Hidden Treasures: Antique Furniture That Shocked Antiques Roadshow!

My understanding is it's probably a couple hundred years old. My great uncle was an antique dealer and he got it in the 50s. I've actually got a receipt from 53 when he bought it and he bought it right here in Denver. I don't know what kind of condition it was in when he got it. It's been moved basically from his house, I think, to a shop that my brother had and he's the one that inherited it from him. And then to my house because he didn't want to be, I guess, pressured into selling it because he wanted to keep it. And I've had it for about 15 years in my possession. Among the most dazzling pieces of furniture ever to appear on Antiques Roadshow was a breathtaking Austrian enamel and ebonized cabinet from around 1880. At first glance, it looks like a miniature palace in itself. Vivid, hand-painted plaques depicting mythological scenes framed by shimmering Ormolu mounts and supported by dark ebonized wood that makes the colors leap forward. Though it arrived at the show in pieces, almost like a grand puzzle waiting to be reassembled, its artistry still commanded attention. Every drawer and panel was decorated with brilliant enamel work. Did you notice the way we struggled a little with it? The drawer action is not really a great action. The piece is a little bit wobbly. The cabinet work in it is not that superb. It's an earmark of Austrian furniture at the turn of the last century. They were making these pieces around Vienna. Designed less for utility and more to impress. In fact, this was never meant to be an everyday cabinet. Instead, it stood as a showpiece, something to display in a fine home to speak of culture, refinement, and wealth. The true magic lies in the artistry of its surfaces. The hand-painted plaques tell classical stories in vivid enamel, each one a work of art in miniature. Any idea of its value? Well, I mean, since you've educated me about that, I'd say no. I mean, I know I think my uncle paid, I think it was about $850 in 1953. In the 50s. At auction, I would probably estimate this piece in the $20,000 to $30,000 range. When folks come to auction, they're expecting to find things in an as-is condition. And many collectors like to do the restorations themselves. So if you put $10,000 of restoration work in this, would you necessarily get $10,000 back? Hard to say. Hard to say. Well, thank you. Well, it's a family piece. My family's from the East Coast, New England area. I don't know quite back that far. There was a captain of a clipper ship that ran out of Yarmouth on the Cape. The other side of my dad's family was from Pennsylvania area. My uncles, my aunt, and my dad all kind of moved out west in the 70s. And my grandmother and grandfather followed the kids to Colorado and Idaho. And then as my grandmother was aging and we were just moving her into a smaller home, this one ended up with me. From New Hampshire's federal era comes a chest of drawers that perfectly embodies the elegance and craftsmanship of early America. Dating from around 1795 to 1805, this piece traces its roots not to Pennsylvania, as the family once believed, but to Portsmouth, a coastal hub renowned for refined furniture making at the turn of the 19th century. Its design is unmistakable. Drawers divided into thirds, each with a flame birch panel framed by rich mahogany veneer, all set against a body of sturdy white pine and birch, woods native to New England. The decorative flourishes are equally striking. A pendant apron beneath the drawers, framed with staggered inlay, gives the sense of a column rising from the floor, a subtle nod to the neoclassical ideals of symmetry and balance that dominated the federal style. The brasses have been replaced. So you were mentioning some of the condition issues. Easy to fix. These things are built to last. In this condition, and with this nice old surface, which is not original, but it's old and dry and great color, I think I could put an auction estimate on this piece without any difficulty of $15,000 to $20,000. Wow. That's pretty amazing. That's cool. I brought in what is supposedly a Tiffany table. There's a date on this little silver plaque here that lists 1908, given to one Harris Weinstock, who was the first president of the Commonwealth Club in San Francisco. He served 5 years stint as a president, and on his outgoing, they presented him with this table. He hobnobbed with presidents and governors, and he was the founder of the Weinstock's department store chain. His son, Robert Weinstock, what I gathered was the best friend of my grandfather. My parents, all my life, called him Uncle Bob. Somehow it got passed on to my mother. Few objects capture the spirit of American design quite like this bronze side table from Tiffany Studios, created in 1906 by Louis Comfort Tiffany himself. Unlike the famous lamps and glassworks that made Tiffany a household name, furniture by the studio is exceptionally rare. This table represents one of only 2 known bronze side table designs ever produced. The table is crafted from sandcast bronze. Its surface finished with a rich patina that has deepened beautifully with time. Its oak top, aged to a soft green-toned glow, shows honest wear that collectors value as part of its story. Though it was once nearly considered for a yard sale, its true importance lies not only in its association with Tiffany, but also in its