Spam-fed fanatics bid Ruby Montana farewell
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They came with their bed heads and coffee and an aching longing for kitsch, for that cowprint robe, Flintstones trash bin and Spam cans galore.
This would be their last pilgrimage to Ruby Montana's Pinto Pony and, perhaps, the last chance to nab that wreath of hot pink feathers sprinkled with toy cars and, yes, more Spam cans.
Bidders and browsers alike packed the Belltown store yesterday for Montana's "Palm Springs or Bust" liquidation auction. Montana, also famous for hosting Pioneer Square Spam carving contests, closed her shop in the fall and moved to warmer climes to run the Palm Springs Coral Sands Inn. And so Pinto Pony fans paid homage to a collection of bric-a-brac amassed over 20 years.
"You've got to have this stuff to have balance in your life," said Teagan McDonald, a Seattle artist. "You just have to admire the skewed creativity it takes to produce this stuff."
McDonald affectionately recalled the times when she was low on cash and Montana purchased her work. Then she spied one of her creations: a buxom cross-dressing Ken doll sporting white go-go boots and a loud mini dress.
Below the Big Boy bobble head sat Mr. Potato Head and his friend, Pete the Pepper.
"Are you a stressed-out executive?" she said. "Here, get that Mr. Potato Head over there and play with it. There's a home for everything here."
As the morning wore on, a continual stream of people trod the store's leopard-print carpet overwhelmed by the wall-to-ceiling tchotchkes competing for attention.
"I can't put into words what I'll miss," said Daniel Wixman, a 56-year-old writer who splits his time between Seattle and near Grand Coulee Dam in Eastern Washington. "There's a certain sense of humor and sense of wonder that would be hard to duplicate."
Montana clearly had a penchant for cowboys and cowgirls, Stetson hats and worn cowboy boots.
But the Pinto Pony's nostalgic clutter reveals a broader aesthetic - one in which Battlestar Galactica metal lunchboxes collide with a life-size Nativity scene.
And so it was only fitting that the mustached Herk Hancock conducted the bidding, his tie - a majestic horse's head and horse shoes - echoing Montana's Western theme.
Under the light of a wagon-wheel chandelier, his workers held high the coveted merchandise: a box of nondescript phones, an old leather satchel, boxing nuns, Christmas lights and 1940s tasteless gags.
Hands flew up as Hancock's metered voice took off. It was the sort of moment made for people like Scott Andrews, a dentist who works in real estate and has a warehouse full of things like neon signs and full-size drive-in marquees.
Andrews shrugged first, not sure how to explain. It's who he is, he said, between a triumphant round of bidding.
Small bidding wars erupted over such items as the vintage cowboy wallpaper. Andrews won. And some bid just to bid, winding up with random boxes of "stuff."
And how about box No. 31, Hancock asked repeatedly.
"Oh, hell," said one woman, who wasn't exactly sure what was inside. She gave in and raised her bid card.