Raiders Of The Lost Pony
or “IN SEARCH OF THE NO-NAME CALIFORNIA PONY”

If you have collected insulators for any length of time, you have chased the wild goose. Stories like, “A working E.C.& M. on every pole”, or “I have a box full of purple insulators in storage”. If you are like me, you are gullible enough to chase yet another wild goose. 95% of my adventures have resulted in a net gain of zero new insulators, however, that 5% success keeps me going back for more. An old prospector in Death Valley once told me, “The thrill is in the hunt, in the find, not in the wealth”. For me, it’s no different with insulators. The story you are about to read is in that 5%, had I been smart enough to pull the trigger.

If I can borrow a phrase from Joe Beres, I started as a “closet collector” in 1955 when I began my employment with Pacific Telephone as a lineman. We still had a lot of toll and exchange open wire. In the fifties and early sixties we were placing a lot of new open wire in the rural and desert areas. If I saw an insulator I thought was pretty or unusual, I would take it. I gave most of the insulators to rock hounds. They seem to go nuts over purple.

I continued “closet collecting” until 1972 when I met Grant Barnes in Scotia, New York. Grant and I spoke the same language. We both started our telephone careers as linemen. We spent many a cold New York night climbing poles. Grant gave me some very good insulators that got me out of the starting blocks better than most. I was hooked.

Upon my return to California, I got serious about this insulator thing, subscribed to Crown Jewels of the Wire and bought the available books. There was a lot of unmined wire. I spent a lot of time making inventories.

My collecting took me to swap meets and flea markets. One day I came across an old man at the local swap meet who had insulators all over the place and nothing else. I knew I had struck the mother lode. I looked at the over 200 insulators and found nothing rare and a few scarce. At flea markets you are expected to barter. I did not know how to approach the old guy so I selected three or four insulators and opened with “What do you want for these?” I will never forget his reply. “Oh that’s okay, Denny, you can have them.” To this day I do not know how he knew me. He somehow knew my name and that I was a fellow collector.

His name was Al, sorry to say I never learned his last name. Al came over to see my collection. I returned the favor and gave him whatever I had extra. We never worried about price or who got the better trade.

Al invited me over to see his collection. To my surprise, he lived only a mile from me. I had no trouble finding his house. In his front yard was a 20 foot pole with a 10 pin arm holding a variety of insulators. Al had his collection in an unattached garage. Insulators all over the place, on shelves, on tables, on the floor with nothing else in the garage. He had a lot of good stuff, which I will guess to be 1000 to 1500 pieces. He had no organization or catalog whatsoever. However, he was very knowledgeable. He knew glass insulators.

I looked around and fondled insulators for approximately three hours. He had stuff that I had seen in books, but never dreamed of holding. When I was ready to leave he said, “Wait, I want to show you something.” He took down a shoe box from a shelf. He removed an insulator that was wrapped in rags. He said, “This is the only one I have ever seen”. He asked me if I had ever seen or heard of the insulator. With that he showed me an unembossed Pony. I examined the insulator for some time. Al said he thought it was an unembossed California Pony. The color was that unmistakable California light plum or rose. The only reference book we had was Milholland. The Pony resembled a CD 106.2. The Milholland book gave no dimensions and Al nor I had a CD 106.2 to compare it to. I compared it to a CD 106.3 Duquesne. It was a little smaller, I did not take measurements. It had no embossing whatsoever, with a smooth base. The inside of the skirt had fine hairline stress lines due to fast annealing. It had a distinct flat top and looked exactly like the CD 106.2 in the Milholland book.

Al was convinced that he had a California. Who was I to disagree. I am sure that it was an unembossed CD 106.2 with a distinct California color. The fine stress lines on the inside of the skirt also looked suspiciously California.

I asked Al where he got the piece. He said that it was removed from the basement ceiling rafters of a monastery. Weird, but that’s what he said. I failed to ask him who removed it. I know of only one monastery in this area. It’s a place called Benedict’s Castle. At one time it was some sort of monastery. When I was in high school, it was a favorite parking and make out spot as the monastery was abandoned. In 1973 it was a drug rehabilitation center as it is today.

