The tile detectives

It was 3 a.m., that heebie-jeebies hour best spent in sleep, when the tile lover hit the mother lode. His hand-dug pit, which for hours had yielded nothing but soil and rock, suddenly gave way to a layer of broken squares. Kneeling, he grabbed a large one, scoured off seven decades of dirt and stifled a shout. In the glare of streetlights that ringed the industrial compound where he was trespassing, the man beheld the glowing colors and rich design of a vintage California ceramic tile.

By Veronique de Turenne

October 14, 2004