Trip to Roadshow was worthwhile

8:15 a.m. EDT — We are sitting at the South Bend airport, waiting for a train. I know that sounds a little goofy, but the South Shore Railroad — the cheapest, best, no-hassle way to get into Chicago from Indiana — has its eastern-most station at the airport.
Our immediate goal is to make it to McCormick Place. Our secondary goal is the Antiques Roadshow. With tickets our daughter Sally secured, we’re on our way to — if not fame nor fortune — an interesting day.
9:10 a.m. EDT — The train to Chicago is on its way, moving so efficiently you have to wonder why Indianapolis and its donut counties keep fighting the idea of light rail serving the capital city. Wouldn’t it be easier to drive to Muncie or Anderson, then take a clean, electrically-powered train in to downtown? Who wants to deal with the Interstate?
9:20 a.m. EDT — Note to self: If they ever do light rail for Indy, suggest that they make the seats more comfortable than the ones on the South Shore Railroad.
11:15 a.m. EDT — We’ve arrived at McCormick Place. Sort of. Actually, we’re in a cavernous, bleak tunnel beneath McCormick Place. There will be stairs, signs, directions and a bridge over the highway to negotiate before we’ve arrived at our real destination.
11:19 a.m. EDT — We’re here. We’ve been greeted by friendly Antiques Roadshow volunteers (or temps) in matching polo shirts. They brief us on what lies ahead, point us to the restrooms and tell us that if we’re bringing any firearms we have to register with the police. We’re not. We’re toting an antique doll that belonged to Connie’s great aunt, a Japanese woodblock print she inherited from her parents, an illuminated page from the Koran that I bought in Kazakhstan and four objects from the Caucasus and Central Asia that form a collection of sorts. Technically, we’re allowed two appraisals each. I will be among those attempting to stretch the rules with a collection.
11:30 a.m. EDT — We’re in line, and I’m already starting to get confused by the time change. It’s 10:30 a.m. CDT. Chicago is on Central Daylight time. Our tickets are for admission at 11 a.m. CDT, so we have a wait in front of us.
11:45 a.m. EDT/10:45 a.m. CDT — The line brings back memories of King’s Island, waiting to ride The Beast. It folds back and forth on itself endlessly. And as it folds, we all check out what other folks have brought to the event. “What did you bring?” is a repeated question among people who were strangers a second ago but are now bound by their Roadshow experience. We’re traveling light, but some folks have clearly not thought this through. There’s a man with a hand truck and a rusty iron sign from a bridge in Iowa, there are people pushing boxes with their feet because they’ve already gotten tired of carrying them and there are spouses who look as if war could break out at any moment. One woman with a stained glass lamp fixture — trust me, it’s not Tiffany — has ingeniously placed it on a wire basket from a closet storage system. The basket has little wheels at the bottom. She’s attached a belt to the basket and is pulling the whole thing behind her like a wagon.
12 p.m. EDT/11 a.m. CDT — The line is moving now. We’re making progress.
12:30 p.m. EDT/11:30 a.m. CDT — After an hour in line, we’ve had our tickets processed and have been directed to “generalist” tables, where we’ll have our stuff checked out and be given more tickets for specific categories. We get our tickets, meet another friendly volunteer in a polo shirt, and get in more lines. We’ve moved from one giant room to another giant room. Both rooms are soulless and ugly.
12:39 p.m. EDT/11:39 a.m. CDT — By now we’re in the thick of it. Connie’s in one line with her antique doll. I’m in an adjacent line with the page from the Koran. The appraisers are divided by their specialties and they form a kind of ring around the perimeter. In the center are anywhere about half a dozen spotlighted areas where the TV bits are formed. As each appraiser looks over a piece, he or she may signal that they need a producer; that means they want to feature the piece on TV. The rest of us, with items not valuable enough or not interesting enough to make for good television, get a few minutes with an appraiser at best. And the results are sometimes unsatisfying. One appraiser tells me my Koran page is from the 18th century and refers me to another who insists it’s from the 20th century. (They agree on one point: It’s only worth about $100.) The pace is extraordinary, and the appraisers are working their tails off. The emphasis is on finding something entertaining, not providing a perfect appraisal for everyone who has lugged something to McCormick Place. That’s understandable, even if it’s a little frustrating.
2 p.m. EDT/1 p.m. CDT — We’ve finished. Our feet hurt and we’re a little dehydrated. Connie has received some advice on restoring her antique doll; that’s what she was looking for. The Japanese woodcut was improperly mounted by someone about 50 years ago, reducing its value to less than we paid to frame it. The collection of stuff I brought along is worth significantly more than I paid for it, but I paid next to nothing in the first place. If we hurry, we can grab a late lunch from McDonald’s on the lower level and still catch the train back to South Bend. We haven’t become suddenly wealthy thanks to the Roadshow, and we won’t be showing up on TV this fall (unless you see us wandering around in the background). But it was worth the trip. Now, if only the South Shore Railroad could come up with more comfortable seats.