Sleepless Near Seattle

The commotion began with a full-page notice in the April 18 issue of Antiques and The Arts Weekly. Sanford & Son Auctions, at 743 Broadway in Tacoma, Wash., was planning a sale on Saturday, April 26, at its gallery on the south end of Puget Sound, just a few miles from Seattle.

"To Be Sold: One Lot," began the copy, "The Dr Thomas Moffatt Newport kneehole, 4 shell, desk w/John Townsend label, (c. 1760); the Dr Thomas Moffatt Newport drop leaf dining table with John Townsend label, (c.1760); O/C, Portrait of Dr. Moffatt, (c.1760)."

The history that followed was equally remarkable: "Dr Moffatt, a Newport, Rhode Island resident was a `Tory-Loyalist.' His house was burned to the ground in 1765. He and his family moved to Halifax, Nova Scotia, via ship, with above heirlooms. Ownership has transferred to first born son for 230 years. They are now in Victoria, British Columbia, and will be delivered to Auction House 48 hrs. prior to sale."

The prospect of a blocked, shell-carved Newport kneehole desk with a Townsend label created a stir in the trade. A similar, unlabeled desk attributed to Edmund Townsend had fetched a record $3.6 million at Sotheby's in January 1996.

If Sanford & Son had a labeled example in pristine condition, the desk could bring anywhere between $3 and $5 million. Only one other labeled John Townsend four-shell kneehole by John Townsend is known. It is illustrated in Master Craftsmen of Newport: The Townsends and Goddards by Michael Moses, plate 5.

But what was the chance of such an important piece of Eighteenth Century furniture turning up at a small auction house near Seattle? It was possible, experts concluded. During the Revolutionary War, some Newport Loyalists had returned to England or fled north to her more docile colony. Sotheby's American furniture specialist Leslie Keno recalled the 1983 sale of a three-shell Newport dressing table he found on a Toronto house call, and a Goddard dressing table now in an important private collection had reportedly surfaced in London.

Nevertheless, those scruntinizing the advertisement found certain details disconcerting. First there was the preview inspection: auctioneer Alan Gorsuch said it was strictly limited to Friday, April 25, from 10 am to 5 pm. Then there were the terms of sale: no phone bids or absentee bids. Potential buyers were instructed to have letters of credit from their banks and were told to be prepared to issue two checks, one to the auction house and another to the consignors.

Most bewildering was the lack of clear, readable photographs. Three clumsy Polaroids were reproduced in Antiques and The Arts Weekly. The shell carving on the desk was barely visible in one, and the leg of the table was cut off in another. When dealers asked the auctioneer to send photos, the answer was no.

Despite reservations, furniture experts felt that the Newport casepiece was potentially too important to be ignored. As New York dealer Albert Sack said later, "I had been thinking about going out to the sale. Not because I thought the piece was good, but because I wouldn't be diligent if it sold and I hadn't looked at it."

Another New York dealer, Leigh Keno, had also been on the phone with Sanford & Son. Keno, who had purchased the $3.6 million Meyer desk on behalf of a client, persuaded Gorsuch to allow him to view the piece before Friday. "I had to be in the Poconos on Saturday. It was the only day this year I could qualify for membership in the Vintage Sports Car Club of America," explained Keno, who owns and races a 1956 Lotus 11 and a 1959 Lola MK1.

On Tuesday, Keno flew to Seattle with Robert Fileti, a Glen Ridge, N.J., conservator who once worked for Israel Sack Inc and now operates a private consultancy. They checked in at the local Sheraton, then headed for Tacoma's antiques row, where Gorsuch and his wife, Cheryl, who have been in business for 25 years, occupy a 25,000-square-foot shop cum auction gallery.

"In real simple terms, we could have gotten back on the plane in 30 seconds if the plane was just outside," noted Fileti, who said one glance at the casepiece convinced him that it was no more than a few decades old. "Anyone could have built a better kneehole desk than this. The dovetailing was really crude. The underside was an abomination of stuck-on pine glue blocks and everything else. Nothing gave you an inkling that this was remotely close."

"The first thing we saw was the drawer with three shells -- two convex, one concave -- out and on a table. A leather-bound volume of Michael Moses's book, Master Craftsmen of Newport: The Townsends and Goddards, was opened up nearby," Keno recalled.

He was certain that he was looking at a reproduction. "The drawer was in the style of Edmund Townsend, not John Townsend, and I mean style with a capital `S'," Keno said. "The wood was not old. Rosehead nails had clearly been stuck into the wood in this century. The shells weren't even close to what you would expect and the label was a Xerox of a John Townsend label, glued to the side."

Keno and Fileti glanced at the dropleaf table and painting. "The table also had the Xeroxed label. It's period, but the top could have been replaced. The painting has been relined and restretched. No one can be sure if it is Dr Moffatt, because the pencil inscription is recent," Keno said.

Keno and Fileti went back to the hotel and got on the phone. They called Albert Sack, Wayne Pratt, Alan Miller, Todd Prickett and Guy Bush. Bush said, "Go anywhere you want for dinner. I'm buying." The sleuths headed out to a Japanese restaurant.

