I can't tell you how excited I am for the EJF auction.  In my opinion, if you're not excited for it, you're neither a patriot nor a person with a soul. Indeed, as I've stated in a previous column, this would be one of the highlights of the spring. It is, in fact, an opportunity for greatness.  And how many of those do you get in a given year?

It seems to me there aren't as many auctions as there used to be.  At the very least, there are fewer auctions than when I was a kid.  Then again, I grew up in rural Minnesota, so perhaps these things were more common there.  At any rate, time was that every few weeks during the summer, somebody would throw a bunch of stuff on a flatbed trailer, park it in the center of the street, gather the neighbors, and have the local auctioneer (and sometime barber, high school basketball book-keeper, cattle salesman, and generally shady guy) start talking very rapidly and very loudly.  This was in the days before microphones, of course, so we all had to stand close to the trailer-the crush of humanity made it feel, for a brief moment, like there was a crowd in town.  The only other time you got that sensation was during the annual Dutch Festival (wooden shoe dancing, y'all!) or, perhaps, during a tractor pull.  Or when the local summer camp would bus all that week's campers to the city pool (guaranteeing that said campers bathed at least once during the week).  Yeah, the pool would be pretty iffy on those days.  In any event, there we'd sit, crowded around the auctioneer, inspecting the goods and perhaps even putting in a bid or two before going home to listen to the Twins' game on the radio.  This was in the days before Minnesota had television stations, of course, so we had to imagine what the playing field looked like.  With our minds.

Those were just the neighborhood auctions, however.  We also had the fundraising auctions.  Oh, did we ever.  For instance, the local private school (this would be the doesn't-have-enough-money-for-textbooks-published-before-1962 type of private school) referred to its auction as a "Donation Sale," perhaps to avoid any negative connotations associated with the word "auction."  I'm not sure what connotations those would be, but mine was a people who referred to dances as "festivals" and to the high school prom as "The Junior-Senior Banquet."  (Side note: Barrister's Ball is NOT LIKE PROM.  At Prom, you (1) are not supposed to drink, and (2) only pretend to enjoy yourself.  Ergo, Barrister's cannot be Prom.  Quod erat demonstrandum.)  Connotations or not, the Donation Sale was big business, at least for a town of 1,123 (1,106 after the 1990 census-much less Fibonacci Sequence-esque, right?  I watched too much Public Television as a child).

I recall attending the Donation Sale a number of times.  I think my dad placed the winning bid on a toy tractor for me one time.  And it is this purchase that has triggered this thought piece.  It's not so much because my dad bought me a tractor (we've all had that happen a time or two, after all), but because my father was an employee of the very to school from which the proceeds of the Donation Sale went (indeed, he was the vice principal.  Guess how many parties I got invited to during high school!).  What I am about to say is a gross oversimplification of the actual economics of the situation, but I will not be deterred.  In plunking down the Benjamins (false: the Lincolns at best) at the Donation Sale, my father was, in essence, spending money to pay himself.  I believe this is what is referred to as robbing Peter to pay Paul.

That's the beauty of it, though, isn't it?  My dad was a big believer in that little school's mission.  I mean, as a teacher there, one would hope he was, but far beyond that, he came from a long line of Dutch-American Calvinists who supported private educational institutions despite a lack of significant means (New Jersey millworkers, anyone?).  From a pure economic stance, it may not have made a great deal of sense for him (or his forebears) to take the money the school was paying him and use it to fund that very school, but he thought it was for a good cause.

You can see where this is going.  Take Thursday afternoon off and attend the EJF auction.  Once there, don't be parsimonious-buy some stuff.  Whatever you end up taking home-a tractor, a Bar/Bri gift certificate, the LRW naming rights, a stomach full of pizza-your money is going to a great, great cause.