Visiting Yesterday

There is a not insignificant line to buy $3 tickets to the Wichita Flea Market at Century II’s Exhibition Hall. Inside, the diamonds and detritus of a city’s inhabitants stretch across both time and space in this corner of south central Kansas’ prime convention center. Star Wars action figures entice Generation X, while baby boomers fawn over car doors painted with antique logos from the 1950s. Those who long not for their own glory years, but those of their forefathers, can purchase a Confederate sword from a collection of Civil War memorabilia under a glass display. Travel to the past cannot be purchased, but for the hundreds of people in attendance, the nostalgia machine that is a flea market does its best to approximate it.

As he stops at a booth filled with Civil War memorabilia, 63-year-old Wichita resident Les Klingenberg takes off his jacket to reveal a cutoff T-shirt advertising motorcycles. His buying habits relate to nostalgia for his youth.

“I was born in ‘55. I bought a 1955 dog tag for a dollar. I don’t know what it’s worth and I don’t care. … I just like to buy from the era I was born,” Klingenberg says.

Mike Flores of Wichita runs a booth stacked with memorabilia from the Kansas City Royals and dozens of other sports teams. A Bo Jackson figurine stares ahead stoically from the table. The 69-year-old’s customers are here to buy back those childhood memories.

“They want the oldies. The old style, the old thing. Something they went to and grew up with. More and more people like the old days,” Flores says.

One will not find Bo Jackson figurines or old Coke bottles on the base of the triangle of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. The flea market is strictly a “wants” kind of place.

“I buy whatever I feel like that day. … I collect watches, guns and knives, but if I see anything that’s cool, I don’t need it, I just want it. That’s how 90 percent of people buy. I could give you a thousand examples,” says Klingenberg.

Hannah C. agrees. She is positively aghast when asked if she buys based on need.

“No, never! Just stuff you want to look at,” Hannah exclaims.

The 31-year-old draws stares from the crowd as she walks from booth to booth. She does not “fit in” here. Eyes are drawn to her half-shaven head and the large Ziggy Stardust tattoo on her right arm. She reluctantly puts up with the strange comments.

“You just smile and nod at the creepy old men and maybe you buy their chairs and move along. It’s just obnoxious,” Hannah says.

Some are here for an entirely different sort of nostalgia. Journalist John Koenig has compiled a collection of made-up words in “The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows.” According to his website, “Each original definition aims to fill a hole in the language — to give a name to emotions we all might experience but don’t yet have a word for.” One of those words is “anemoia,” which his YouTube page defines as, “Nostalgia for a time you’ve never known.”

George B.’s long, graying hair falls over a jeans jacket covered in patches from heavy metal and hard rock bands of the past 50 years. As evidenced by the 1970s-era records in his hand, the 61-year-old Wichita resident is interested in his youth. But he also has a touch of “anemoia.”

“I look into the 1800s stuff sometimes. I used to be a gunfighting re-enactor for 12 years. I look for items that relate to that,” George says.

Hannah is afflicted as well.

“I go for earlier. I want something like late 1800s, early 1900s,” she says.

The nostalgia machine cannot be stopped by worry about the future. In fact, it can be an antidote for those fears. Each purchase of a cabbage patch doll, Nolan Ryan rookie card, ‘90s Barbie doll, Beatles record or Judy Garland autograph is one small step away from the unpleasant nature of today and the times to come.

Hannah says, “I fully accept that the reason I am probably attached to bygone eras is because I really don’t have any affection for our current era. Even though, I don’t know, you could get measles and there was a Depression; yeah, there was terrible stuff happening then, but it wasn’t OUR terrible stuff. There’s this weird beauty about it. The grimmer things get now the more you want a little piece of time that isn’t yours.”

Editor’s Note: As of July 2019, Wichita Flea Market meets at the Kansas Star Casino.