Tejada-Genie
The following account transpired at Brown Bros. in the month of February, 2021.
It is a story deserving to be told.
An Incredible Journey
The house looked exhausted. Years of neglect had eroded its defenses. The roof shingles stained, curled. Gutters long clogged, now cascaded water seeking its level in the basement. Increased moisture swelled the windows and doors, barring entry. Overgrown trees and bushes added icing to this curious cake. If one survived to the front door, a worn mat, once announcing Welcome, barely sighed Hi.
The first clue in our quest. School crest from California Preparatory, Covina, Los Angeles County, ca. 1930
(Image courtesy of Alturas Films, Emeryville, California).
Inside, to the untrained eye, the house looked ransacked. Debris fields flowed from one room to another, up the staircase and down, over furniture, upon sills. Mounds. For the enlightened, these tells talk. They speak of a lifetime collecting, an example when collecting overcomes collector. Here was an eternity in the antique trade. Far from needing a house cleaner, this home begged archaeologist. No leather gloves for junk, only white gloves for delicacy. Although the removal task is daunting, the singular byproduct is time halted. A harbor for the past, undisturbed. A Howard Carter moment. One never knows what to expect in these Caves of Wonder. Who would want these things? echo the ignorant. Many. For herein lies the marvel, residing patiently, waiting for re-discovery. The first step on our incredible journey.
Something Old, Something New, Something Discovered, Something for You
Piles of books, porcelain, brass, jewelry, and silver from this home overwhelmed the sorting tables in our gallery. This job would entail a massive jigsaw puzzle. Silver lids here, single earrings there, mismatched flatware patterns everywhere. All waiting their Gabriel call. One item caught this writer's eye. A tarnished silver vase spoke elegance. Its design simple, its weight substantial. I set it upright on the table. Soot-black tarnish camouflaged the engraving. From the cupboard, I retrieved silver polish and a soft cloth. With the lightest touch, I began rubbing the surface. Blackness saturated the cloth and still the words remained hidden.
The rosetta stone spoke....Presented by J. H. Henry to L. Hernan Tejada-F... The search was on. The trail led west, California or Bust. Detail of California Preparatory School graduation trophy.
More polish, more cloth, more rubbing. The rosetta stone spoke....Presented by J. H. Henry to L. Hernan Tejada-F... I stopped and sat down. Tarnish oozed through the cloth staining my fingers, stove-blacking my fingernails. This was a trophy. I doubled my efforts. More clues surfaced....for Clean Manly Character awarded by Majority Vote of Students, California Preparatory School, 1931. No, this was more than a trophy. It was a grail. Someone out in the world would cherish its being. But who? How close this gem was to the smelting pot shivers the stoutest soul. I had to find the trail back to the family. The trophy felt warm in my hands. Was it my polishing, my concern, or something else?
Follow the Silver Brick Road
A sunny Sunday afternoon was devoted to unlocking the trail back to 1931. The trophy offered clues. An errant online photographic postcard of the Preparatory School pinpointed its location in Covina, California. The town is sited in the eastern part of Los Angeles County, nestled within the San Gabriel Mountains. A safe place to come of age. Covina, in the 1930's, was known for its orange and grapefruit orchards. Any other trace of this school was erased. Still, the student's name nibbled my curiosity. Tejada-F. In time, my perseverance was rewarded as the name expanded to Flores. Although helpful, the name Tejada-Flores in the Latino world was as common as the name Brown in a Quaker Meetinghouse register. My California surfing continued.
Lights. Camera. Action
The major breakthrough was finding Alturas Films. Located in Emeryville, California, owner Rick Tejada-Flores has carved a career in the documentary film industry first lime-lighting the plight of migrant farmers, then expanding his portfolio into the Latino genre. His diligence and exacting standards have earned him wide respect and deserving awards. One film, My Bolivia, is his personal quest seeking family roots reaching back into South America. Rick's father grew up there but was sent to the United States for his education.