direct link to early 20th century cultural life in San Francisco. So you were thinking of selling this at a yard sale? Well, the thought crossed my mind at one point. In my life, there have been periods of money and not so much money. There was a point where I was selling a lot of things in garage sales, but then I thought, no. My mom, when she gave it to me back in the 70s, she said, be careful with this. It's an expensive table. This is Tiffany. She thought it was worth $1,000. It's worth at least that, right? It is worth at least that. At auction, our estimate would be $30,000 to $50,000. Glad I didn't sell it at that yard sale. ...to me by a friend. I believe it's a tansu, based on the design. But what I love about this chest is all the secret compartments. And I design and build contemporary furniture and contemporary tansu, and I build secret compartments into everything that I build. The card that came with it said it was a 1740s Queen Anne apothecary chest, purported to be used for nobility. At first glance, this small chest might seem like a simple cabinet. But inside, it hides a world of secrets. Crafted in southern China around 1720 to 1750, this Huangwali wood cabinet is a rare example of Chinese export furniture that blended local craftsmanship with European taste. Its design is full of clever tricks. What looks like a bank of tiny drawers often turns out to be sliding doors, or compartments within compartments, a visual puzzle meant to delight and surprise. Such ingenuity was no accident. This piece was originally intended for a pharmacist or apothecary, allowing them to store medicines and valuables discreetly. Hinged panels and sliding sides add to its sense of mystery, while decorative brass mounts in a rococo style reveal its European destination, most likely Dutch. The use of Huangwali wood sets this chest apart. Highly prized in China during the Ming and Qing dynasties, Huangwali was celebrated for its glowing color, rich grain, and rarity. Combined with European-style mounts and a portable, miniature form, this piece would have been a luxury object for an elite household. It's worth, I think, conservatively $8,000 to $12,000 at auction. Wow. That's amazing. I can't believe such a gift. If they were Chinese mounts, not these European mounts, this would be worth $50,000 to $70,000 at auction. Oh, wow. It has been in my family since probably about the 30s. My great-great-uncle was a doorman in New York City, and somebody gave it to him when they were moving out. And then it went to my great-grandmother. When she passed away, it came to my mother. And about 15 years ago, my mom gave it to me because she knew how much I loved the piece. We've always referred to it as the music stand. We're not really sure what it is, but that's how we've referred to it. And my mother used to have the record player on it when I was a kid, so I used to love listening to the records. And we propped them in the front. So as we were playing the record, the cover art would be on the front part, propped up. Oh, fun. Few pieces of early 20th-century design blur the lines between function and sculpture, quite like this extraordinary stand crafted by Charles Rolfes around 1905. At first glance, it looks like a simple cabinet or lectern, but closer inspection reveals a rotating body, drawers perfectly sized for sheet music, and dramatic openwork carving that makes it as much a piece of art as a piece of furniture. Rolfes, working in Buffalo, New York, carved out his own unique identity as a designer. He resisted being pinned to any one movement, yet his work embodies a fascinating balance between the organic, flowing forms of art nouveau and the sturdy, honest construction of the arts and crafts movement. The oak grain and solid geometry ground the piece in practicality, while the curving, almost botanical details bring it alive with movement. Under here, there is a little cipher, and it's meant to look like a saw and a sickle, and it has an R in it, and that is for Charles Rolfes. He thought of his works as real originals, and he liked to say that they didn't refer to any other style, that they were just out of his mind, and it was his passion and love for them. Today, Rolfes' furniture is celebrated in museum collections across the United States, admired for its inventiveness and rarity. Though this particular example had once been treated simply as a family heirloom, and even risked being discarded, it turned out to be a highly valuable work of American design history. So this piece is a treasure. Now, I want to know, what does your husband think of this? My husband has been wanting to put it on the fire pit because it's in such bad shape. Your husband's going to have a hard time living it down after this, I think. I would estimate at auction, this piece is worth between $40,000 and $60,000. Oh, my gosh. I bought this at an auction from an artist who was well-known in the area. I was excited to go to the auction. I actually postponed a hernia surgery to attend the auction. When I went to preview the auction, I suspected it was Eames, and then when I looked in the drawer, I knew it was, and so I sat through the whole auction, and I won the bid. In the early 1950s, Charles and Ray Eames brought industrial design into the home with their now-legendary Herman Miller storage units. What may look like a simple cabinet is actually a highly engineered piece, part of the ESU line, short for Eames Storage Unit. This exact model was known as the ESU 420N. The N designation is for the neutral color palette. 