9:15 a.m. The knife seller, Turnage, has all his display cases out and is ready for the yet-to-come crowd. He decides to stroll the grounds. “Looking for bargains,” he explains. Ben William is still standing by the hood of his car. Some of the clothes are gone, but those glittery high heels remain. He smiles and waves.
9:30 a.m. Jeff Wilson and Russell Paxson stroll the aisles. Wilson has come to the swap meet since the ‘70s, Paxson about 25 years. It’s where they get their exercise. “I walk up and down every aisle three or four times,” says Paxson. They prefer this time of day. “I don’t like fighting the night crowd,” says Wilson. They sometimes buy items — tools, watches, knives — but that’s not why they come. “The best part is the social part,” says Paxson. “You can stay home and watch TV, but when you do that, no one answers. If you don’t buy anything, at least you get your money’s worth in conversation.”
9:45 a.m. Jacqueline Avila has opened one of the permanent shops and is dressing a mannequin. She’s an employee at the shop, which promises “jeans starting at $9.99.” She loves her job she says. Why? “Clothes,” she responds, as though the answer were obvious. A few booths away, Angela Betancourt puts the finishing touches on her space, which consists of a few tables loaded with polyresin statues of animals —wolves, dogs and pigs, among others. They are holders for bottles of such things as wine or vinegar, explains Betancourt, who has been coming to the swap meet for about 20 years. The figurines — which she gets from friends in California — sell for about $20 each.
10 a.m. Jae Kwan has opened her permanent space, a spot she has had for some 20 years. It is loaded with hats, jackets and athletic wear. A permanent spot means she saves time. “We don’t have to pack up every weekend,” she says. The sentiment is the same at the nearby Red Desert Auto. “There’s no way we would load up every weekend — there are 200 dash mats in here,” says Evie Becher, whose brother, Augie Wilson, owns the building. A few aisles away, the merry-go-round is still, but the jumping castle, once a crumpled heap on the ground, has been inflated.
10:15 a.m. More buyers saunter in. Over at knife seller Turnage’s spot, Chris Jansky looks over a shiny butterfly fork — when you open the folding handles, a fork pops up instead of a knife blade. The 14-year-old is pretty fascinated with it, and convinces his dad, Nate Jansky, to lay down $8. “I’ll probably eat with it,” says Chris, adding that he guesses he’d better get a black leather jacket to complete the tough guy image the fork suggests. (He could get that at the swap meet, too.)
10:30 a.m. Gus Omar hangs a few novelty signs outside his permanent structure, “Man Cave,” on a coveted corner space. Elvis Presley is singing “Hunka Hunka Burning Love” loudly enough to be heard a few aisles over. Inside, colorful neon beer signs brighten the shop. Omar’s been doing this every weekend for about three years, and buys as well as sells those signs. Business hasn’t been great, but there are other advantages to the swap meet. “It’s fun,” he says. “You meet all kinds of people — nice ones.”
11 a.m. The temperature is quickly headed toward a high of 93, and the only shade, save for a few trees, is under a temporary awning, or in a permanent building. Customers are scarce and most permanent structures are still closed. A lull seems to settle over the area. John Dunckley is under one of those awnings, setting out his silver jewelry, just as he has done for about 25 years. “I love it here, people are so nice,” says the gregarious Dunckley. Yeah, it’s slow right now, but he’s not worrried: “The night is the peak time here.” Just then, Diane Swanson, a winter visitor from Duluth, Minnesota stops by and Dunckley greets her like an old friend. This is the second time she’s swung by his space in a week. She’s brought her friend, Linda Corbin, who is also from Duluth and is looking for earrings. The rising heat doesn’t bother them. “You can find wonderful deals,” says Corbin.
