How could I have known my future was hiding with the Bakelite napkin rings, 8-track tapes, and 1960s cocktail dresses?
I'm not sure how old I was the first time my grandmother took me to volunteer at The Green Door Thrift Shop, but even today I can summon my wistful joy! Ancient parcheesi boards, bright yet tattered quilts, rarely used evening clutches, small cellophane bags of Barbie shoes. Anything a young girl obsessed with the past would be enchanted by. Who knew what might be found beyond The Green Door?
This was my grandmother's cause. One of a few actually, but it's the one I was fortunate to participate in. As a member of the Women's Auxiliary of St. Luke's Episcopal Church, my grandmother served alongside other dutiful women, operating The Green Door, raising money for local charities. Still in operation, the shop opened in 1953 in San Antonio, Texas. I'm not sure what year my grandmother got involved, but by the time I was born in 1967, she was there at least one day a week or more, and she remained dedicated to the shop until her mid-eighties.
I didn't know it at the time, but her commitment to this mission and to those who served with her, would show me a lot about who I wanted to be.
The Green Door helped more than those served by the charities it supported. People could come and sell items on consignment, making a little money on things they no longer needed: toys and children's clothing, out-of-vogue but still operating electronics, attic-bound Christmas decorations, no longer stylish home furnishings.
The Wednesday Group - my grandmother's group - was made up of dear friends, old and new, mostly from St. Luke's, but not all. I remember Dean, Winifred, Claire, Dorothy, Amory (my ballet teacher), and many lovely faces of others whose names I've lost. I still make Claire's Sweet & Sour Chicken. I remember my brother calling Winifred "Winney-Fred" to her delight. Dean used to set aside things she thought I'd like in the work closet - a pair of heavily beaded slippers, a tiny Steif bear, a pink tulle petticoat - so that I could have first right of refusal (or rather, my grandmother could).
The shop had a lobby waiting room for the consigners with the kind of vinyl upholstered mid-century seating you'd expect. There was a large pricing room with heavy oak work tables (gosh, I wish I had one of those), a couple of desks, and racks for hanging clothes. This is where the Coca Cola machine hummed in the corner, stocked with crisp sodas in chilly glass bottles for twenty-five cents a piece. The sales floor was large and well organized with clothing arranged neatly by category, shoes and handbags on racks, shelves for books and collectibles, peg boards for artwork, and display tables for housewares and toys. The counter where items were purchased had glass cases for small items: costume jewelry, cigarette cases, eye glasses, and anything that seemed slightly valuable.
Each area was operated by volunteers and once they had their assignments, there they stayed; rooted. The sole paid employee, Rachael, kept the lobby and pricing room neat as a pin, and the sales floor bright and welcoming. She made me feel like a treasure myself when I came to help out. Hugging me and proclaiming, "Mija angelita dulce!" My sweetheart angel child. Gosh I hope she's still alive somewhere, surrounded by great grandchildren. What a love she was.
My grandmother worked in pricing. This meant she might get first pick of the items coming in for sale which was perfect because we shared the same thrill of the find, plus similar taste in color and design. (Despite our 50 year age difference, we each knew exactly what the other loved). The pricing group had a strict and fair system. If someone started pricing a Fendi coin purse or a Bjorn Wiinblad plate or some other find they personally wanted, they quickly excused themselves and a fellow volunteer would take over, ensuring a neutral party worked with the consigner on an agreed and fair, often increased, price.
Volunteering involved a fair amount of work, so we took a scrumptious break. The pricing room and sales floor were closed for an hour, one of the long oak tables was cleared of intake forms, wax pencils, and price tags, and the ladies gathered around to share a potluck meal. Cucumber sandwiches, chicken salad, ambrosia (fruit salad with marshmallows), homemade pickles, brownies sprinkled with powdered sugar - a feast of lady-like deliciousness, washed down with those lovely glass bottled sodas (Fresca being my favorite). I still can't decide if the treasure hunts or the lunches were the best parts of the day.
I did love the thrill of something special arriving with a consignor, but what I really loved more was being a pricing assistant. Recording the consignor's items on carbon duplicates, writing up the tags with the price and consignor number and dates (after a certain amount of time, prices were lowered). And then, once I was deemed old enough to avoid harming the item (or myself) the tagging process, complete with a needle and hook to pull the string through in the garments or linens. I coveted the process so much that when given the opportunity, I became an instant success and was given the entire pricing room to tag.
The summer after my grandfather died, I got to San Antonio as soon as school was out and spent three weeks solid at the Green Door, every day they were open. My grandmother dropped me off when it was not her Wednesday and I helped where needed, often supporting Rachael by stocking the sales floor with new arrivals. Does the Pyrex casserole dish look cuter next to the decoupaged tissue box cover, or is it better next to the Poppy Trail cookie jar? It was an early lesson in creative merchandising for sure!
The shop would close for at least a month in summer to allow the volunteers a break. And because I no longer got to live in San Antonio year round after my mother's death, I found I grieved that shuttered month. My grandmother and brother and I shifted the back half of our summer focus over to travel and museums, tennis camp for my brother and day trips to Fredricksburg or Austin for Mimo and me. We were really just happy to be with her and to be back in the town we lost when Mom died.
I still have wonderful things we found at The Green Door. I have a signed ink drawing in a gorgeous gold frame, a collection of wooden boxes, a yellow Bakelite cake knife, an owl-covered circle skirt from the 1950s, and several lace cocktail dresses, too tiny to wear, but too pretty to part with. If I wandered my home, I know I'd find more. Yet, the most important find I made at The Green Door, sitting in the midst of those busy ladies, was the inspiration to eventually arrive at the work I was meant for. I grew up to work in art museums, then in retail, and now, in nonprofit. I walked through The Green Door all those years ago, and found so many delights. I still dream I'm browsing through ball gowns and silk pumps and long evening gloves, but the greatest treasure, the most valuable find, turned out to be my calling.
Thank you to my grandmother and to her delightful Green Door posse for setting me on the right course. Who knew a guide to meaningful work could be found mixed in with old rotary telephones, peacock blue silk hats, and powder sugar dusted brownies?
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