November 27, 2002 Student
News
Richmond's Old
Depot Antiques is Labor of Love for Barbara Graham
From
the Hard News Cafe
(11/22/02)
I've passed the antique store on the corner of U.S. 91 and Main
Street in Richmond many times on my way to and from my parents'
home in Idaho Falls, each time with a moderate degree of intrigue,
but always lacking the gumption to stop and take a look.
Today I decide to go in.
The parking lot is a dirt driveway occupied by only one other
car; I assume it belongs to the owner. There's an old wagon
wheel on the small front lawn and a vintage bike leaning against
the side of the building.
I'm pleased to see the "open" sign in the window
on the front door. I know shops like this open and close at
odd hours. They exist more to entertain the owner than to cater
to the public's needs.
A cowbell bangs against the door when I walk in. The smell
takes me back to every antique store I've ever been in. They
all smell the same; a unique mixture of old perfume and wood
and dust. If mystery had a smell, I think, it would smell like
this.
The ceilings are high, probably 15 feet or so. But all that
headroom doesn't remedy the fact that I can barely walk for
the piles of books and jewelry boxes and tables and paintings
and knickknacks strewn everywhere. The thought crosses my mind
what a tragedy it would be to be a claustrophobic antique-lover.
I turn left into a room packed with old clothes. And we're
not talking your dad's polyester leisure suits. Feathered and
mesh-veiled hats of every color hang around the tall, stately
windows. Fur and ruffles and lace, in hues muted with age, poke
out of racks and boxes at every angle. I feel like I've just
walked into the costume room at MGM Studios in 1935.
A middle-aged woman with classically beautiful Native American
features, her long black hair pulled back, looks up from checking
a price on something and smiles, and tells me to let her know
if I can help her with anything. This is Barbara Graham, and
the Old Depot Antique Shop is her baby.
In 1984, Barbara's husband, a veterinarian, got a USDA job
offer in Richmond. The couple was living in Phoenix but he wanted
to move to a small town. He persuaded Barbara to come with him
to Richmond, just to take a look. It was summer when they arrived.
The town won them over. Barbara's only fleeting concern was
"Do you think it gets cold here?" But after glancing
around at all the beautiful flowers in bloom, she decided it
couldn't get that bad.
The couple rolled into town with their family and belongings
on Oct. 30, 1984, in a whiteout snowstorm.
The next day was Halloween. Barbara and her family awoke to
find the entire town decked out in observance of the holiday.
The workers at the hotel where they were staying, the bank tellers,
everyone dressed up.
Driving down the road, she says, "you would look over
and see Santa Claus or a clown in the next car."
All of a sudden the snowstorm from the day before didn't seem
quite so bad.
I thought, "I like this place," she says.
Barbara has a very soft spot in her heart for costumes. Of
all the categories of antiques found in her shop, vintage clothing
is her favorite.
"I love it," she says, obviously relishing an opportunity
to talk about her passion. "I think it started when I was
young and I'd play dress up. When we were little there was no
television and our parents gave us their discards, old dresses
and hats and jewelry, and we played dress up.
Barbara says she drove past the abandoned train depot on the
corner at least once a day for years, thinking each time what
an excellent spot for an antique shop it was. She tells me about
the electric train that used to run where U.S. 91 now runs,
down through Ogden and on to Salt Lake City.
The women would get all dressed up and catch the train here,
she says, and ride down to Salt Lake and go to the events at
the Saltair.
Standing in this room surrounded by clothes those women could
have very well been wearing when they made their treks, I feel
almost like we're surrounded by their ghosts.
Barbara bought the old train depot three years ago and began
moving in 35 years worth of antique collecting.
She continues to augment her collection constantly through
estate sales, auctions, consignments -- people bringing in their
items for her to purchase and re-sell -- and any other way she
can get her hands on merchandise.
Anywhere I travel to, I'm sure to pick something up, she says.
She is standing behind the cash register now and I'm handing
her a gorgeous mint-condition rhinestone pin I've decided to
purchase. I absent-mindedly express my mutual love for vintage
clothes. She points at me and wrinkles up her brow.
"What did you say your name was?"
"Jasmine."
"You can't go wrong in collecting something that's old,
Jasmine. It always goes up in value."
I nod my head and reach across the shelf in front of the register
piled high with random objects to hand her my check. She snakes
her arm through a jungle of items that have taken over the cash
register counter and meets me half way.
And I'm glad I'm not claustrophobic.
By Jasmine Erickson
Photo by Nancy Williams
utah
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