The other week, we had some time to kill and ventured into an antiques mall that we had not visited in years. The place was one where there was a rat warren of paths through the merchandise. Such malls often hide great treasures in the sensory overload of too much stuff. This time, however, something was very different. As I started walking through, I noticed two things. First was that items I had seen decades before were still there and still with outrageous price tags on them. These were not traditional antiques but rather items from the 1930s to ca. 1970. The cases and shelves were filled with toys, trains, arts and crafts metalwork, fiesta, and militaria. None, however, were priced to sell and instead just seemed to be sitting there getting dusty. What was the story? An important clue about the booths was that the tags were mostly in the same handwriting. Eureka, the revelation that I was looking at one persons stock spread around to look like there was a myriad of different dealers. Identical handwriting along with similarities in pricing ($195, $295, $495, and $995) are good clues that it is one persons stuff. It is very common for antiques co-op owners or managers to fill empty booths with their own merchandise while waiting for a new dealer to set up, but this was different; it was clearly just one person who had populated most of the mall for a long time with their own stuff. But how come the prices are so high? Dont they need to make booth rent? Well, if they are the owner or manager of the mall, then probably not, as sometimes they dont pay for their own spaces. My theory as to why the prices are high is that they paid too much for the stuff originally, and they will never sell below what they paid. Another theory is that such sellers really dont want to sell their goods. They love it, but their spouses have told them that it needs to go out of the house. So they get booths, put outrageous prices on the pieces, and just sit waiting with the hopes that nothing really ever sells. Crazy, but I have heard of folks who do this to keep their collection and keep their marriage, albeit both separately from each other. And so the stuff sits. I watched the male clerk behind the counter barely look up when we came in and certainly never said good-bye as we left. I was pretty sure that he had not made a sale all day. Such malls get fewer and fewer every year. They end up closing when the owner gets too old, sick or passes away and everything goes to auction. There, like the circle of life, the pieces come back out into the world at more reasonable prices and find new homes and new lives. I have to confess to frustration at the museum malls. They are a waste of time if you are looking to buy. If you are just looking to look, then they are wonderful. The one I was just in is getting dustier and more decrepit every day. The shelves bend a bit more from the weight. The ballasts in the fluorescent lights flicker. But the museum mall continues. Born to collect should be the motto of Peter Seiberts family. Raised in Central Pennsylvania, Seibert has been collecting and writing about antiques for more than three decades. By day, he is a museum director and has worked in Pennsylvania, Wyoming, Virginia and New Mexico. In addition, he advises and consults with auction houses throughout the Mid-Atlantic region, particularly about American furniture and decorative arts. Seiberts writings include books on photography, American fraternal societies and paintings. He and his family are restoring a 1905 arts and crafts house filled with years worth of antique treasures found in shops, co-ops and at auctions.