So guess what I did Monday morning? It seems I had to make a quality inspection, at of all places, Benedict’s Castle. I had to make quality inspections all the time for real. It was not at all hard to fake an inspection looking for insulators. With a Pacific Telephone I.D., hard hat and clip board, I could gain access to just about anyplace - anyplace.

“Hi, I’m from the Telephone Company, I’m here to make a quality inspection on your telephone equipment. Can you show me the main terminal room?” The local custodian unlocked the telephone cabinet and I went through the motions of an inspection. When my charade was over, I asked the custodian if they had a basement?, (hee, hee, hee). “Yes, why do you need to go down there?” “To see if all the old wire and cable was removed.”

He led me through the kitchen and down an old wooden staircase to a huge wooden door that looked like something out of a Frankenstein movie. I would have bet that the door would never open. When he removed the padlock, the door swung open with ease. I was really disappointed when the door made no creaking sound. There were in fact huge wooden beams in the ceiling. They appeared to be treated with some sort of tar. After about 15 minutes of climbing over all sorts of junk, I examined the entire ceiling and beams. There was no evidence of any kind of wiring except some romex, which was obviously not original wiring. You need to have a lot of dry holes to maintain 95%.

About a year went by when I saw Al at the local swap meet. He did not look in good health. He asked me if I wanted to buy his collection. I asked, “How much?”

“$700”.

I respected Al enough not to try to negotiate the price. I told him I would think about it and get back to him.

I know what you are thinking. You must remember it was 1973. Insulators didn’t sell for $10,000.00 or even $1,000.00. It was easy to get the money and I wanted that collection. I just couldn’t justify it with three kids that always needed something, the wife is looking at a two story house and vacation is coming up. The washing machine is making a funny noise and I swore I would never repair that!!!!** 0 ## @ XXX again.

Still I wanted that collection. I seriously considered buying it. Due to giant breakdown of communications I did not get it. I went over to Al’s to inventory his collection. While there I made the statement, “There is a lot of duplication in your collection.” What I meant was we have a lot of the same insulators in our two collections. Al thought I was saying he had a lot of the same insulators in his collection, (which was not the case). Al took my statement as a no, as I did not make an offer while there.

That was the last time I saw Al. I learned from a mutual friend that Al had died. I drove over to Al’s place. Everything was gone, including the pole in the front yard. Since I had not yet won the lottery, I pursued the collection no further. I don’t know what happened to the collection or the pony.

It is now 21 years later, 1994. I retired from Pacific Bell in 1984. I am now employed by Sprint as a contract engineer, placing fiber optic cable. While working a job in Highgrove, California, I spot some S.F. Ponies and Kegs on an old open wire lead. After work I called my son, who is a collector, and off we go to practice our pole climbing. On the way back I’m telling my son about Al, the no-name Pony, and the collection I almost had. Since I was close to Al’s place, I drove down his street. I don’t know why, but I wanted to show my son, Steve, where Al once lived. It had been so long I was not sure which house it was.

There was a light rain falling. I hit the brakes and lock all four wheels. My pickup does a nice 90' skid and the front wheels end up in a ditch. The kid is looking at me and thinking the old man has finally flipped. “Dad, are you all right?” “ What’s wrong?” I sat staring at a 20 foot pole with a 10 pin arm holding a variety of glass insulators. It was Al’s house and the pole has returned???

I am totally confused. I had been down Al’s street many times after his death. The pole was gone, now it’s back. That pole might lead me to the treasure.

This thing is really getting weird. On the front door of Al’s house is a sign depicting child care. I knock on the door and an Oriental woman answers. Inside kids are running wild and playing a game of who can scream the loudest. Have you ever tried to ask an Oriental lady, who doesn’t speak a word of English, if she knows what happened to the insulators that belonged to the dead guy that used to live here? She shook her head and pointed to the house next door.

