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Searching for good junk at Henderson Street Bazaar.

« BACK Arlington resident Brad Boyles, 40, wanted to earn some extra money to support his family in 1995, and so he began selling wholesale items imported from China — plastic toys, hair clips, water guns — for a small profit on weekends at Henderson Street Bazaar. He worked as a fulltime sales representative for a magazine distributor, but he figured he could earn an extra $100 or so on weekends. He soon realized where the real profits were being made. All around him, dealers were selling junk for surprisingly high prices.
Boyles dumped his plastic hair clips and started searching yard sales. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, and he liked paying $1 for something and selling it for $10 or $20. Every once in a while, he might find a cheap little something — pottery, a sports program, cigarette lighter, electric railroad track, whatever — and sell it for $100, or more.
One day, a neighbor cleaning out a garage set boxes of junk out on the curb. Boyles dug through the boxes and pulled out a few dusty toys and Boy Scout items. Within a few weeks, he had sold the junk for more than $500 at flea markets.
Boyles eventually tired of selling his wares at Henderson Street Bazaar and moved his inventory to the indoor Cattle Barn Flea Market near Will Rogers Coliseum, where dealers leave booths covered during the week and don’t have to pack and unpack each weekend. He also rented booth space at an Arlington antique mall in 1996. He didn’t sell much junk there, but the owner showed him how easy it was to sell items on eBay’s fledgling online auction. “I went and bought a computer,” Boyles said.

Valerie Arnett sells junk at Cattle Barn Flea Market.

“You would get top dollar on almost everything you sold.”
Before eBay, finding big-pocket buyers could be a problem. Few shoppers strolling through the Cattle Barn were willing to pay $1,000 for a Jetsons lunchbox. A collectible might pass through 10 dealers and turn a small profit for each one over a period of years before finally reaching the ultimate buyer who paid top dollar. With eBay, it became easier for that first dealer to find that ultimate buyer and cut out the middlemen.
In 1998, Boyles left his regular job and became a full-time junker. He searched estate sales and yard sales on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, and oversaw a flea-market booth on weekends at the Cattle Barn. Most of his time, though, was spent listing auction items on eBay. He earned a decent income and enjoyed self-employment.
Others had the same idea. Cresson resident Barry Clawson gave up construction work to become a junker, selling goods at numerous flea markets in the Metroplex and discovering eBay about three years ago. He abhors working on computers, but his wife is a natural, he said. “This is all me and my wife do,” he said recently while selling junk at Henderson Street Bazaar. “I buy and haul and sell the junk [at flea markets], and she sells stuff on eBay.”
Not long ago, Clawson paid a pittance for a box of old clothes. Inside was a hostess outfit from a Playboy Club. He started to sell it at the bazaar, but instead tossed it to his wife to sell on eBay. Despite being stained and a little torn, the outfit brought $700. “I probably would have only got $20 out here,” he said. “It’s nutty. It’s unbelievable, the stuff they’ll buy.”
By 2000, eBay was omnipresent.
“Everybody knew about eBay,” Boyles said. “You would hear it on sitcoms, and you’d hear comedians talking about it.”
As with most trends, the rules began changing once the masses climbed aboard. NEXT »

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