Comeback Castoffs : Some Households Think Second-Hand Finds Make Unique First-Rate Furnishings

Just about everything in Kevin Dyson’s cottage in Laguna Beach arrived by way of a flea market, second-hand shop or someone’s back yard. His kitchen table and chair set, for example, was picked up at a thrift store for $100.

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Other pieces--salvaged from the street, an alley, even a deserted hippy commune--came with no price tags at all.

Jeff and Colleen Yokoyama, whose Newport Beach home is also furnished with items collected on the cheap, got started with rattan chairs they found in an alley and spread to broken tiles from trash bins.

Filling homes with used goods is nothing new. But instead of focusing on furniture 100-plus years old and designated antique, the Yokoyamas and Dyson are among those who find high style in a melange of knickknacks, pictures, toys and furniture only a few decades old. The recycling revolution and tight purse strings of the ‘90s have helped fuel these “early thrift shop” interiors that are as unconventional as they are comfortable, as quirky as they are endearing.

Dyson and the Yokoyamas don’t discount the financial advantages of their eclectic decorating styles, but their decisions to fill their homes with second-hand finds also is rooted in a fascination with living among furnishings that are different, rare and have a little history--albeit often unknown to them.

Pocketbook cool

Dyson moved to California from his native Boston nine months ago after a managerial promotion to the South Coast Plaza store of Barneys New York. The old rustic cottage he rents fits his vintage furnishings well. The house was built in 1938 by Herbert Gordon Riesenberg, a local architect known for designing the homes of movie stars during that period.

When Dyson’s interest in things old began a decade ago, it was strictly a pocketbook issue. “I was 18 and moved out to an apartment, and I couldn’t afford anything new,” he said. “Little did I know that it would become cool.”

The tip came from some artist buddies living bohemian style in lofts furnished with found items.

“I realized I could pick up things that weren’t run-of-the-mill,” Dyson said. He began with 1950s furnishings--the rage among the hip at the time--because of their styling and because they could be had for next to nothing. A table lamp from that era sits on an end table, its stand part wood, part matte ceramic.

The hunting, however, continued even after he could afford new furniture. “Now I go for anything unique,” he said. “Chances are you’ll just see one of them in existence.”

There’s the single chair he found at the Rose Bowl Flea Market in Pasadena for $25. And the metal chair he found at an abandoned commune in Trabuco Canyon. The ends of the armrests feature what look like pieces of cut pipe. Dyson speculates it is one of a kind, perhaps the work of a welding flower child. At the commune he also picked up an old black wrought-iron frame. It hangs without a picture in his bedroom above the chair.

Nearby on the wood floor sits a Victrola he got at an antiques barn in Maine for $75. On it he spins his collection of 78s by the likes of Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra and Irish tunes by various artists.

A counterpoint to this vintage sound system is the array of compact discs that share shelf space downstairs with many old books.

In the kitchen, shelves are crowded with items related to his heritage: the miscellaneous shamrock knickknacks include an original ad for Sunkist featuring the lucky leaf. His most prized possession is a small sign he picked up in an Alabama junk shop for $15. “Help Wanted--No Irish Need Apply,” says the narrow poster dated 1915 and made by the Boston Sign Co.

On a shelf above the kitchen entrance are sugar and creamer sets in sterling silver and pewter, and a shiny stainless steel espresso set. They all date from the ‘60s and were purchased “for a few dollars.”

And how many collectors can, or want to, boast they own a real fire hydrant? Fortunately for Dyson, his brother who works for the telephone company knew it would be just the thing his younger sibling, uh, needed.

The acquisition was strictly legit: the hydrant had been knocked over and had to be replaced.

“He gave it to me because he knows I just collect,” Dyson said.

Dyson left many of his treasures safely stored in a Boston garage, but he made sure to bring out the hydrant, marked with his hometown’s name and weighing “about 500 pounds.”

Among other things he left behind in Boston were 20 of his 23 eight-millimeter film projectors dating from the 1920s to the early 1950s.