For those who had asked, Antiques and The Arts Weekly provided enlarged, screened copies of Sanford's original photograph. "We could see quite a bit," Yardley, Penn., dealer Todd Prickett said later. "The brasses were flat and sharp, not Eighteenth Century. The molding was not anything like a Townsend molding. The back foot is not a Rhode Island foot."

He added, "The shells were not consistent. All these Townsend desks have blocking that is a certain width and the shells themselves are wider. They really give you the impression that the shell is wrapping around the blocking. Another telltale sign is the way the shell is handled."

"When I called the auctioneer he seemed sincere," said Guy Bush. "But when I asked him questions it seemed a little odd. The dimensions made it larger than the ones I know of, except for the Goddard that Dietrich owns. The size and layout of the shells seemed a little funny. So did the label. But it sounded intriguing, very intriguing."

New York dealer Albert Sack had in the meantime asked Seattle restorer Peter Penz to drop by Sanford & Son to see what he could learn. When Penz arrived, he was surprised to find the desk already on the premises. Penz's report "was right on the money," Sack related. He added, "The piece was all varnished inside and out. He couldn't even tell whether it was period, it had so much gook on it. The label was a joke."

Sack continued, "John Townsend pieces have certain features that were exclusive to John Townsend. Every John Townsend piece has a unique execution of the shell which serves as a parameter for identification. That is, the bottom lobe of the shell abuts the transition line, and the small arc at the base of the shell terminates in a button. All the others continue to the button without interruption. Even in the obscure photo you could read the shell. Beyond John Townsend, the shells are not as definitive."

Hearing the opinion of Keno and Fileti, the auctioneer seemed disappointed. "He had planned salmon, caviar and police guards for the sale," Keno said. "He told his wife, `Better order a lot less food.'"

"I've always wanted to have a fire sale. You buy it and burn it," said Alan Gorsuch, when Antiques and The Arts Weekly reached him on Wednesday before the sale. What was his opinion of the kneehole? "I don't have one. This is a total roller coaster. Local people and pseudo experts out here have looked at it and liked it. If someone were trying to pull off a hoax, this was the wrong way to go about it. They would have arranged a private sale and avoided the spotlight."

How did Sanford and Son get the piece? "The treasurer of the corporation who owns the piece came to us with a proposal. It is a Reno, Nev., corporation. My wife literally woke me up from a nap with a clipboard full of information. Yesterday we came to the conclusion that I was still taking my nap," said Gorsuch. The consignor had approached him with the proposal "two and a half weeks" before the April 26 sale date, the auctioneer said. He would not provide the consignor's telephone number, as anonymity was part of the agreement.

Did Gorsuch find it odd that the consignor would choose a small Tacoma auction house to offer a piece of such potential importance? "It's not necessarily odd. You have to understand the mentality of Northwest people. A sale like that would not be inconceivable. I am quite convinced that even with a small ad in your paper we probably would have set a new record. If you have the right merchandise, it doesn't matter who sells it."

Why was the sale hastily arranged, and the preview limited to just one day? "They were concerned about an auction pool or collusion, so they wanted it to be quick. It was for the same reason there were no absentee bids, no minimums, no telephone bids," Gorsuch said.

Why did the advertisement specify two checks, one for the auctioneer and one for the consignor? "I have a small bank and they aren't used to handling large sums. I didn't want that kind of money in my account, even for a short time. The terms were outlined in the proposal. They already had the ad done up and wanted it done that way. It wasn't necessarily strange. The photos I saw were okay. That they turned out that bad in the ad was inadvertent," Gorsuch said.

Did Gorsuch believe that he was set up? "No. I personally feel that the corporation was as innocent as we were. If someone was trying to scam someone, they would want to involve you in some way in the capital end of it." Gorsuch later revised his opinion of the consignor.

"What's the price of a second-hand piano?," Albert Sack asked rhetorically when questioned about the value of what was now suspected of being a reproduction. Over the next few days, attention shifted to the identity of the consignor. As far as Antiques and The Arts Weekly knew, the only person who had actually met the consignor was a Seattle furniture enthusiast who dropped into the Tacoma gallery and perchance met him. When the Seattle aficionado called Leigh Keno for advice, he told the New York dealer that the consignor was an elderly, white haired man. He seemed to be local. He thought his name was Flynn.

Alan Gorsuch had told Antiques and The Art Weekly that the consignor, not the auction gallery, had placed the advertisement. The notice had come in the mail with little covering information, but when advertising manager Anita Maestas checked her records she discovered the name and address of a contact: Donald Francis Flynn, 316 California Avenue, Suite 10, Reno, Nev. 89509.

Antiques and The Arts Weekly called several top furniture dealers. To a one, they recalled a collector by the name of Don Flynn, though none had seen him recently. The Don Flynn of their acquaintance had made a fortune in real estate, lived in San Francisco and had a large collection of American furniture. Some of the pieces were good; many others had repairs or restorations. The word in the trade was that a collector named Don Flynn had consigned pieces to various East Coast auction houses, sometimes running afoul of the firms.

