Allentown Hosts Its Really Big Toy Show
by Richard Friz
It has been 18 years since Pennsylvania's Allentown Toy
Show made a humble beginning under the aegis of the late Genie Lowe
and Dave Bausch. The goal was to bring together the finest dealers
of quality toys, banks, dolls, and trains possible. What better site
could there be than this cradle of such hallowed pioneer toy makers
in the Lehigh Valley as Crandall, Dent, Girard, Grey, Fallows, Hubley,
Jones and Bixler, Jeanette, Kyser & Rex, and Schoenhut (to name a
few)? The charity event for the local Good Shepherd Home & Rehabilitation
Center has been faithfully staged every first weekend in November.
On November 2, 1996, over 400 premier dealers and over 500 tables were crammed in Allentown's State Fairgrounds Agricultural Hall. A record crowd surged down the maze of aisles like a warren of energized rabbits.
Although Allentown has been hailed as the hobby's epicenter, reflecting all its seismic tremors and faults, amazingly, the show's success or failure has always been open to interpretation and sometimes controversy. After all, how many toy dealers do you know who will agree on anything?
We spoke with a number of dealers who said Allentown was flat. Gerhard and Elizabeth Klarwasser of Attleboro Falls, Massachusetts, characterized business as being "fair to dismal." They admitted this was partially attributable to overexposure. Beginning with Macungie back in early August, this dealer in automotive toys has showed at a pace of once a week in the Pennsylvania area.
We also spoke with dealers who acknowledged having their best show ever. Russ and Sheila Harrington of Baltimore said they had a lousy Chicago show, and a lousy Atlantic City, but Allentown was great. Russ indicated he'd sold three exceptional cast-iron patrol wagons—by Carpenter, Ives, and an early Hubley—plus a lot of spare parts he'd bought from Lloyd Ralston.
As one of the final shows before the advent of a new year, Allentown becomes a venue where auction houses, such as Phillips, which held its first toy sale in recent years on November 16, can showcase wares for future sales. For dealers and their customers, Allentown is a delivery point, a place where last-minute wheeling and dealing is consummated, often sub rosa. Dealers are protective and even close-mouthed about the prices of their toys, as if every local or state tax assessor or IRS agent might be lurking in the shadows (after last October's Atlantique City, maybe they are).
When several observers remarked about the almost total absence of 19th-century tin toys on the floor, a New Jersey dealer bristled and, to counter this claim, reported having sold a $15,000 Märklin clockwork battleship from his own collection and also a European saloon limousine for somewhere in five figures. Admittedly, the transaction took place well before the hall doors opened and before he could even put the items out on his table.
A Pennsylvania dealer who groused about doing zero business reportedly sold a five-figure bell toy at setup. Another toy that never quite made it to the dealer's table, a 20 inches high Steiff teddy bear, sold in the high four figures while a New Hampshire dealer was unpacking.
While Allentown has been a mecca for robot and space toys in recent years, how does one explain the absence of major purveyors of past years, such as Bob Lesser, Kennedy Ho, Mark Bergin, and Sandy Kessler? One could generalize that the robot market is caught in a negative spin cycle, but a thin market with not that many rare forms circulating is a more likely scenario. Less than a week after Allentown, Matt Wyse's robot collection racked up $379,206 at Sotheby's, led by a $42,550 "Machine Man." (Admittedly, prices across the board were closer to the low end of presale guides.)
Back in the old days, Genie Lowe would rule with an iron hand about not allowing any of the so-called "new" collectibles into these hallowed halls. Today, as at countless shows across the land, the toys that attract younger collectors—PEZ candy containers, McDonald's giveaways, Ninja Turtles, Cabbage Patch dolls—are finding begrudging acceptance at Allentown.
A missing catalyst at Allentown, one for which there is no ready fix, is the loss of so many of our colorful giants in the hobby who once held court on "museum row" and throughout the hall. Certainly, the passing of the likes of Frank Whitson, Bill Holland, Barney Barenholtz, and more recently Lloyd Ralston and Sam Downey, Sr. has taken its toll. Those gentlemen with brio, who pridefully plied their trade, made Allentown a command performance for all true-blue toy collectors.
One of the last of the old guard, Blair Whitton of Keene, New Hampshire, had reserved a table for this year's show but canceled at the last minute, due to illness. Attrition has also been a factor among other major players of their day, such as Alex Acevedo, Bob Lowe, Ernie Long, Tony Kovalesky, Vern Chamberlain, Kirk White, Ed Hyers, and Kendra Krienke.
Another missing ingredient is the big spenders of the 1980's who, like the collective alien Borg in the latest Star Trek epic, want to assimilate everything on the planet. Many dealers fear that today, this almost extinct, self-indulgent species only surfaces to spend recklessly at auctions such as Bertoia's, Julia's, Barrett's, Skinner's, and Opfer's.
Allentown has too much going for it to become a mud wrestling pit for quibblers and naysayers. The hope is that enough fresh "merch" keeps circulating and that there are still enough visionaries to guide the show to new heights well into the 21st century. As Frank Whitson was fond of saying, "If you can't sell at Allentown, you can't sell anywhere."