May 6, 1931. Letter from headmaster Frank Smith to Hernan's father, José Luis Tejada Sorzano, Vice President of Bolivia, announcing the J.H. Henry Trophy awarded to his son, and the Head Boy second prize.
The letter confirms the trophy, giving it far more familial value than could ever be calculated.
(letter courtesy of Alturas Films, Emeryville, California)
Hernan's 1931 graduation from the California Preparatory School was productive. He received the top two awards. The J.H. Henry Trophy voted by his peers, and the Head Boy accolade as determined by his instructors. My slip knot tightened. Without this film, I may have never located the Tejada-Flores family. It was the singular link reconnecting the westbound rail.
Operator, Could You Help Me Place this Call?....He's living in LA...
How does one approach someone he has never met and not appear as a scam artist? How do you tell someone you have found an item missing from their family for ninety years without having the door slammed in your face? The entire proposal screams preposterous. And to contact someone on a Sunday afternoon? Never on a Sunday, cause that's my day of rest. The melody in my mind as distant as the recipient of this trophy.
California Preparatory School football photograph, signed by players.
Luis Hernan Tejada stands far right, ca. 1930 (Image courtesy of Alturas Films, Emeryville, California).
The email subject line to Alturas Films was succinct. Your Dad, Luis Hernan Tejada-F., California Prep School, 1931. The words chosen to avoid spam interference, yet concise enough to grab attention. I had no idea who would read my email, let alone comprehend this message. Ninety years is a long time. With crossed fingers and a splash of singani, I retired to bed. Monday dawned and the gallery beckoned. I was off and running.
Afternoon Delight
Mondays are devoted to catching up, in theory anyway. The morning's hubbub of Saturday buyers settling accounts drops from a flurry to a light dusting by afternoon. The phone rang. Hello, Brown Bros. A distant voice reached across the country and time. Hello, this is Rick Tejada-Flores. To even attempt word description of this moment's emotion is almost impossible. My efforts to reunite with the Tejada-Flores family had borne fruit, perhaps from the orchards of Covina. But think how Rick felt. It was our Promontory Point. We talked. It was almost as if we had known each other for years. Together, we rekindled an extinguished bonfire, a moment decades before we walked the earth. Here was Hernan resurrected, young and brimming with dreams. Rick graciously steered me to his film My Bolivia, and all the pieces on the jigsaw table snapped together. By the next Saturday afternoon, the trophy was his, on its way to Emeryville, California where it rightfully belongs, in the loving hands of the Tejada-Flores family.
Luis Hernan Tejada's trophy. Note the polished and pre-polished condition.
The question begs asking? How was the trophy separated from them? Was it stolen. I thought not, as it would have been melted for scrap. Was it lost in a card game? Perhaps. Was it pawned in a down moment? A theory. How it arrived in a Bucks County home all the way from California will remain a mystery. All that really matters is the trophy returned home, to recapture warm memories and make new ones. And there it shall rest once again, for a long, long time.
The Tejada-Genie
Aladdin enters the Cave of Wonders for the sole purpose of retrieving a tarnished seemingly useless lamp. He is warned not to touch all the treasures surrounding him. Still, he can't resist. At that moment, the cave door slams shut, the hapless boy entombed. Curious of the lamp in hand, Aladdin starts rubbing its surface. To his surprise, a genie rises up in a cloud of wonderment. He grants the lad three wishes. But you know this story. Forget Aladdin, what would you wish for? Money, fame, health? After years in the auction business, I have learned treasure is not what you demand, it is what you are gifted. And the life well-lived is showered with bountiful harvests.
14k yellow gold guilloche enameled locket. A keepsake for memories.
My wishes, the two remaining, are I could do this again for somebody else. In this world of cold binary code, political acrimony, and instability, it is quite satisfying to touch one's humanity, reach out for the soul itself. A story that never tires, a tale fitting for the City of Angels, an incredible journey.
Doors open at 8 AM. Auction starts at 9 AM. PA AU 1265L [bb]
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