Tanque Verde Swap Meet at 40 years

It’s big. And busy. About 800 vendors can fit into the meet, which takes up 19 of the 33 acres. Huge parking lots accommodate the 5,000 to 10,000 people who come in through 12 different entrances over the three days it is open every week, Fridays through Sundays.

Everything one could possibly want can be bought at the swap meet: clothing, cars, beds, comic books, appliances, shoes, handbags, knick-knacks, dishes, art, tools, swords, phones — the list goes on. Some vendors have permanent buildings on the lot — those start at $440 a month. That can, at times, make it seem more like a mall than a grassroots swap meet. But most load and unload every weekend, plunking down $15 for a basic space for each session, one in the morning and one in the afternoon.

The entertainment isn’t limited to shopping. There are movies and rides for children. A climbing wall. Live music. Dancing. And quite possibly the best people watching in the state.

“We’re trying to keep a fresh atmosphere so that people don’t get bored,” says Linda Fiore. “People don’t want to see the same thing every week; we constantly try to attract new sellers.”

Fiore and her family hang on to the early lessons they learned about running a business.

“I’ve learned what it’s like to put your heart into something, and about attention and pride in work and how important it is to have the feeling of belonging to something,” says Ken Fiore.

“That means a lot.”

To get a feel for the ebb and flow on one of Tucson's busiest and most enduring attractions, we spent a Saturday walking the aisles.

6:30 a.m. The gates have just opened for sellers and Bill Sharp is leisurely setting up his table, pulling tools, microwaves and coolers out of his car and arranging them — as he’s done for close to 40 years. He frequents auctions, sells antiques online, and brings the odds and ends he has here. “I always do good here,” he says. Swap meets are in his blood. “My father was into them, so I gave into it,” he explains. He shops as well as sells. Once, at the end of a day at the meet, he paid $10 for an unusual looking bassoon some kids were selling, and ended snagging $4,000 for it on EBay. “That doesn’t happen very often,” he says.

7 a.m. Not a lot of action yet. One vendor has decided to lay himself, rather than his merchandise, out on his table. He is stretched out, a light blanket over him, catching a few final winks.

7:30 a.m. More vendors trickle in, though none of the permanent shops have opened yet. Washing machines are being hauled out of trucks, clothes arranged. Justin Hill and his wife, Camila, set out her handcrafted accessories. Today is the Casa Grande couple’s first day at Tanque Verde. “We had heard traffic is really good,” says Justin as Camila pulls out bows, earrings and colorful tutus. The two are traveling vendors, stopping at crafts fairs around the state, and homeschooling their four daughters, who are still asleep in the van. There are few shoppers this early.

8 a.m. Ben William is going low-key with his vendor booth — setting out clothing, mostly children’s, and a couple of pairs of drenched-in-glitter high, high heels, on the hood of his car. He’s hoping the shoes are a big seller and snag $30 or $40 a pair. Are they his? “No, no,” he says with a laugh. “I’m a Nike man.” This is not a regular gig for the Safford resident. “I’m moving soon and wanted to get rid of some extra things,” he says.

8:15 a.m. Near William are Veronica and Daryl Johnson, who sit under a sunshade in front of a card table neatly stacked with Jehovah Witness publications. This is a regular weekend gig for them. “There’s a cross section of the community here,” says Daryl. “If we can’t reach people at home, we can reach them here.” The Jehovah Witnesses — there are shifts, and the Johnsons have the early one — have been coming here Fridays and Saturdays for almost two years. They stay into the night. Yes indeed, he says, people stop to talk.

8:30 a.m. Vendors are still looking over their competition as buyers start to trickle in. Wayne Turnage and his 8-year-old grandson, Alex Mitchell, prepare for the anticipated onslaught. Turnage has been selling his knives, stun guns and toy trucks at the swap meet for eight years. The variety of knives is astounding. “Gotta have a good selection,” he says. Turange buys his merchandise wholesale and turns it around for a profit — though Alex owns up to pocketing some of the merchandise. “I have a drawer full of knives,” he says proudly.

