Memories for sale

It’s been said that sometimes you have to let go of what you’re clinging to in order to see if it was worth holding onto. One need look no further than the shelves of a pawn shop to validate that notion.

The merchandise on the sales floor of Olde Town Jewelry & Loan in downtown Ventura is neatly arranged section by section — electronics and hardware in the center, musical equipment in the back, gems and jewelry on the sides. For some, it’s a veritable smorgasbord of sweet deals to be had on goods normally prohibitive at their full price. For others, it’s akin to a kind of memory depository, a place where the relationships we have with our most prized possessions are severed.

It’s become yet more evident in the last year for people hit hard by the economic stresses of the country’s ongoing recession. Hoping for some kind of financial leverage, a family heirloom is turned in for collateral, a coveted first guitar handed over for a temporary fix in some quick cash. But neither compensates enough for the sentimental loss inflicted upon people who are today resorting to selling away objects to which strong emotional bonds, not unlike those with a pet, have been formed.

It gives rise to another simple dictum: that attachment to worldly things can, and will, lead to suffering.

“It’s never a good experience to let go of your stuff,” says Diana Russell, manager of the Olde Towne shop.

Some transactions at the pawn shop, where cash is loaned in exchange for items of monetary value, run without incident. Others can be difficult for people reluctant to part with their belongings, and in some situations emotions can run high.

Russell said a woman who had initially relinquished her engagement ring for a loan four months ago revisited the store this past weekend wishing to view the piece of jewelry. However, as per the store’s policy, until a loan and its interest are redeemed, an item remains in storage.

“She started crying,” Russell said. “It caught me off guard.”

Another recent incident involved a tragic unfurling of a family. A mother, having learned that her son, an Iraq veteran with a history of drug abuse, had been stealing items from the home and pawning them off, entered the shop distraught, and in a mild attack of panic, collapsed to the floor.

“We grabbed her a chair and some water, and she couldn’t breathe. It was intense,” Russell explained.

They were small, innocuous items that found their way into the shop — an old camera, an electric drill — but to this woman, they were like a weak glue that barely held her family unit together.

“It was kind of a bittersweet moment. I could feel this family falling apart,” says Russell.

An academic background in psychology has helped Russell a great deal. Part and parcel of her job as a pawn broker is the role of quasi-counselor, as a sympathetic ear is necessary when communicating with customers who are essentially grieving for the loss of something dear to them.

“It’s really important to have patience and compassion,” she says, “and be quick on your feet. We have to try to read people as much as we can.”

It can be an awkward balance to achieve when personal feelings are often frowned upon in the world of business transactions, and it’s not entirely uncommon for the odd walk-in client to shed some crocodile tears for the sake of landing a better deal. At the same time, pawn shops are saddled with the notorious, unfair stereotype of employing only the shadiest and sleaziest of rip-off artists, making it more difficult for the honest brokers. The effects are undeniable, yet surmountable.

“I’ve hardened myself a little bit by being here,” notes Russell. “I’ve just been taught not to loan on the story. It’s not what we do.”

She was taught by her grandfather, Shel Wainer, a lifelong broker who started his career in Los Angeles in the 1950s and weathered the damage caused to so many storefronts there in two separate riots — 1965’s Watts, and post-Rodney King, 1992 — before arriving in Ventura County as a co-owner of the Oak Street shop. It’s become a family affair, with Wainer, Russell and Russell’s sister Jenifer all employed in the same industry.

“We’re a bank for people who don’t have a bank to go to,” says Wainer. “I’ve been doing this a while and have heard just about every story. But we try to keep it private.”

Still, nothing in his long career can compare to the financial worries people are bringing to the pawn shop today.

“When gas skyrocketed [last year],” Russell explained, “we had people coming in here needing $25, $40, just to get to work.”

Jenifer Russell, who manages another area pawn shop, takes it to heart when customers turn desperately to loan collateral for their sole income.

“For us,” she says, “it doesn’t matter what the profit margin is. We try to think, if we were ever in that situation, how would we feel?”

Perhaps Diana Russell can vouch for that, that an affinity for the material that passes through the ranks of the shop runs both ways.

“I get attached to some of the stuff. I don’t want to see it go.” But, she admits, “I’d really like to see somebody have that.”

She refers specifically to an electric grand piano on the store’s floor. Like a child put up for adoption, it sits alone under a row of vintage guitars, waiting for someone to take it home and, for the most part, give it the love it needs.

And much like that familiar description of opportunity — as one door closes, another opens — most of the items in the shop that parted ways with their former owners do eventually see better days with new people. According to Russell, one regular customer purchases damaged, aged guitars and refurbishes them for students of the six-string; another woman, a budding horologist, collects antique pocket watches for repair. Still another person seeks out amplifiers to donate for local church musicals.

“Most of the time,” she said, “the item goes somewhere where they’ll need it most.”  

paul@vcreporter.com