400 is because of the 400 series, and 20 designation is for the drawers and door combination. All of these parts were custom manufactured. There's actually 341 pieces on this cabinet. I counted them this morning. Wow. You're crazy. Each manufactured to exacting standards and then factory assembled at Herman Miller's workshop in Zeeland, Michigan. While today we're used to flat-pack furniture we build at home, this was far too complex for DIY assembly in the 1950s. Instead, each unit had to be shipped fully constructed, a process that proved both costly and logistically difficult. One design flaw also surfaced quickly. The slender legs. They were strong enough to bear downward weight, but too fragile to handle side pressure or movement, which meant many units didn't survive intact. By 1953, the design was revised with sturdier supports, making this early first series example rare and especially collectible. How much did you pay for it? Um, $15. At auction, which is probably the most common place that these would show up today, I think this would sell for about $20,000. What? Really? Yes. Really? Yeah. I was not, I was going to be cool. I had no idea. I thought maybe $800. Well, I have two like this and two small ones, and we love them. Oh. I had no idea. Wow. That's very cool. Wow. I had no clue. In the world of American furniture design, few names carry the weight of Sam Maloof. Known as the master craftsman of California modernism, Maloof began shaping wood in the late 1940s and quickly became celebrated for blending sleek design with hand-built artistry. His work wasn't just furniture. It was sculpture you could live with. Here we have a remarkable pair of his walnut-woven benches from 1974. These are two Sam Maloof walnut-woven benches that I obtained from my aunt and uncle's estate. My uncle was a renowned modernist architect of Riverside, California, and he knew Sam Maloof personally and had quite a few pieces from Sam. What makes them so special is not only their rarity, Maloof's iconic rocking chairs are far more common, but also the way they embody his philosophy. He avoided hardware wherever possible, relying instead on seamless joinery and a sculptural approach that gave each piece a fluid, organic form. The walnut has aged into a rich, warm tone, showcasing Maloof's eye for materials and finish. At the time of a prior workshop appraisal in 2013, they were valued around $8,000 each. But the market for Maloof's furniture has only grown as collectors recognize his place among the giants of 20th century design. Maloof's furniture has become very popular. For insurance purposes, I would value these at probably $12,000, $13,000, $14,000 apiece. These are great pieces. They're really rare. Yeah, wow. Yeah, that's way more than we had estimated they'd go for. Of course, they're great pieces. They're a great memory in my aunt and uncle's house, and of course, we certainly plan to hold on to them, and hopefully our sons will enjoy them and pass them down. But, wow. My mom owned it most recently, and I inherited it from her when she died in 2019. It belonged, and I don't know if she's the original owner, but it belonged to my great-great-aunt, who lived in Sugar Notch, Pennsylvania. My mom and her siblings would go to their great-aunt's house, and the table had some interesting mysteries. They would come and push a secret button on the table that pops open a drawer, and there would be dollar bills hidden in the drawer. And so they were excited to get a dollar. And just when you think you've found it all, there are still more secret compartments tucked away. Its parquetry top combines walnut, ash, oak, and maple, while the base, crafted from natural roots and branches, ties it to a long tradition of twig and root furniture seen everywhere from the Adirondacks to the Midwest. Let's take a look and see if we can find any dollar bills. I'm going to do that by pushing on a little button that's hidden in a tree and pop the drawer out. And as we look in here, this element here in the front is called a till. Now, the other cool and unexpected feature is this secret bottom that can be pulled back to reveal two more hiding places. Another very fun feature is this spring. The carvings add a touch of storytelling magic. Stags, birds, even a bear with brass tack eyes, and her cub. Remarkably, for something clearly built outside of a formal factory, possibly even by an amateur with Pennsylvania-Germanic influences, it's beautifully proportioned and full of character. What began as a family curiosity, whispered to have been made by a jailed bootlegger, has grown into something far more valuable. I would say, without hesitation, if this was going to go to auction, I would put $10,000 to $20,000 on it. Oh, my God. Wow. I did not expect that at all. Wow. At first glance, you might mistake this for an industrial art piece. But look closer, and you'll see it's also furniture. This wall-mounted cabinet, created in 1968 by designer Paul Evans, was purchased by one New York couple in the early 1960s, back when Evans was still making a name for himself. Unlike mass-produced mid-century pieces, this is entirely hand-fabricated in deep relief metalwork, with a vibrant red interior that gives it a sculptural quality. They purchased it as