8:45 a.m. Bonnie Sarnelli has her minerals laid out on a table; the bed of her truck contains her overflow — rocks, pendants she makes, and a handpainted wooden dish set she says is from Russia. She’s hoping to pocket about $70 for that set. The Willcox resident has been selling at the swap meet for about 30 years. “There’s a lot of people, a lot of activity,” she says.

9 a.m. David Schwartz has squeezed about eight 6-foot-long tables into his space, each with piles of items — small appliances, tools, water faucets, toy trucks — if one is willing to prowl through the piles, you’re likely to find something you need, or think you need. A hand-painted sign says “huge sale, 50% off.” Those kinds of bargains are usually made toward the end of the day; it seems Schwartz doesn’t want to wait. “Tools are always a good seller,” says Schwartz, who has spent about every weekend of the last three months at the swap meet. He’s been to big swap meets in Phoenix. “This one’s a little better,” he says.

9:15 a.m. The knife seller, Turnage, has all his display cases out and is ready for the yet-to-come crowd. He decides to stroll the grounds. “Looking for bargains,” he explains. Ben William is still standing by the hood of his car. Some of the clothes are gone, but those glittery high heels remain. He smiles and waves.

9:30 a.m. Jeff Wilson and Russell Paxson stroll the aisles. Wilson has come to the swap meet since the ‘70s, Paxson about 25 years. It’s where they get their exercise. “I walk up and down every aisle three or four times,” says Paxson. They prefer this time of day. “I don’t like fighting the night crowd,” says Wilson. They sometimes buy items — tools, watches, knives — but that’s not why they come. “The best part is the social part,” says Paxson. “You can stay home and watch TV, but when you do that, no one answers. If you don’t buy anything, at least you get your money’s worth in conversation.”

9:45 a.m. Jacqueline Avila has opened one of the permanent shops and is dressing a mannequin. She’s an employee at the shop, which promises “jeans starting at $9.99.” She loves her job she says. Why? “Clothes,” she responds, as though the answer were obvious. A few booths away, Angela Betancourt puts the finishing touches on her space, which consists of a few tables loaded with polyresin statues of animals —wolves, dogs and pigs, among others. They are holders for bottles of such things as wine or vinegar, explains Betancourt, who has been coming to the swap meet for about 20 years. The figurines — which she gets from friends in California — sell for about $20 each.

10 a.m. Jae Kwan has opened her permanent space, a spot she has had for some 20 years. It is loaded with hats, jackets and athletic wear. A permanent spot means she saves time. “We don’t have to pack up every weekend,” she says. The sentiment is the same at the nearby Red Desert Auto. “There’s no way we would load up every weekend — there are 200 dash mats in here,” says Evie Becher, whose brother, Augie Wilson, owns the building. A few aisles away, the merry-go-round is still, but the jumping castle, once a crumpled heap on the ground, has been inflated.

10:15 a.m. More buyers saunter in. Over at knife seller Turnage’s spot, Chris Jansky looks over a shiny butterfly fork — when you open the folding handles, a fork pops up instead of a knife blade. The 14-year-old is pretty fascinated with it, and convinces his dad, Nate Jansky, to lay down $8. “I’ll probably eat with it,” says Chris, adding that he guesses he’d better get a black leather jacket to complete the tough guy image the fork suggests. (He could get that at the swap meet, too.)

10:30 a.m. Gus Omar hangs a few novelty signs outside his permanent structure, “Man Cave,” on a coveted corner space. Elvis Presley is singing “Hunka Hunka Burning Love” loudly enough to be heard a few aisles over. Inside, colorful neon beer signs brighten the shop. Omar’s been doing this every weekend for about three years, and buys as well as sells those signs. Business hasn’t been great, but there are other advantages to the swap meet. “It’s fun,” he says. “You meet all kinds of people — nice ones.”