“They’re so reminiscent of the Industrial Age in America,” said Dyson, whose interest in the machines predated and outlasted his own cinematic attempts. “They weigh a ton, being all made of steel. Today’s models are plastic.”

He doled out $10 to $15 a projector; since moving to California he has spotted them at seven times that amount in antique stores.

In the last five years, he’s turned his searches to religious items, focusing on Catholic artifacts.

“It’s the only thing I have in mind right now. It’s just different. It’s certainly not a shrine--just funky, tragically hip,” he said, laughing. This from a good Irish boy who attended Catholic school from sixth grade through high school.

Displayed on a wooden shelf are wooden crosses, altar boys, Popes past and present and plenty of Madonnas. He prefers to keep the statues at a manageable miniature size. Not so limited in size are the pictures, although the ones he owns thus far are nowhere near the size of those on the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

Near the shelf hangs a portrait of a cherub set against a looming dark brown background. On another wall is an oil painting of a crucified Jesus dated 1919 that he found at a local second-hand store. Over his bed hangs a large wooden crucifix.

Dyson also loves old pictures of people. Single pencil portraits of four children hang at the base of the winding stairs. Dated 1932, the drawings are not of relatives. He just liked the set. There are also black-and-white photographs of men young and old engaged in manly sports such as hunting and fishing. Hemingway would have loved them.

At the other end of the spectrum are the three depictions of China’s former leader Mao Tse-tung. Bought at an old shop in Chinatown in New York City, one is a colorful propaganda poster with the Communist leader surrounded by happy peasants.

“I just love the irony in the propaganda,” Dyson said.

He picked up an original painting of Mao in a local consignment shop and the third, a pop art collage, a friend made.

For a person with so many collections, Dyson has managed to keep his living space uncluttered, with only minimal outbursts of items displayed chockablock on a shelf here or there.

He attributes his collection habit to his mother. “But she’s a lot more refined. She’d go after Hummels and things with value.”

“I’d always go with her when I was younger. I’d give her such a hard time. I used to be afraid of being seen in thrift shops with my ma. I thought they were for poor people.”

So long, ‘Miami Vice’

Jeff Yokoyama also figured thrift stores were for the needy: “I used to get so embarrassed when my mom would want to go thrift shopping.”

During the ‘80s, Yokoyama and his wife, Colleen, lived in a showcase for ultramodernity. They designed their former Corona del Mar home with sanded gray concrete walls, tons of glass brick, and stainless steel.

“Very high tech,” Colleen said. “Really ‘Miami Vice,’ ” Jeff added.

When he co-founded surf wear companies Maui & Sons and, later, Pirate Surf, Yokoyama never imagined he would need to step into a second-hand store out of necessity. But the wave of success broke and he and his wife found themselves struggling to make ends meet two years ago.

They sold their houses on Corona del Mar and in Cabo San Lucas to finance their current home, a three-bedroom place built in 1959 in Newport Beach’s Back Bay. They also managed to use some of the money to start up another clothing company, Modern Amusement, which caters to kids.

Strapped for cash, the Yokoyamas began decorating their new home with castoffs. Among their first pieces were the 1940s rattan chairs they found in an alley 12 years ago and had kept in storage. A friend who was refinishing the chairs then hooked them up with a matching sofa and coffee table. They reupholstered the set in pink, white and blue chenille bedspreads they found in New York for $30 each.

Besides the bedspreads in the living room, there are old white table linens in the bedroom that Colleen has made into a bedspread.

“It’s the best thing with the kids around,” she said, referring to their three children, ages 2 months to 4 years. “Just soak it in Biz.”

Jeff added, “When you don’t have the money, you have to think of another way to do things. It’s sort of forced creativity. Growing up, I never had a whole lot so I’ve always been very resourceful.”

His resourcefulness has led to innovative ideas that even his wife marvels at. He utilizes materials that are not so much used as they are just broken and discarded.

