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I feel obliged to say at the get go that Bob Richter was one of my cast members on the PBS series I produced, called Market Warriors, and it was the third highest rated ongoing series after Downton Abbey and Antiques Roadshow.

It was the dream project for Bob and his fellow cast members, as it was for me- "picking," i.e., buying antiques and collectibles at flea markets and more offbeat places throughout the country, then flipping them at various auction houses, as a weekly competition among 4 regular experts, the "Picker" who made the most profit per episode won bragging rights, try to imagine if casting in Hollywood was conducted that way- I have, and I was able to project that CA would be more like West Coast Montana, back when there were only guns and no laws that restricted guns nor shooting people at one's leisure.

Of the gazillion stories about Bob and his impeccable taste, his vintage earnestness and his eagle eyes, I will share two-the very first episode, he came back with high end goods, a pair of riding gloves from the Rose Bowl, that at least one of his competitors also had seen, but had dismissed as too pricey. Bob knew what he was doing, it made more money than anything else that first auction, but before the auctioneer even began the bidding, one or two of his opponents inferred they weren't authentic. Bob is so sweet, he was incredulous, but this was PBS' first ever Reality TV series, that's what people expect to see (I was too embarrassed to admit I asked one of them to start pulling his hair, as I had directed another to smash a chair, but we weren't insured to smash anything more expensive than a folding metal chair, and it seemed like too much pique for the price, and besides, I realized this would have upset Bob even more, so maybe I'm making it up.) We all are slightly bitter and assumed there was some kind of Mel Brooks "The Producers" scheme going on with our show- we were a bona fide hit and then, summarily canceled. PBS doesn't shun ratings, not at all....in case that part wasn't obvious to you, they are desperate for ratings we were getting.

The second incident took place at the Brimfield Flea Market- it's the mothership of flea markets and it was loaded with professionals who adore and trust Bob, and he had mapped out a route, as soon as he was boots to the ground, the first pair, that is, but one key dealer suddenly had decided to go home early. One moment, I'm watching Bob try on a really cool pair of vintage boots he managed to squeeze in, as an aside (the implied, second pair of boots- and yes, they fit and he got a good deal too,) then suddenly, he hits Florence Joyner cruising speed, and I'm thinking, he was changing boots when he took off- I bet he went racing out of here with only his socks on.

I kid you not, Bob managed to pull the dealer, virtually out from behind the steering wheel of his car, I think he wasn't going any faster than 5 to 6 miles an hour, at the most, and with precious seconds to go before "Time - Game Over" (Think 'Quiz Show'- no one cheats in this genre of TV any more, I know, I didn't, and I was in charge of this one- and I sure wasn't going to cut Bob any slack he couldn't improve upon, on his own.) Being jammed for time is always when everything goes wrong- and it so happens, once the dealer got back to his booth, he couldn't get the lock open and then the zipper started to jam, and Bob is looking at him, like,

(my words...)

"Really? I do everything for everybody, I am so nice, and now, I need one little favor, that isn't really a favor until you decide to go home early one day, at a 3 day Flea Market, and you knew I was going to be here? (Actually-I'm getting all worked up about this, all over again, and it was 5 years ago, even so, I'm thinking, 'What was his excuse?' I need to find out, in case I continue to obsess about this all over again.) It's not as if Bob was looking for a freebie. He had cash money from a fixed budget line from me.

The dealer had to have been writing his own internal dialogue for Bob simultaneously, because when my internal Bob, finally stopped pleading with him, and just stared at him with doughy eyes, it seemed as if the dealer's Bob had done the same thing too, which must have been awkward, because it would have made him both the starer and the staree- I actually forget what the real Bob was doing or saying at this specific moment in time, because, suddenly, the dealer pulled out a switch blade and hacked his way into his own booth, buying himself a major business expense he had no idea was coming his way, not to mention, by his own hand.

I might as well finish my phantom internal dialogue, the dealer also must have thought, what I had thought,

"How can I do this to Bob, of all people? What's gotten into me?"

And frankly, karma rules- today this guy is the owner of a major auction house- in the always elegant state of Connecticut, with an awesome family, and a business co-owner, also, his wife.

I'm not going to sell Bob's book Christmas ornament by ornament because I already have one, and frankly, it sits on my coffee table, as a book, and also, a creative variation of a mini, miniature tree, and/or those last couple of ornaments you couldn't find a branch to fit them on, so they look just as good on the cover of what is a catch-all, Christmas book tree coffee table thingy. Decorative, seasonal, and not even a dreidle, in case that part wasn't obvious either.

My one beef about Bob is that he's too nice- he makes me too nice when I'm around him and I don't like people manipulating me, especially when they're nicer than I am.

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