11 a.m. The temperature is quickly headed toward a high of 93, and the only shade, save for a few trees, is under a temporary awning, or in a permanent building. Customers are scarce and most permanent structures are still closed. A lull seems to settle over the area. John Dunckley is under one of those awnings, setting out his silver jewelry, just as he has done for about 25 years. “I love it here, people are so nice,” says the gregarious Dunckley. Yeah, it’s slow right now, but he’s not worrried: “The night is the peak time here.” Just then, Diane Swanson, a winter visitor from Duluth, Minnesota stops by and Dunckley greets her like an old friend. This is the second time she’s swung by his space in a week. She’s brought her friend, Linda Corbin, who is also from Duluth and is looking for earrings. The rising heat doesn’t bother them. “You can find wonderful deals,” says Corbin.

1 p.m. It’s been slow. And hot. The comic book and 99-cent stores are closed, the tot-sized Ferris wheel is still. Vendors sit under the parasols they hope to sell, while mattresses, furniture and cars for sale are ready for customers. Ben William has given up and left, with those high heels in tow. Most know buyers won’t be here for a few more hours. “It’s a little slow when it’s this hot,” says the knife seller, Turnage. “It’ll pick up later.”

1:30 p.m. Nick Billhardt is braving that heat and doing some shopping. He’s hauling a couple of plastic patio tables, a cell phone case, and some CDs and DVDs he and his mother, Debi, visiting from Ohio, have bought. “All told, I’ve spent just about $80,” Nick says proudly. That includes an oversized ceramic turtle he got his girlfriend.

2 p.m. Some of the cars that trickled in early in the day are beginning to trickle out. Tanque Verde divides Saturdays and Sundays into two shifts, 7 a.m.-3 p.m. and 3 p.m.-11 p.m., charging vendors for each. Bill Sharp is packing up his microwave and coolers. “I did OK, not great,” he says. “I’m not gonna spend another $15 to be here; not when there’s a UA game on.” Tip off for the University of Arizona-Wisconsin game is just after 3 p.m.

2:30 p.m. There’s a long line of vehicles, three abreast, at the vendors’ entrance, ready to take on the second shift. Pick-up trucks are piled high with merchandise. Some vendors pull trailers, others have flatbeds. They wander out of their cars, visiting with each other as they wait.

3 p.m. The line begins to slowly move, and drivers focus on getting to work. One car slips in front of another. A horn blares. “Hey,” yells the man cheated out of his place. “That’s not fair!” Nobody pays much mind; the line keeps moving. A shopper just inside the vendors’ entrance spots a bicycle on top of a truck rolling in. She follows it to the seller’s space.

3:30 p.m. The music blares from a permanent space near one of the swap meet’s 12 entrances. About four months ago, Kellie Wikel and her husband purchased the building, and gave their 14-year-old son, Jaiden, a 10 percent interest. Every night at 7, Jaiden steps outside the booth and starts dancing — the electric slide, the Macarena, and whatever else seems in order. The space is packed with CDs, DVD’s, sunglasses, colognes — “If you can’t find it here, it doesn’t exist” says Kellie. The music creates an energy and draws people like a magnet.

4 p.m. The Basset Hound Rescue group is packing up. The Tanque Verde Swap Meet allows nonprofits to set up a few times a month at no cost. “We do our two spots on one day,” says Holly Shinn, who, on this Saturday, manned the booth with a couple of other volunteers. They sell donated items, with proceeds going directly to the group. It’s not a big moneymaker for them, but it’s something. “We might make $300 or so, and all it cost was our time,” says Shinn.

4:30 p.m. Marshane Graves sits under a canopy, paraphernalia from the Denver Broncos and the Indianapolis Colts neatly laid before him. The UA graduate once played football for those teams. “It’s a hobby,” says Graves about the swap meet. “I come out and autograph pictures and things, try to put a little taste on it.” In a space just behind Graves is Darryl Clack, retired Dallas Cowboy player. He’ll autograph merchandise from that team. He comes down from Phoenix for occasional weekends at the swap meet. His aim is to raise money for Sportmetric, an organization that teaches young athletes that community and school are just as important as the sports they want to play.