an art object and a piece of furniture. They lived in an apartment in New York City, and it hung literally bolted to the wall. It has no stand. For years. Was there ever any conversation about what they paid for it? I wish I knew. Evans, trained at America's top craft schools before studying at Cranbrook, combined traditional skills with bold experimentation. By the late 1960s, he was running a large workshop in New Hope, Pennsylvania. But this particular cabinet was a one-of-a-kind creation, known for leaving visible welding marks. Evans wanted his work to show the hand of the maker. His designs blurred the line between utility and art, transforming simple objects like a credenza into something avant-garde. I assumed it was more valuable than I thought it was. So I have no idea what it would be worth now. Right. Well, we would put an auction estimate on this in the $25,000 to $35,000 range. So it is a pretty wonderful, hefty price, and I'm guessing your parents didn't pay anywhere near that. No. Don't forget, too, it was the 60s. And I have to say, I'm really proud of my parents. They were just ordinary people who had this kind of taste and appreciated it. We bought this set at a garage sale probably about four years ago. The people used to own an antique shop in Holly. They were starting to downsize stuff and getting rid of a few things and it just kind of caught our eye. And how much did you pay for it? $150. And what do you know about it? That you fall asleep real quick when you lay in it. And it was made in Detroit. Okay. You know, Detroit Furniture Company. I think we would call this a cantilevered chaise longue. At first glance, it might look like an ordinary wicker chaise, but this curious piece carries with it the weight of Detroit's industrial age. It is built on a full steel frame, a clear indication that it wasn't intended for casual home decor, but for heavy commercial use. Around the turn of the century, between 1890 and 1910, such furniture often appeared in sanitariums, retreats, and spas, where rest and recovery were considered essential to health. The steel legs even feature bolt holes meant to keep the chair firmly anchored in place, wrapped in wicker with elegant scrolling detail. It retains its original seat covering. Though faded today, traces of a striking emerald green still shine through, hinting at the luxurious touch it once offered to patients or weary guests seeking comfort. A small label ties it back to the Comfort Furniture Company of Detroit, a name almost lost to history, suggesting a small local maker supplying institutions rather than households. Wicker collectors and design enthusiasts alike are drawn to such unique forms, and despite some expected wear, its condition remains strong. So value on this, we have, all of my colleagues and I got together, and if we saw this in a good antiques show, I would expect a retail price to be around about $3,000. Okay. Nice. In the mid-1950s, a Bucks County family commissioned none other than George Nakashima to create a dining table that could bring everyone together. The result was a masterpiece of simplicity and spirit, a long walnut trestle table built from book-matched boards chosen with care. When my father went into the workshops or the sheds where Nakashima kept his wood, he asked my father to pick the wood out for this table. He went and he said, how about that piece of wood? And George said, no, not that one. Let's keep looking. So my dad picked another one out, and he said, no, not that one. So my dad finally said, George, why don't you just pick out a piece of wood? His philosophy was that wood carried its own soul and that the craftsman's role was to honor it. This particular table showcases that belief beautifully. Instead of hiding sapwood, the pale band near the bark, Nakashima left it boldly visible along the edges, embracing nature's design rather than forcing symmetry. Across the surface, six rosewood butterfly joints reinforce natural splits, more than the original sketch suggested, making it an especially rare example of his work. The family's original drawing from Nakashima still survives, a detail that adds even more significance and value. Every scratch and mark from decades of family meals has become part of its story. This type of table, we would put an estimate today of about $25,000 to $30,000 at auction. Okay. Now, I could have said easily, two years ago, a year and a half ago, $50,000 to $70,000, $50,000 to $60,000. It's in the family for good. He rarely gave the sketches away to the client. That adds potentially a good $5,000, $6,000 at least to the table. I brought this small chest that I was able to find at a garage sale about 6 months ago of this 70-year-old gentleman who was clearing out his 99-year-old mother's house, and I asked him what he wanted, and he said $30, and I said fine, so I paid $30. What a find! From a Cape Cod garage sale to a treasure of early American craftsmanship, the piece traces back to Ruth Dyer of Truro, Massachusetts, born in 1767, a Queen Anne child's desk, likely made around 1765. Though compact, it mirrors the form of full-sized desks of the period. If we open up the lid here, we can see this wonderful interior with pigeonholes. It's a divided interior, and if you think about a full-sized desk, this is where people would have put their correspondence, their letters. Oftentimes you'd find drawers down below, little