Monday, January 19, 2015

Chapter 66 – Red Toreador – Part III – Empty Frame



I was in a bookstore in Greenwich Village. I had heard the Bob Dylan song, I Feel a Change Comin’ On, and in the song Bob talks about how he is listening to Billy Joe Shaver and reading James Joyce. Since I had already heard Billy Joe Shaver plenty of times but hadn’t ever read anything by Joyce, I decided to buy a copy of Ulysses, his powerful and banned book about one day in the life of two main characters, Stephen Dedalus and Leopold Bloom. That day was June 16, 1904.
After reading the book I was fascinated by it, but really only understood ten, maybe twenty percent of the novel. I did a Google search on ‛Ulysses’ and found Frank Delaney’s podcast/blog called Re:Joyce at frankdelaney.com. Mr. Delaney is the utmost authority on everything Joyce. Every week he dissects one or two paragraphs in ten-minute narrative, claiming it will take twenty-two years to complete this herculean endeavor. I was immediately hooked. I still listen religiously every Wednesday. Oh, how much I have learned. Thank you so much, Mr. Delaney!
Then I got an idea: If Mr. Delaney can do it, so can I. That’s when I started my blog, jwhaymer.blogspot.com. In that blog, I wrote a chapter a week about my band, Silverspoon. Now it is called Life After Silverspoon, (this will be the 126th chapter to date).  I found that I was enjoying the written word almost as much as I had ever enjoyed songwriting. Then I remembered I had written a screenplay called Mulligan’s Tour, which sat in a drawer, screaming to get out. I decided to adapt that screenplay into a novel, and my first book was born.

I know it may seem like a backassward way to do things, but when I gave the narrator in the book my father’s voice, it took on a whole new dimension. I liked the idea of Johnny Mulligan (my Dad) being a pro golfer who did a little acting, and the main character (Mark Mulligan) was a golfer, too,  who played a little music.  Now, I figured, if somebody wanted to adapt the book into a screenplay, they could. Maybe it will even be me someday. If you have a screenplay and it never gets made into a movie, what have you got? Bupkiss! But, on the other hand, if you have a book, even if nobody reads it, its still a viable commodity.
While all this was going on, I was doing research on the LeRoy Neiman painting that was still in my possession. When I was in New York, I had met with Phebe Carter, one of the assistants to Alex Gleason, the buyer at the Franklin Bowles gallery. She seemed very interested in the painting and wanted to know how much I wanted for it. I threw out a number off the top of my head. It was $27,500. I knew that was much more than I would ever get, but I needed to have her know that I wasn’t just some Tennessee hillbilly that just fell off the turnip truck. “I’ll pass that figure on to Mr. Gleason and get back to you,” she said, without blinking an eye. I knew then I would be going home with the painting, but I needed to be sure I really wanted to sell it.
When I got back to Tennessee with the painting still intact.
A few days later, I got a call from Alex Gleason who was in the Bowles gallery in San Francisco. He said, “I am not going to give you the 25,000 dollars which you are asking.” (I had told Phebe Carter 27,500, but I let that one slide). “I am though prepared to give you 18,000 for it.”  Hmm, that was more than I expected as a first offer. I said something like—okay or that's interesting, something not too emotional as not to give myself away. So he continued, “As you know with Neiman's the older ones have a tendency to pucker and crack and if it were a larger painting and say it was in a corner or something like that, it wouldn't be so bad. Bit in your little painting,” (I noticed how he kept saying ‘little painting’ like it was less important than a big one, a bit condescending, I thought.)  I told him I would think about it and get back to him within a few days.
 Donna and I decided it would be best to get some more appraisals. I wrote and email to Sotheby’s and a few days later I got a return email which read:
Dear Mr. Haymer,
Thank you for contacting Sotheby’s.   Your request has been forwarded to me.   Our auction estimate would be $5,000-7,000.   We would be very pleased to have your painting in one of our auctions and appreciate the time you took to send us a request.   Our auction on 5 April needs property to be at Sotheby’s by the end of this week.   You can easily ship the work through a pack and ship company such as UPS for overnight delivery.   The auction after the 5 April auction is in late September.   If you are interested in consigning to either sale please let me know.
Sincerely,
Thomas Denzler
Sotheby’s New York
Vice President, Fine Arts
1334 York Avenue
New York, New York 10021

Are you kidding me? I was pacing now and I had to call Donna. No answer on both the work and personal cell phone. I called Thomas Denzler and he answered the phone directly. I was trying to have him clarify what he meant by five thousand - seven thousand. “Oh that's the low and high end of what we predict the painting would sell for. Are you sure you know that this is a painting and not a serigraph?”
Trying to hold back the anxiety in my voice, I responded. “Yes, I’m sure.” Then I told him I already had a legitimate offer much higher than his. I lied and told him it was ten thousand. “Anything north of ten grand and I would jump on it,” he said.
My next call was to my CPA. I wanted to have an idea how much tax I would have to pay if I accepted Mr. Gleason’s offer of 18 grand. She surprised me with her answer. She told me her husband was a collector of sorts and might be interested in buying the painting for more. I was dumbfounded. I said he would have to make up his mind quickly. She said she would know something by the next day. Well, the next day came, and the day after that without a word. I was becoming restless and called her back the day after that. She then told me they were going to pass. I had wasted three days with this woman. I was pissed and knew I was going to get an new CPA after that.
Then I began to panic with the idea that the painting, the one that had been in my family for over fifty years was going bye bye. I sent a return email to Alex Gleason stating the following:
Dear Mr. Gleason,
After careful consideration of your offer I have decided to pass on it. When I came to the gallery I told Phebe that my price was $27,500 not $25,000. Although your offer of $18,000 is tempting is it the first legitimate offer we have had, but I don't think it is enough for me to part with such a fabulous work of art that has been under the radar for over 50 years, not to mention a part of my family for the entire time.

Thank you for your interest,
James Haymer
What Had I done? Did I really just pass up all that money? Two more estimates after that and it made me reconsider the offer I had just rejected. One came in at seven grand and the other a little more than that. 18,000 was starting to look pretty good. Was it too late?
I decided that my mom, even though we would probably get more for the painting  down the line if we waited until after LeRoy passed, would have wanted me to take care of my wife and family most of all. With Morgan’s Bar Mitzvah looming and not having been on a vacation with Donna in years, I decided to give Alex a call to see if he was still interested. I asked for $19,500. He offered $18,250. We  finally agreed to the tidy sum  of $18,500.
On March 20th , I packed up the painting again and shipped it of Fed Ex. With mixed emotions. I tried to justify the sale thinking I had never really noticed it hanging on the wall until we started painting the house’s interior a few months earlier, plus we needed the money.
I was saddened by the news of LeRoy's passing in a New York hospital on June 20th, exactly three months after I sold the Red Toreador. The world had lost such an incredible icon, but more than that, it had lost a wonderful spirit. I will never forget the hour I spent in that room with him, and. Even though I don’t have the painting,  at least I have that memory to take with me for as long as I can remember.  God bless LeRoy Neiman!


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