“I went to all the tile manufacturers I could find in Anaheim, and they let me go through their trash cans and take their broken tile for free,” he said. The colored and patterned bits of tile were then laid out with gray cement in the entryway, living room and spreading through the dining area and into the kitchen. Even the fireplace got tiled, although he found it difficult to get the wet cement to defy gravity. He enlisted the help of a construction buddy, Chris Cantella, to work out the mechanics.

Corrugated chrome purchased for a few dollars a sheet was then used to cover the rest of the fireplace wall and wrapped around into the kitchen area. Above the mantle, a painting directly on the wavy metal by artist friend Chris De Lorenzo features a couple surfing tandem on a longboard.

The front door has been “banged out of control” and painted to look aged. Jeff then glued on bright faux gems and beer bottle caps.

Finding old beat-up wood has become a hobby for Jeff, who digs through trash bins and cruises down alleys looking for it. Many times he simply alters a piece by applying silicone to bottle caps and buttons. But he will also dismember an old cabinet and rebuild it into a shelf or shadow box. Many of the fixtures in their Newport Beach boutique were fashioned that way.

“Easy and cheap” is how he now describes his interior theme. “People get so overconcerned with brand names, but a lot of basic stuff is better made,” he said. “It’s American made. Now I’m almost obsessed with buying old.”

Sometimes, one found piece will lead them along another path. There’s the reproduction of Van Gogh’s “Sunflowers” that Colleen found in a Salvation Army store for $5. “I was so afraid he wouldn’t like it, but he was so stoked,” she said. Now their whole kitchen is bright with sunflower images.

Some pieces just stand on their own. Like the copper cake tin June Cleaver would have envied that they picked up for $2 and the bar stools lined up at the kitchen counter, with rattan backs, wood slats for seats and wrought iron legs that they bought for $10 each. Another Salvation Army find is a curled wood Thonet rocking chair Colleen found for $30 and had re-caned. She also bought a tiny worn wooden rocking chair for $11 that fits perfectly in the infant’s room.

Jeff’s most recent favorites are a yellow convertible stepladder and stool he got for $5 and a rusted miniature fire chief car, which he thinks dates back to the ‘60s, that he discovered in a trash can. He also gleefully boasts of the corner floor-to-ceiling pole lamp, like those prevalent during the late ‘50s and ‘60s, he got for $10 at a yard sale and a ceramic turquoise table lamp he bought for $3.

“We love looking for deals,” he said.

The $150 they spent on a twisted bamboo chair and table they purchased at an antique store in Orange might not be pocket change, nor is the $300 they dished out for a rattan dining table and four chairs at a flea market--but it is the balance of quality and value the Yokoyamas have strived for in furnishing their household.

“Since it had been financially difficult when we moved in, that gave us a totally different perspective when we pulled out of it,” Colleen said. “We’re not into overconsumption any more. It’s so easy to go to a department store and buy something. We were so high-tech, so contemporary in the ‘80s. Compared to our other house, it’s a lot more comfortable here, and not so intimidating.”

They’ve managed to hold on to a few leftovers from their ‘80s feast--such as a signed print of Andy Warhol’s “Committee 2000” that hangs in the hallway.

Still, Jeff becomes more excited talking about the large tin Campbell’s soup can that doubles as a toy box he found at a thrift store than the Warhol.

The kids’ rooms have been a kick to decorate, the couple said, because they’ve been able to fill them with items they loved as children. In Woody and Coco’s room, there’s a set of vintage chenille bedspreads Colleen turned into duvet covers and a curvy hot pink rattan chair she got for $30. On a white rack hang several vintage hats for the kids to play with.

Colleen has also started a collection of miniature tea cups and saucers for Coco that she picks up at yard sales and second-hand stores. On her searches, she has also managed to find regular-size sets for her own collection.

The best sources, she said, are in the most unassuming places--those corners of the country where folks have hung onto old things without giving a thought to whether or not it’s hip.