short drawers. There's indication that this may have had drawers. Crafted from eastern white pine, a wood common in New England, its provincial character suggests it was made far from the urban centers of Boston. Later generations altered it with blue paint and replaced the brass hardware multiple times, leaving a patchwork of escutcheons as a visual record of its long life. Despite these changes, its charm and historical weight shine through. Small-scale furniture like this is especially desirable to collectors. Four different sets of hardware on this piece. We start from the top. You've got this sort of Queen Anne incised and engraved escutcheon plate. Here we have what we call batwing escutcheons. Here's sort of a Chippendale solid brass, and here you have an openwork brass. If it were to come to auction, I'd probably estimate it in the $3,000 to $5,000 range. Really? That's better than my IBM stock. That's for sure. It's just the quintessential Massachusetts Queen Anne desk, and I absolutely love it. In 1975, a Michigan family bought a summer cottage for just $27,000, including all of its furnishings. Among the beds, utensils, and odds and ends stood a tall, elegant wooden cabinet, one they thought was simply another piece of old furniture. Recently, my sister and my brother-in-law came and visited, and my brother-in-law's kind of a master carpenter, I call him, and he was taken by the lovely engraving there, whatever you call it, and we looked in the back and saw that it had a stamp on it, so we found out that it was a Stickley, so that's what we know about it. Gustav Stickley, one of the giants of the American arts and crafts movement, but the surprise didn't end there. This cabinet, dating to around 1903, was designed by Harvey Ellis, an architect and artist who worked for Stickley for only a brief seven months before his untimely death in 1904. That short tenure makes every surviving Ellis design incredibly rare. This particular cabinet, with its arched toeboard, extended top, tall proportions, and intricate pewter, copper, and fruitwood inlays captures everything collectors prize in arts and crafts furniture. What's really amazing about this piece is its condition. I've seen a number of Harvey Ellis pieces in my life, but the condition of this one is just immaculate. The finish is original. It's got this rich, dark, wonderful gloss to it, just like it was supposed to, and as far as value goes, at auction. This piece is worth probably $80,000 to $100,000. $80,000 to $100,000? Absolutely, absolutely. It's a great piece of furniture. Why is that? Because it's rare? It's very rare. We get a lot of Gustaf Stickley at the show, but a piece of Harvey Ellis, especially in the condition that this one's in, is just really rare to get. My husband and I inherited this from his grandmother. She bought it for her first daughter in the early 50s, and it was played with and used. I was told it was an Eames chair. In the world of modern design, few names shine brighter than Charles and Ray Eames, pioneers who turned plywood into an art form. Among their rarest creations is the child's nested chair, also affectionately called the heart chair, first produced around 1945. What makes this little seat so remarkable is its origin, born from the Eames' wartime experiments with molded plywood while developing leg splints for injured soldiers. That same innovation was redirected into furniture, and this chair was one of their very first collaborations with the Evans Products Company of Venice, California. It's made of two pieces of molded 5-ply plywood that is joined on the underside. The back joins the seat with these three rivets in a triangular position, and that's how we know it's one of the early examples of this chair. Okay. The Eames' were really interested in traditional folk art and symbolism, and so they put that heart there kind of as a nod to the sweetness of childhood, but it also has a practical role. It's meant so that little fingers can lift the chair and move it around. The chair was also produced in vibrant aniline dyes, red, blue, yellow, black, and magenta, though many surviving examples like this one show a natural wood finish. Only about 5,000 were ever made, and because they were children's furniture, many didn't survive the decades of heavy use. Today, fewer than a few dozen appear at auction in any given generation, making them highly sought-after treasures for collectors of mid-century design. So in today's market at auction, we would estimate this chair between $3,000 and $5,000. Wow. Okay. That's great news. Thank you. This is a little chest that's come down in my husband's family, and we don't know exactly which side, but they were from the New England area. Medford, Cambridge, Boston, and that area. Oh, so Massachusetts primarily. This is what I would describe as a Queen Anne maple chest of drawers. In the mid-18th century, cabinetmakers in New England were producing some of the finest Queen Anne-style furniture in America, and this little marvel is a shining example. At first glance, it looks like a miniature chest of drawers, but open it up, and it reveals a full slant front desk complete with tiny compartments and a writing surface. Some say that these could be child's desks or salesman's samples, but this is really a miniature that a cabinetmaker would have made to show off his skills and what he could do. And what I absolutely love