competitors to the most highly prized artifacts of American history they could find, by whatever means possible. Their cutthroat methods kept their stores filled with top-flight merchandise and the mail order branch of their business humming, but it alienated other dealers, who began blackballing them from shows and leaving them out of the dealer-to-dealer sales loop.
As mass interest in American history in general and the Civil War in particular waned, the embargo on dealings with the Scroggits by all but the most unscrupulous dealers began to hurt their business. By 2005, they had shut down the three out-of-state stores and scaled down the rest of their operation. By 2010, they had found smaller spaces for the two other instate stores.
It was now becoming clear, even to the Scroggits, that the market for the kinds of big-ticket artifacts they specialized inâan authentic .58-caliber Springfield rifle-musket and Revolutionary Warâera ceremonial sword, for instanceâwas fading fast. And now, to have to deal with this irksome matter about some unpaid taxes, which were being illegally assessed anyway!
On this particular day, the store was empty except for Matthew, the manager, and a geeky-looking teenager who was looking at the minie bullet collection.
âHey, kid,â barked Artis. âEither buy the merchandise or scram. No loitering in the store. Weâre a business, not a museum.â The teenager stared up at him with owl-like eyes, then slithered silently out.
âKinda slow today?â said Artis to Matthew, who was standing at the counter, his elbows splayed out languidly over the glass case displaying replica Confederate money and authentic letters home from three officers who served in the Iron Brigade.
âYeah, boss. As usual. We sold a couple of minies, three uniform buttons, and some old Civil War cards. No big-tickets, though. We got that other battle flag coming in Tuesday. Fair-to-poor condition. A couple possible buyers. Weâre asking $16,000, but I doubt if weâll get that. The saleâs coming up next month. Weâre advertising in the local papers. I bought a spot cheap on the university radio station.â
âWeâre still losing money, though?â asked Nimwell. âHand over fist?â
âThat would be correct,â said Matthew. âBut thatâs nothing new. Weâve been losing money for the past three years, ever since Iâve been here. And you were already in the hole when I got here. Unless we can find something unique, like an intact sutlerâs wagon or a real six-pounder Napoleon, weâre gonna be shit outta luck.â
Artis didnât like his managerâs tone. He didnât like his track record either. Besides, why did he seem to be in the dark about the big-government wolves at the door? Artis wondered why they had kept him on as manager so long. There was no reason in the world why genuine relics of American history couldnât sell, and sell for a pretty penny, given competent and enthusiastic sellers. Obviously, the staff that remained were getting jaded.
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