Machine shopping

At Cambridge's most unusual flea market, you'd better know what you're looking for

Commerce by Michelle Chihara
photos by Carla Osberg

The gray-haired vendor behind a row of gizmos on a card table is refusing to answer my question.

"If you don't even know what an oscilloscope is . . ." He trails off, shaking his head. Most people out to sell something will put on a good show for a reporter. This guy can't be bothered. I have just established, by demonstrating my oscilloscopic ignorance, that I am not a qualified customer, and he now is no longer interested in speaking with me.

With a little persistence, the vendor, who won't give his name or occupation (it's confidential, he says, because he used to work for Lincoln Labs), finally gives in.

"Okay, it's if you want to test something in between this and this," he says, pointing to two machines, "and you're fixing something, like this, so you look here and you see if it's flowing."

Right.

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At your average commercial outlet, salespeople usually want to convince you that the product is right for you. At the MIT high-tech flea market, on the other hand, you usually have to start out by proving you're worthy of buying the product. And once a month, hard-core techno enthusiasts flock to a parking lot in Kendall Square for precisely this kind of treatment. They want to establish their right to acquire, say, a "5R4WGX." (No explanation of what that is; the sign advertising it says only: WOW!!)

MIT's flea market has been held on the third Sunday of every month from April through October, rain or shine, for 16 years. The market houses vendor after vendor selling high-frequency plastic welders, vacuum tubes, motherboards, boxes of phone receivers, and seemingly every type of wire and transistor ever made. For tinkerers on tight budgets -- and even for scientists who are looking to make the most of their funding -- the prices here can't be beat. Nothing comes with warranties, but high-tech equipment that sells for thousands new is a steal here for a few hundred dollars, or even a few dozen. The selection is hit or miss, but where else are you going to shop for cheap PC serial ports?

Every now and then, something low-tech sneaks in -- some tacky jewelry here, a stack of drink coasters there. I spotted a particularly good selection of videotapes for sale by an MIT student who had just replaced his film collection with DVD. But these are exceptions. "It's in the flea market's charter not to turn into a general-purpose flea market," says founder and organizer Steve Finberg. "It's radios, computers, and electronics. You won't find any real . . . clothing, say. Or Beanie Babies."

To the uninitiated, it certainly seems that the flea market has remained true to its charter. Old-timers looking for parts for electric train sets or ham radios do complain that it has become more and more dominated by computer equipment and software. But Finberg says, "That's just because the whole of electronics has changed. Still looks like the same nerds to me. They're just not into radio as much anymore."

The MIT flea market is a quirky, if forbidding, example of the oldest commercial tradition in the book: the trading post (MIT folk even call it a swap fest, or swap meet). These days, most of the transactions involve hard cash, but it's not uncommon for an enthusiast to swap one rare Raytheon radio tube for another, or a rare Linux patch for three bug fixes. And, cash or trade, it all takes place in person and within the fold.

"I want my customers to have met me first," says one long-time radio-parts vendor, who also didn't want his name used. "I have never connected a computer to a phone line. I'm ideologically opposed to the Internet."

Later, he softens his position. "I could do the Amazon.com thing, and have a dozen of the largest manufacturers give me a discount and then just fulfill their orders." What he doesn't want is to waste time telling every yahoo on Yahoo that he doesn't have the F14 tube. "The Internet is anonymous," he says. "I deserve to be treated differently."

This particular vendor, like the oscilloscope guy, eventually just stops answering questions. But a number of his customers make a point of stopping me to say, "He's an institution," or "He is the first and last resort. He's very charitable with his knowledge."

Right.

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Vendors may be tightlipped with outsiders, but customers at the flea market are bursting to share the news of what they're going to do with their armloads, basketfuls, and cartloads of stuff. Wearing a bright pink T-shirt, Dave Wilson, curator of New England's (and possibly the world's) only synthesizer museum, is picking up parts to repair his collection of analog keyboard instruments. The Moog, for instance, had its heyday in the early '70s, but Wilson says it's making a comeback. "Some mainstream rap, some alternative rock uses it. In 'Magic Man,' by Heart, there's a very moving Moog solo." At the swap fest, he meets and greets pals with other hobbies, stocks up on parts, and, once in a blue moon, scores another synthesizer.

Matt Maffucci, 28, and Chris Alley, 26, two Northeastern students in engineering and computer science, are positively gleeful about their dolly stacked high with computer hard drives. "We're putting together a system!" they crow.

"We've been to every swap fest this year. I got a free monitor last time because the guy didn't want to lug it home," Maffucci says. "I've got seven computers -- a third of an entire room is dedicated to 'em. And I think we've spent maybe $200 on it all."

Alley and Maffucci are proof that for those with enough know-how to shop there, the swap meet can prove addictive. Maffucci recalls their first visit. "I saw a guy with a cart and thought, 'God, what a nerd, he's got a cart,' " he says. "Then I spent all this time lugging stuff back and forth. And now I've got a cart.

"Hey Chris, you think this'll all fit in my car?"

Michelle Chihara can be reached at mchihara[a]phx.com.