about it is the overall proportion. The brass hardware is entirely original, untouched since the day it was installed. In the world of antiques, such authenticity is what collectors dream about. The family who brought it to Antiques Roadshow believed it was worth only a few thousand dollars, based on an appraisal from 15 years earlier. I would appraise it for insurance purposes now in the $15,000 to $20,000 range. Yeah, it's truly a gem. It will be passed down in our family and never leave. That's great. In 1953, a sleek dining table was commissioned to perfectly fit a narrow modernist home. Decades later, its new owner picked it up, along with a matching coffee table, for just $1,500. At the time, he liked the design, but he had no idea what he truly owned. The table was the work of William Billy Haynes, a Hollywood actor who reinvented himself as one of the most glamorous interior designers of the mid-20th century. Haynes created custom pieces for stars like Joan Crawford and Frank Sinatra. Blending modern lines with touches of old Hollywood luxury, his designs fell into obscurity until the 1990s, when David Geffen bought Jack Warner's estate, filled with Haynes' furniture. Collectors suddenly woke up to his brilliance, and demand for his work skyrocketed. This table captures Haynes' transition from Hollywood Regency excess to mid-century sleekness. Its tubular brass legs, painted in deep black, support a rich ebony veneer top edged with elegant brass bands. Untouched, original, and perfectly proportioned, it radiates quiet glamour. I would say that because of its nice narrow width, because of the presence that it has, it has this great presence, and because it's in original condition, it hasn't been repainted, cleaned up, or any of that, that this, in a retail shop, could be easily probably $17,000, $15,000 to $17,000. Fantastic. So you probably have at least a 10-time return on your money, right? Fantastic. It was passed down to my family from Chester, Pennsylvania. This is one of several pieces that would come from my family, and we think it's, we don't see any obvious marks on it, we think it was made right there on the farm, and that's about all we know. Dates to around 1740, and represents the very best of early American design. The stand features two turned balls, with a graceful baluster column between them, all flowing into rounded knees that curve seamlessly into the pillar. It is restrained, yet refined, demonstrating the hand of a skilled cabinetmaker who understood both function and beauty. The surface, remarkably, is untouched, still bearing its original finish, mellowed by centuries of gentle use. It's probably worth about $8,000 to $12,000. Can I lean on it for just a moment? Absolutely. Well, I think it's a pilgrim chair, but I understand that it's really called a Brewster chair. There was a man in Plymouth that settled there, and I think he was a minister, and his name was Brewster, and I've seen sketches of this type of chair. How did you come to own this? It's come down in the family for years. What's the family name? The family, this case, it was Hall. And does that family go all the way back to the period of Brewster? It goes pretty far back. In the world of early American furniture, few pieces carry the weight of history like a so-called Brewster chair. Named after William Brewster, one of the founders of Plymouth Colony, these massive turned-wood armchairs were symbols of authority and endurance in the harsh New World of the 1600s. The example brought to Antiques Roadshow was no ordinary heirloom. Made around 1680 in coastal Massachusetts, its ashback posts and soft maple arms are classic hallmarks of New England work. While many 19th-century reproductions were made during America's colonial revival craze, this piece is the real thing. Its survival in such remarkable condition speaks volumes about the care it received across centuries. Have you ever had the chair appraised? I did once, and I think it was $2,500 they appraised it. $2,500. Uh-huh, right. I think you should insure this chair, given the history and the condition, for $50,000. Oh, my goodness. It is wonderful to see it here. Thank you. Maybe you want to sit in it. I'd love to. Would you? Yes. Ah, good. In the mid-1700s, Philadelphia and its surrounding counties were at the heart of American craftsmanship, producing some of the finest furniture of the colonial era. Among these creations was a small but elegant piece known as the valuables chest. One such example, dating between 1740 and 1770, surfaced on Antiques Roadshow. I inherited it when my mother died, but as a child, I used it to put my important things in it, and I put them in there, and I pretended it was money. This walnut Queen Anne chest carries the unmistakable features of its period, an overhanging cornice, graduated drawers, and original Chippendale brass fittings. Pulling out a drawer reveals the hallmark combination of cedar and poplar, woods favored by Philadelphia makers to deter pests and ensure longevity. Even the dovetail joints and original posts remain intact, a testament to its survival across centuries. But not every detail told the story of the 18th century. The chest's base, though skillfully crafted, was a replacement. Added about a century later, machine tool marks and sharper edges gave away its younger age. That single alteration dramatically shifted its value. I was so excited you