5 p.m. The UA game is winding down and it is clear the Cats are going to lose to Wisconsin. Radios and TVs are still blaring at various spots, but the viewers are subdued. While there are more shoppers than earlier, most are interested in the game, not the merchandise. Vendors move items around, spiff up their space. They know it won’t be long now.

6 p.m. There’s a quickening energy. Most of the permanent buildings have opened — the cosmetic shop, the boot place, the cell phone stores. The sun is dipping and the crowds are coming. And coming.

7 p.m. A line has formed outside Savage Cutz, a barbershop in a buffed-up trailer. Samuel Lossou, a 14-year-old Doolen Middle School student, patiently waits his turn. “He’s really good,” he says of barber Armando Ortiz.

7:30 p.m. The music has gotten louder, the food lines longer, and cars are lined up all the way to Palo Verde Road. Drivers crawl along, looking for parking in the meet’s large lot. Overhead lights illuminate the merchandise and crowd. The mini Ferris wheel spins, the 1940s-era merry-go-round has children and parents going in circles, and the jumping castle heaves with bouncing children. Walking down the aisles isn’t as easy as it was earlier.

8 p.m. Jaiden Wikel warms up the crowd. As the “Macarena” booms, people drop their shopping bags and line up behind him to join in the dance. At the other end of the swap meet, a live band has taken the stage, and young children have climbed onto the six ponies that will take them for a ride around a ring. Proud parents, who just plopped down $4 for a ride, snap pictures and make videos with their phones.

8:30 p.m. Ortiz is still cutting hair at Savage Cutz. He bought the trailer for $300 and he and Paul Ruiz gutted it and turned it into an inviting barbershop: wood floors, two barber chairs, a sink. Music plays — right now it’s country western — a TV flickers, and waiting customers sit in and outside the trailer, which has a row of tiny white lights around the roof and a working barber’s pole at the front door. Ortiz smiles as he calls, “Next.”

9 p.m. Carter — he goes by just that one name — staffs that mini Ferris wheel, a child in each of the enclosed basket seats. The lights are bright and the kids seem giddy. The Ferris wheel use to be a fixture at the Fourth Avenue Street Fair, but when the owners retired, Carter was ready to take it over. He brings it to the swap meet almost every weekend, where he charges $3 for a ride. If he isn’t here, he’s at a party or another function. “It can plug into any house outlet,” he says. Behind him you can see the headlights of cars that continue to stream in.

9:15 p.m. John Dunckley is busy serving a group of customers who have gathered around his jewelry stand. Turnage, the knife seller, has a thinner crowd. He hasn’t been terribly busy, he says. His grandson Alex, is still hanging in there. He’s not bored, he insists.

9:30 p.m. Walking up and down the aisles is near impossible they are so crowded. Families, young couples, teens — they stroll at a snail’s pace. One person with a child in her arms pushes a stroller carrying a large-screen TV. Viet Lee and his wife, Lilly hold hands as they look over some toy trucks. The couple has left their young child with a sitter so they could take in the swap meet’s party atmosphere. They do this every couple of months. Tonight, they are looking for toys — “For our child. And for me,” says Lilly.

10 p.m. Dawn Brandt sits down for a soft drink and a rest. The blacksmith comes here about once a month to see what she can find. Tonight, it’s a file piston ring cleaner — “for working on my car” she explains. She feels pretty loyal to the swap meet — about 10 years ago, she paid $2,000 for a 1961 Harvester Scout and completely rebuilt it. She proudly whips out a picture of the big red auto. While the crowds are still thick, a few vendors are starting to pack up and leave.

10:15 p.m. Kevin Gill, a teen visiting from Mexico, has paid $5 to scale the climbing wall. He’s on his way down, and his mother films it with her phone while she shouts encouragement. The band is no longer playing; shoppers have taken over the stage, using it as a resting spot before they stroll a bit more.

10:30 p.m. Bargains are being made. A flat of flowers is offered for $5 — about half the price it was a few hours before. Men wheel out tires that they just got a deal on, and a flat-screen TV was “a steal” says a man carrying it to his car.

