The Box

I met Jean and John at a party in 1974.  The day after the party, I called the host and said thanks, it was fun, but I could have done without those two crazy bastards.  Surprisingly, this evolved into a friendship that has brought me some special times. 

They both share an affliction that is untreatable.  They are unable to leave the house without keeping an eye out for stuff.  Their mission is to never overlook stuff that is unique, rare, usually old, and somewhere between interesting junk and a valuable collectible.  Often this means returning home with something that can not be identified by any means, including the internet.  Once in a while, it can mean coming home with something truly marvelous. 

One day Jean came home from a yard sale with a box.  It was rectangular, about 4 X 9 inches, an inch deep, and made of solid silver.  It had a lid that fit on top and was obviously a one-of-a kind, hand-crafted cigarette box from Mexico.  The lid was covered by blue and green enamel work showing the profile of a face, and an in-laid silver curling wisp of smoke rising from the mouth.  Jean paid $2 for it.

Taxco is 100 miles south of Mexico City and is the most well-known center of silversmith artistry in the western hemisphere.  The mining of silver there had gone on for centuries but the city's artistic reputation didn't spread until the 1930's.  Mexican craftsmen had worked with silver for centuries as well, and are credited with having taught techniques to the Navajo.  It wasn't until William Spratling, an American, moved to Taxco and established workshops to export goods to the U.S., that Taxco's silversmith community flourished.

For the last 100 years, Mexican silversmiths have been identifying their work by the use of marks stamped into the silver, such as "THA940".  T is for the city (Taxco); HA is the initial of the first and/or last name of the maker (Hector Aguilar); and 940 is the maker's registration number.  Jean and John were able to determine the artist that appeared to be the maker of the box, but they wanted to be sure.  The artist had passed away so Jean made contact with his daughter in Mexico.  Jean spoke to her on the phone and described the box, the lid, and the in-laid silver curling smoke.  The daughter immediately recognized the box and told Jean that it had been made by her father.  She also said that it was not from a series and there were no others like it.  Decades had passed since she had last seen it.  Jean and the daughter exchanged information and the daughter encouraged Jean to visit her family in Mexico.

On August 10, 2008, an exhibit opened at the Fowler Museum on the UCLA campus.  The exhibit featured over 400 pieces by Antonio Pineda, a 90-year-old silversmith from Taxco, Mexico.  At the age of 11, Antonio had begun working as an apprentice in one of William Sprattling's workshops.  By the time Antonio was 39 he had his own workshop and employed almost 100 workers.

Jean called the Fowler Museum a few days before the opening and spoke with the woman responsible for the exhibit.  Jean told the woman about the box and suggested that Mr. Pineda might enjoy seeing it as he certainly was familiar with the other artist's work.  Who knows, they may have even been close friends.  The woman reacted as though Jean wanted to bring a bazooka to the opening.  Undeterred, Jean insisted that the woman look into this idea and call her back.  Three days later, without having heard back from the woman, Jean put the box inside her purse and went to the opening with Maria and me.

The opening consisted of checking out the items exhibited in the gallery and then a panel discussion including Mr. Pineda himself in the auditorium.  The opening was well attended, mostly by folks with way too much money from the Westside, particularly Brentwood and Beverly Hills.  Ladies had taken the opportunity to drape themselves in as many pieces of Taxco silver as they owned.  There were more pieces hanging on women's necks, arms and ankles than were displayed in the gallery.  I once had to ask to be excused for putting my face a foot away from a lady's half-naked chest to ogle a necklace.

The woman responsible for the exhibit made herself known by placing herself in the middle of the gallery and bellowing instructions.  She was alerting us that the panel discussion would start in fifteen minutes so we might want to start moving into the auditorium.  Jean informed Maria and me that the bellower was the woman she had spoken to on the phone.

The three of us headed for the auditorium and once we were inside we could see Antonio Pineda seated in front.  There were a handful of people who had walked down to the front to compliment him on his work.  We decided to give it a try.  It was clear that he didn't speak much English but Maria was with us and that made us brave.

We made our way to the front of the short cue and nodded hello to Mr. Pineda.  It was obvious that this was going to be our only chance, so Jean hauled the box out of her purse and handed it to Antonio.  His eyes lit up and from the expression on his face, you would have thought it was the Holy Grail.  Off to our right, a few feet away, the bellowing started up again.  The woman had come down to the front of the auditorium to shoo us away from Mr. Pineda and into our seats so the panel discussion could start.

The bellowing woman was a clone of the character Emily from the 2006 movie: The Devil Wears Prada.  Emily Blunt played the part of Emily, Meryl Streep's assistant, a neurotic, panicky, stressed-out fashionista. 

Heads turned as the woman shouted, "You're the one who telephoned!"

Jean said, "Yes, I'm Jean.  You must be the woman I spoke with".

The woman tore the box out of the hands of a quite startled Antonio, and shoved it at Jean saying, "I told you on the phone this would need an approval!"

There we were looking like misfits among the Fortune 500 and having serious allegations hurled at us by someone in authority.  It was blatantly obvious that we were way out of line and had no excuse for our behavior. 

What the woman didn't realize is that Jean knew this crowd.  No one can touch Jean when it comes to name dropping.  She spent over 20 years helping the upper-most crust redecorate their mansions' interiors.  She wasn't one of them but she knew her way around them.

Jean didn't hesitate a second, "Yes, but you never called me back".

An audible gasp came from the small crowd at the front of the auditorium.  The woman had violated the West Los Angeles cell phone protocol.  She looked like the wicked witch being hit with a bucket of water.  I'll be God damned if she didn't apologize to Jean in front of everybody.