made my day, okay? You made mine. As a wonderful piece that has a replaced base, it is worth, at auction, probably $5,000 to $8,000, in that range. Now, if this had its original base, it would be worth in the range of $60,000 to $80,000. Wow. It belonged to my aunt who lived in Highland Park, Illinois, outside of Chicago. This was in their study, and they used to have me sleep in that room, and I was terrified of this chair. I remember insisting that they either removed it from the room or that they covered it up. How old were you back then? I was about five or six. Okay. And it just terrified me. I understand that. They used to call it the man chair. In the late 19th century, American furniture makers occasionally abandoned tradition to craft something truly otherworldly. One such creation emerged from the workshops of the Harry J. Dean Company of Detroit around 1890, a mahogany chair that seems less like furniture and more like a figure watching you. Its backrest is carved with the ancient green man, a mythical face from medieval European churches and castles, long seen as a symbol of rebirth and nature's eternal cycle. But this chair goes further. Rather than stopping at the face, the craftsman carved a full-bodied figure, complete with hands, knuckles, cuffs, and even fingernails so realistic that touching them sends chills down the spine. Adding to its eerie aura, the chair retains its original green paint, enhancing the mythic presence of the green man himself. Despite its unsettling presence, collectors today view it as a rare example of fantasy furniture. I'd put a value on this, probably for fair market value purposes, right in the range of $3,000. Okay. The table I know my grandmother purchased, she purchased it in Narragansett, Rhode Island, I believe, at an estate sale. That's what my mom told me. My mother was with her when she went, and my mom and dad were not married, so that was a long time ago. This style is known as a Chippendale turret-top gaming table. The turret refers to the rounded corners, each one designed to hold a candle while family and guests played cards or sipped tea. Its cabriole legs are carved with flowing acanthus leaves and end in claw and ball feet, details that demanded both time and the steady hand of a master carver. Even the secondary woods, cedar and tulip poplar, tie it directly to the Philadelphia cabinet makers who set the standard for American craftsmanship in the mid-18th century. While it was refinished at some point, something that slightly reduced its value, it still retains much of its original elegance, along with the patina that speaks to its age. Pieces like this were never common, made only for wealthy households with access to imported mahogany and the means to commission such work. So the table is worth in the area of probably $250,000 to $350,000. Oh, my gosh. Oh, my gosh. And having said that, if it hadn't been refinished, it would be worth perhaps, well, it's a little tough to say, but maybe another hundred, and I'm thrilled to see it. Wow. I can't believe it. Well, it's true. I love it. It's always been in my life. This imposing sideboard is more than just furniture. It's a vivid reminder of California's layered past. Crafted around 1920, its design pays homage to the Spanish missions that stretch from San Diego to Sonoma, some of the oldest surviving structures in the state. The carved motifs echo the architecture and artistry brought by priests centuries earlier, blending Old World influences with early 20th century craftsmanship. What makes its story even more remarkable is its journey into one family's life. Over a century ago, the owner's great-great-great-grandmother acquired it in the most unexpected way, winning it in a raffle for just $1. That chance event secured a family heirloom with deep cultural resonance. From an auction estimate standpoint, I would appraise it probably at $3,000 to $5,000, but realized that there is some upward potential to the right buyer. At first glance, it appears to be a stately cabinet with balanced Georgian proportions. But once its doors open, the secret is revealed, a self-playing instrument that brought music into private homes long before phonographs or radios existed. Turning the mechanism, one hears the same melodies that would have delighted listeners over two centuries ago. Crafted around 1783, it's not just an instrument, but a time machine, preserving the authentic soundscape of Georgian England. Instruments like these were status symbols, owned by wealthy families eager to showcase both culture and modern innovation. Would you mind playing it? Sure! This piece would be $8,000 to $12,000 as an auction estimate. Not everything stamped with a famous name turns out to be what it seems. These dining chairs, brought in as possible treasures from Tiffany Studios, reveal an interesting story of style, branding, and reproduction. I brought two of our 14 dining room chairs. I bought them for $250 a chair, maybe 20, 25 years ago. It says on the bottom, Tiffany Studios, but I'm here to find out if they really are. At first glance, they appear to carry the prestige of Louis Comfort Tiffany's celebrated studio, known worldwide for its glasswork, metalwork, and finely crafted furnishings. But a closer look at the mark tells the truth. It reads, Reproduction Tiffany Studios. Rather than original designs from Tiffany's hand, these chairs reflect a revival