If you work in a furniture store and are still wondering who that guy was who walked in, gave you a big hug and walked out; it was me. That's what I've been doing with my spare time this week-- randomly hugging furniture sales people. It's not something I would have considered before last weekend, but now, it seems only right.

I had gone to Allentown to help my brother John, move into the house that he and my soon-to-be Sister-in-law Connie had just purchased.

He had an apartment full of furniture. She had an apartment full of furniture. Hers was contemporary. His was a bit more eclectic and didn't really fit into any particular category, unless one considers 'early flea-market' to be an established style. Early on, Connie had made it politely clear that combining the two was not an option. She mentioned something about a caravan of gypsies descending on the Ritz, but we didn't understand what she was talking about.

Throwing things away has always been hard for us. It's the way we were brought up. Still to be found at our folks house are forests-worth of old newspapers; cupboards, closets and entire rooms stuffed with plastic milk jugs, whipped topping containers, packets of fast-food ketchup, piles of still-wrapped straws and stacks of those little tins that frozen pot-pies come in.

In our house, old clothing was converted to rags, never discarded. The last time I was home, I caught Mom dusting the mantle with a ragged old pair of my eighth-grade underwear.

Old kitchen and yard machineries were never pitched either. Rather, they were dissected into their constituent parts and stored in the garage because, "Ya' never know when an old lawn mower muffler is gonna come in handy!".

Pack-ratting is in our blood. The very idea that most of John's still-serviceable furniture would have to be escorted to the curb was repulsive to us. We may just as well have been told that we'd have to eat our own babies.

At the end of every month, the residents of Allentown celebrate an unusual holiday, known locally as "Trash Eve". Trash Eve is the night before the last day of the month-- when leases expire and people are most likely to pack up and move. It is the night that people are allowed to discard not just bagged trash, but large items like furniture and appliances. It is a night when those who aren't moving often roam the streets on foot or in pickup trucks in search of free stuff.

Perfect. The thought that John's furniture still had a chance of survival made lugging it down his narrow steps a little easier.

Just after dark, activity on the street began to pick up-- literally-- as if in answer to our prayers. We'd drag stuff to the curb, go away, come back and find that the entire pile had vanished. It was a miracle-- the second coming of Ethan Allen-- the rapture, for home furnishings.

Half of John's furniture had disappeared in this way before the plan hit a snag: competition from the neighbors. As more and more of them dragged their junk to the curb, less and less of John's stuff was being taken. At this rate, most of it would still be sitting there when the garbage truck came to crush it. The voices of our ancestors cried out for justice.

Eventually, we decided that we'd have to do what furniture merchants throughout history had done-- we revamped our marketing strategy and tried to make our junk pile the most attractive and appealing junk pile in the neighborhood.

Instead of simply stacking our stuff at the curb, we moved the pieces out into the circle of the street light and arranged them into attractive vignettes, as might be found in a furniture store. We placed an ancient coffee table in front of, rather than on top of, a rickety, old sofa. We sat an old recliner next to it at an angle that was particularly pleasing to the eye.

Near the opposite end, we placed my favorite item in the entire collection: a huge, overstuffed throne chair covered in a rich, purple crushed velour. A ragged afghan was draped over its high back and a pair of ancient throw cushions were arranged on its ample seat.

We sat on the balcony and watched our handiwork work it's magic. Over the next few hours, all but one of our items were gone. By 1:30am, the only thing left... was the big purple chair.

Despite the late hour and below freezing temperatures, an older gentleman was slowly making his way up the sidewalk, inspecting and poking around in every junk pile he passed. This late in the game, he was probably the last hope for our favorite chair.

"Pleasant evening, isn't it, sir?", I chirped, as we clambered down the steps.

"Uhhh. Damn cold.", he snorted.

"Ya' know what you need? You need to sit down and take a rest in a nice warm chair.", said John, directing our guest into the purple chair. "Well... what do you think? Pretty comfy, he?"

" 's'O.K. I guess", he replied. "Don't really need a chair, though. Already picked up three tonight."

"Not like this chair, you haven't.", I said. "This chair is different. This chair is..." I had no idea, and looked to John for inspiration.

"This chair was on The Addam's Family TV show back in the '60's!", he cried. It was a lie... but it was a really GOOD lie. "Morticia used to sit in this chair. You should take it home. It might be worth some money!"

Our guest considered this for a moment, then grunted his reply.

"Don't need another chair."

"Well, sir", John said, patiently, "We can see you're a man who drives a hard bargain. Tell me, what do we have to do to get you to take this chair home with you tonight?" The man thought for a moment.

"Well, for one thing... it's got this stain.", he said pointing between his legs at the seat cushion.

"I have a can of upholstery cleaner upstairs. You can have it."

"Still don't need it.", the man replied, stubbornly.

"Yes you DO!", I blurted in frustration. "This is a great chair! But you have to act now! Tomorrow will be too late! This chair probably cost a couple hundred bucks when it was new! But you can take it home with you tonight for the amazingly low price of NOTHING! That's right, 100% off, no money down, zero percent financing and no payments, EVER! So what'dya' say, pal? Will you take this chair?"

"Well..." he replied, slowly, "I suppose it's a nice chair. If it means that much to ya', I'd be glad to take it. Except that my wife already went home with the pickup and the other chairs."

"We have a moving truck.", answered John. "If you'll take this chair, we'll deliver it for free, throw in the upholstery cleaner at no charge and even help you carry it in. Now, do we have a deal?"

We had to throw in breakfast at the all-night diner, but by four-am, our chair was safely up six flights of steps, sitting in our friend's tiny apartment, (along with the three other chairs.)

If it's this difficult to GIVE furniture away... I can't even imagine how hard it must be to SELL it. Hence, the hugs.



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