House next door, Oriental lady number 2. She speaks some English. “Talk to Len, went to store, be right back.” “Be right back”, turned into an hour.

Len turned out to be a nice guy and spoke perfect English. I asked him about the pole next door. He said, “It belonged to the guy who owned the house. I bought the house after Al died. The pole fell over years ago. I just now put it back up.”

I asked about the collection. “Old John bought everything. He came with a big truck and took everything.” I asked if he knew John’s last name or how to contact him. Len said he did not know his name or address, but at one time he owned an antique shop at 7th and Market in Riverside.

I was in that shop about a month ago. I talked to two nice ladies who had no insulators, but said they left a truckload in Vermont.

I left Len’s place and went straight to the antique shop at 7th and Market, it’s closed. I keep checking for about two weeks, with the same results, closed. One Saturday, I’m taking my granddaughter bowling and bingo, it’s open.

The same two ladies from Vermont recognize me. “No insulators yet, but we will call you if we get some.” (I left my card the first time in). I asked if they knew of a guy named John that had a shop here.

“Old John, yes he had a shop around the corner but that was many years ago. I don’t think he had any insulators. He dealt in old tools and had quite a collection.”

“Do you know where he is now?” I expected her to say he was next to old Al. I was shocked to hear her say, “Yes, he is doing some electrical work at my home.” “How can I get in touch with him?” “I’ll give you his work number, but don’t tell him I gave it to you, he’s an old grouch.”

The plot thickens.

I called John as soon as I got home. The phone was answered by what sounded like a teenager. I asked if John was there. (I forgot to get John’s last name from the Vermont lady.) The answer was, “No”. “Do you expect him back today?” “No, he’s working out of town.” I left my name and number and asked him to have John call me.

This went on for a month. John was never in and did not return my calls. I just about gave up. I made one last call and got the teenager. I told him it was an emergency, (it was), and I needed to talk to John. He said, “Have you tried his home?” I told a lie and said yes, but I lost his phone number. I added another piece to the puzzle as I jotted down John’s home number.

I called and got John’s wife on the first call. I told her the whole story and that I would really like to talk to John. She said she did not understand why John hadn’t called as he is an antique tool collector and should understand.

A month went by with no call. I gave up. One day while cleaning my garage, John called me. I told John the whole story. I asked him if he got Al’s collection. John replied that he is an estate liquidator and took everything from Al’s place. “Did you get the insulators that were in the garage?” He answered, “Yes.” “Do you still have them?” “Yes.”

Hallelujah!!

It was Friday. John agreed to meet me at his shop in the morning. Saturday morning I had a strange thing happen. I did not want to go or I was afraid to go. I suppose that after so long I didn’t think it was possible to get the collection or Pony.

I drove to the address John gave me. The shop turned out to be a very old house. The old Victorian house was an antique itself. I went to the back per John’s instructions. The back door was open and John was sitting at a desk talking on the phone. He was much younger than I had pictured.

I introduced myself and got right to the point. “Where are the insulators?” John unlocked the side door of the garage. When he swung open the door it came off at the hinges. The door didn’t phase John one bit, he simply set the door aside and said, “They are under that tarp” and went back into the house. The garage was loaded with antique tools and machinery. I saw no light in the garage. It was too dark to see. I went back to my truck and got a flashlight.

Carefully, I made my way back through the maze. My flashlight hand was shaking which made the light dance. I giggled, don’t know why, I just giggled.

I lifted the tarp. After 20 years the adventure was over. Words cannot describe my emotions. Finally, there it was, in all its glory, a box full of Hemi 42’s.

I went back in the house and told John he could rehang the door. We talked some logistics. John had taken everything from Al’s place. The garage that John had removed the box of Hemi 42’s from was attached to the house. Al’s collection was in the unattached garage. John said the unattached garage or shed, as he called it, was empty.

That pretty little Pony is out there somewhere.