of the Chippendale style, which itself harkened back to the elegance of 18th century England. They were likely made in the early 20th century, when the appetite for both antique reproductions and Tiffany's name recognition was at its peak. So if these were to come to auction, I would appraise them at about $400 or $500 a chair. Thanks, I know much more now than I did. Among the most historically significant furniture ever brought to the roadshow is a paired desk and chair that once sat inside the House of Representatives. Dating back to around 1857, these pieces were designed by Thomas U. Walter, the architect of the Capitol, and crafted by two different makers. Doe and Hazleton of Boston built the desk, while Bembe and Kimball of New York produced the chair. The craftsmanship itself is fine, but what truly elevates these objects is the history they embody. They were in active use from the pre-Civil War era through the 1870s, witnessing some of the most pivotal debates and decisions in American history. The decorative elements, the U.S. shield, oak leaves, laurel wreaths, and stars emphasize their patriotic symbolism. Interestingly, desks from this set are much rarer than chairs, with estimates suggesting three chairs exist for every one desk. While an earlier appraisal placed a refinished example at under $10,000, today the market tells a different story. Being together, a chair and a desk, increases its value. I think that a gallery would offer it at a fixed retail price of $40,000. Really? Well, that's very nice. It also gives you an idea of how things have appreciated since that last appraisal, because when Wendell Garrett did that, when it was done, it was a very accurate appraisal, but these have since, over the last two or three years, have probably doubled in what used to be their value. Some heirlooms sit quietly in a family home for generations, their true value hidden until the right eyes see them. That was the case with a remarkable paint-decorated blanket chest from the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia, dating to around 1850. It's my grandfather's, and it's been in the family for as long as I can remember. He's from Virginia and lived in Toms Brook, Virginia. Then my mother got it when he passed away. Then it's passed down to me. This six-board chest, built of sturdy yellow pine with dovetail construction, is a textbook example of Valley craftsmanship. But what transforms it from ordinary storage into extraordinary folk art is the decoration. The surface features a striking mottled black over red. With whimsical birds adorning the lid and, most impressively, stylized horses painted across the front panel. Though a later clear finish had been applied, creating a slightly glossy sheen, closer inspection revealed that much of the original paint survived beneath, its characteristic alligatoring still visible. For collectors of American folk art, that dry, untouched paint surface is everything. The fact that the feet remain original, unpainted and untouched, only added to the chest's authenticity. If it were mine, I would insure it for $60,000. $60,000? My mother will be thrilled. Does that surprise you? Yeah. It really does. It's amazing. It's really... I had no idea that it, you know, was anything like that. It's in my family forever. I remember growing up, always on a table in the corner, and it was something that's always been kind of treasured by our family members. My father traced it back to 1750. In the heart of Philadelphia's colonial craftsmanship lies one of the most remarkable treasures ever brought to Antiques Roadshow, a mahogany spice box dating to around 1775. At first glance, it looks like a small cabinet, but its story reveals a masterpiece of design, rarity, and luxury. Unlike the more common walnut or maple examples, this box was crafted from imported mahogany, a wood so costly in the 18th century that only the wealthy could afford it. Its elegance shines in every detail, the arched paneled doors, delicate, ogee bracket feet, and the extremely rare drop pendant. Inside, an astonishing surprise awaits, a central drawer carved with a radiant fan motif, a feature usually reserved for the grand desks of the era. I saw a little inscription on a piece of paper that said... Weiss. Jacob Weiss. He was a pretty well-known colonel in Philadelphia, German de Sat, and he would have been able to afford a special thing like this. Every aspect, from the finely cut dovetails to the paper-thin yellow pine secondary wood, reflects exceptional quality. Even its lock escutcheons, imported from Birmingham, remind us that this was no ordinary household piece. Back when spices were valued like gold, a box like this was more than storage. It was a symbol of wealth and taste. 5,000 in 1967. Today, this box, because it has the double panels, because it has the drop pendant, because it's mahogany, because it has that shell, all those things added up, all the extras, that would make the spice box worth, let's say, retail, $85,000. Wow. $85,000, and you spiced up my day. I know that's corny, but you spiced up my life. Thank you. They'll probably cut that, right? Cut that. That was corny. If you enjoyed this deep dive into antique furniture, you'll love our dedicated video on Louis Comfort Tiffany and the history of Tiffany Studios. Click this video on your screen to watch the full biography and uncover more fascinating stories.