10:45 p.m. Jaiden Wikel is still leading dances. Amonn Sandoval, 13, steps up and proceeds to dazzle Wikel and the cheering crowd with his moonwalking. He does two standing somersaults before he rejoins his friends, leaving a slightly stunned Jaiden behind to try to figure out how he’s going to follow that.

10:50 p.m. The crowds are much thinner, more vendors have left, and shops have started to close their doors. John Dunkley is slowly packing up his silver jewelry. He’s ready for a nap, he says, but it’s been “a great day.” Up the aisle a bit, knife-seller Turnage is almost completely packed up as grandson Alex sits cross-legged on an empty table. “It hasn’t been a great day,” says Turnage. But he’s optimistic. “I’ll be back.”

11 p.m. Most backyard sellers are gone, and the shops have closed. The number of shoppers has dwindled to a few devoted night owls determined to not let the lack of shopping keep them from their fun. Over at Savage Cutz, however, the lights are still up and the line still long. “Sometimes,” says Paul Ruiz. “We’re cutting hair until 1 a.m.”

Ken Fiore was just four when he started working at the Tanque Verde Swap Meet 40 years ago.

His pay for picking up trash: an ice cream cone.

He never complained. After all, his uncle had just started the swap meet, and his siblings, grandparents and parents helped run it. It only made sense he pitch in, too.

Today, the family still runs the swap meet. And Ken still works there, though his duties are a bit more extensive: He is the general manager.

“Now I get paid with three ice cream cones,” Ken says with a laugh.

His sister, Karen Grazes, does the public relations. He met his wife there and she ran the food concession until last year.

His mother, Linda Fiore, now 72, continues to have a hand in it, too. She is president of the swap meet’s parent company, Tanque Verde Enterprises. His father, Frederick, was involved until he passed away three years ago.

Celebrating 40 years calls for celebration — and a number of festivities are planned. It also calls for a look back:

Linda Fiore’s brother, Richard Chapin, started the swap meet in 1975 as a way to help pay his way through college. He rounded up some of his hand-made furniture and set up shop at the corner of north Tanque Verde and east Grant roads. And he attracted customers. So he gathered other vendors and made the Tanque Verde Swap Meet official. When summer heat kept crowds away during the day a determined Chapin bought every strand of Christmas lights he could find and opened at night. The enterprise grew, and Chapin turned to his parents, sisters and other family members to help. Linda Fiore, a onetime schoolteacher and the mother of three, became president. Chapin is still involved, but prefers to leave the day-to-day operations to his sister and her team.

Kent Solberg was one of those early vendors.

“The swap meet was really good to us,” he says of his used tool business. “It was a real swap meet. Most vendors were individuals getting rid of junk. We were turning our inventory pretty quickly back then. It was fun. In the winter it got nippy, we braved the rainy season, the summertime was hotter than hell. But it was a really good swap meet. We were making a lot of money there.”

Karen McPherson and her late husband, Mac, sold jewelry there and were able to support themselves.

“It was a good location,” says McPherson. “People would go out to dinner and then wander through. It was one of those things to do.”

Everything was looking up when, in 1987, panic struck: The swap meet was losing its lease and had 90 days to leave to make way for retail space — today, a Target and an Albertsons sit where the swap meet once was.

Scrambling, the family looked south. The name would stay, but the swap meet’s new home would be 33 acres on South Palo Verde Road. They hung on to hope that the sellers — and the buyers — would follow them.

It wasn’t always easy. “Our business fell off there,” says Solberg.

While business at the swap meet dipped, Solberg was doing just fine: He had opened his own store, Kent’s Tools, a 3,000-square-foot store at 133 E. Grant Road.

“We felt the used tool market would support a permanent store front, allow us to sell six days a week, and we didn’t have to brave the elements,” he says.

Others also got their start at the swap meet and then struck out on their own, including the McPhersons, who opened Mac’s Indian Jewelry at 2400 E. Grant Road.