In the mid-1980s, a San Francisco collector named Don Flynn had filed suit against Christie's after the Park Avenue house slated Flynn's property for sale at Christie's East. The suit was dismissed in a California court.

Dealers recalled that the Don Flynn of their memory had grown up in Connecticut and had planned to give his collection to the University of Connecticut. When the deal fell through, much of his holdings were sold at Butterfield & Butterfield on November 4, 1992. A call to the San Francisco auction house confirmed that Flynn's property had included a kneehole. Butterfield's had catalogued Lot 348 as a "Chippendale Mahogany Shell-Carved Block-Front Kneehole Dressing Table In The Newport, Rhode Island Manner." Estimated at only $10/15,000, the piece passed. It had no label. (In the same sale, a Colchester, Conn., bureau Flynn had purchased from Nathan Liverant & Son sold to Leigh Keno for $26,000 plus premium. The New York dealer resold it to Stonington, Conn., dealer Marguerite Riordan, who brought it out at the Winter Antiques Show in January.)

A source told Antiques and The Arts Weekly that Don Flynn had moved out of the country, but remained near Seattle. On a hunch, Robert Fileti called directory assistance for Vancouver and got a listing for a D.F. Flynn in Richmond, B.C.

When Antiques and The Arts Weekly called the number, Flynn acknowledged placing the advertisement for the kneehole desk. He said the desk belonged to a family trust in British Columbia, and that he was their agent. He identified the trust as the Carthaginian Financial Corporation. Documentation later supplied by Alan Gorsuch revealed that the officers of the corporation, based in Reno, Nev., included Edward R. Fitzsimmons of Carson City, Nev., and Donald F. Flynn of Reno, Nev.

Flynn told Antiques and The Arts Weekly that he had grown up in Watertown, Conn. He said he now lives near Seattle but has an office in British Columbia. The family, he said, "wanted a small regional auction without all the bells and whistles of a New York auction." Why were the terms of the sale restricted? "Well, it was a last minute decision. They thought it best if people came out and looked at it."

When informed that some experts thought the desk was a reproduction, Flynn replied, "Well, I don't know about that. I'm not an expert." Had he looked at the desk? "Yes." What did he think? "I think it may have some problems."

Meanwhile, several other experts had voiced opinions. Portland, Me., dealer Donald Heller had arrived on Wednesday to view the kneehole. "It was an eight-second evaluation. It's a good across-the-room copy, but not convincing when you look at it close up." The label, Heller said, was the "most low-technology photocopy" he had ever seen.

By Friday, Alan Gorsuch was wavering between canceling the sale altogether or simply announcing that the kneehole's authenticity was in serious doubt. In the end, he did both.

"I gave Don Flynn three chances to redeem himself in some manner," the auctioneer said on Sunday, following the sale. The auctioneer continued, "I got him to come to the auction. I told him that the piece had been looked at by two or three people from back East and was in a lot of question. They had canceled their tickets, and wouldn't be there to recognize him."

"You can still come and bid on behalf of the family," Gorsuch told Flynn. "He showed up and we gave him a bidder's number. I sold him the portrait, and then we sold the table, as an Eighteenth Century Rhode Island school table with a fake label." When Flynn arrived, the press was there to greet him.

Gorsuch took the dramatic step of presenting the kneehole desk to his audience, then setting a can of gasoline on top of it before having runners wheel it out on a dolly. Then the auctioneer announced, "Because of the controversy and deception swirling around this `grandest of larceny' attempt to defraud the antiques community at large and, in particular, my business and major clients on the East Coast, I have decided to withdraw the `John Townsend' Newport four-shell American Chippendale block-front kneehole desk."

Gorsuch continued, "While this item is taken outside, I would like to personally address Mr Don Flynn: As this is the most arrogant counterfeit endeavor in the history of American antiques, I would have most certainly broken all records today, in the neighborhood of $4 million. The entire nation of antiques dealers and collectors would like to see a finale."

Gorsuch concluded, "I suggest you do the right thing: give everyone involved directly or indirectly the closure needed. To avoid prosecution and guarantee that it will never again resurface to deceive future innocents, put it to sleep forever."

On Sunday morning, the auctioneer received a faxed message from Flynn. "Alan," it began. "Thank you, I really had a wonderfull [sic] time yesterday and the pagent [sic] you put on it was wonderful. The Legal points are a Lawyer's Dream Interstate Commerce, 2 countries, Auctioneer attempts Arson." After asking for a check for the sale of the painting, which Flynn took himself, and the table, "$1,200 less 6%," Flynn concluded, "This situation is not a can of worms but a barrel of rattlesnakes: Also `Right to seize private property.' You and Police Chief may have problems."

In the end, furniture dealers are finding the tale of the Puget Sound fishing expedition more heartening than discouraging. "Now we can go back to the mundane," quipped Albert Sack, who had called to say that he found the camaraderie and teamwork demonstrated by the trade exemplary. Donald Heller noted that collectors will seldom be hurt if they develop relationships with qualified dealers.

Leigh Keno, who kept all informed and provided photographs for this report, thought it was "fortunate that this hoax has been exposed. It puts out the message that this type of thing will not be tolerated by the antiques trade. They didn't get away with it."