Time was on my side at "Antiques Roadshow." I got there early, waited my turn, and it was an antique pocket watch that got me on TV.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Last summer the highly popular PBS show went on the road again to tape shows for the 2004 season, and made Chicago's Navy Pier one of its stops. It's free of charge -- if you have a ticket. Thousands of people sent postcards to PBS hoping to receive their passports to appraisal.

For anyone who doesn't know what I'm talking about, "Antiques Roadshow," which airs at 8 p.m. Mondays on WTTW-Channel 11, welcomes regular folks like you and me to bring in family treasures and funky garage sale finds for on-the-spot appraisals from professional experts.

If you're lucky enough to receive a ticket, there is a time stamped on it. The producers do this so everyone doesn't show up at the crack of dawn only to wait in line for hours for their appraisal. It's a good system, in theory, but those who want the ultimate "Roadshow" experience show up as early as possible anyway.

They do wait their turns -- no one at "Roadshow" is pushy or unpleasant. All the people in line have that winning-lottery-ticket hope that their item is going to catch the eye of a discriminating appraiser, who tells them it's beautiful and rare and worth thousands of dollars. Who wouldn't be in a good mood upon dreaming of untold riches?

Fans in the know have seen it happen all too often. A guy brings an old sword that sat in his grandfather's attic for 50 years, only to be told it's a Civil War weapon and only four others of its kind are known to exist. Cha-ching! It's worth between $65,000 and $75,000. Or a woman brings in a little wooden table that she bought at a garage sale for $10, and after careful scrutiny and perhaps a history lesson from one of the furniture-loving Keno twins is told it would bring at least $250,000 "at auction."

In Carol Prisant's Antiques Roadshow Primer, former "Roadshow" host Chris Jussel states, "Most people are not primarily interested in how much their item is worth." Phooey. Everyone I talk to on this particular day is primarily interested in the value of their items. Sure there are other questions to be answered -- How old is it? Where did it come from? What is it? -- but believe me, everyone secretly hopes it's worth a bundle, even the ones who intend to "keep it in the family."

Being a member of the press, I am issued a ticket to enter the appraisal area at any time. I also am issued a press card that will get me to the front of the line and allow me to come and go as I please. I opt for obscurity, walk in like everyone else and stand in line.

I invite along my sister, Sabrina, so we both can bring the two items each ticketholder is allowed to present for appraisal. Also, I can enlist her help should I need an extra pair of eyes or ears.

A family affair

Our love of the show stems from childhood, when our widowed grandmother remarried. She and new husband Ernie, both nearing retirement age, bought the Happy House Antiques shop in Richmond, a little Illinois town near the Wisconsin border just south of Lake Geneva. For 20 years they bought, sold, collected and refurbished a way of life for themselves and a treasure-trove of fond memories for us.

My siblings, cousins and I loved the place. During every visit, we'd check out the new items on the shelves and then look for our favorite things. My favorite was the "snakeskin watch." It was one of Ernie's favorites, too, and one of his most treasured acquisitions -- so much so that he kept it in a safe and not on display.

"It's much too valuable," he would say. "It's only for serious collectors."

When I asked how the collector would know he had it if it wasn't on display, he would say, "They'll know. The real serious buyers know the best merchandise is never on display."

Whenever I asked, he would take it out of the safe and uncloak it in grand fashion, showing me the snakeskin casing, pearls around the face of the watch, the jewel-toned backside, the gold inner workings and the matching chatelaine. I envisioned myself in fancy clothes, the watch a regal accessory, fully functional as I would casually check the time, others marveling at its beauty.

When Ernie passed away a few years ago and the shop was closed for business, we helped Grandma pack up the merchandise and put it away for safekeeping. The watch -- still beautiful, still awe-inspiring -- now sits in a safe-deposit box at the bank.

When deciding what items to bring to the "Roadshow" taping, the snakeskin watch was at the top of my list.

We also brought a religious icon, from the Happy House; a nude print, which hung in our family's living room, eliciting childish giggles from us kids, whereupon our mother would shush us and tell us it was "elegant"; and a pair of binocular/goggles, one of many bizarre but wondrous gifts sent to me by my grandmother when I was away at college.

The adventure begins

We arrive at Navy Pier around 7:30 a.m., make our way to the Festival Hall area and stand in line. When we finally get to the front, they check our tickets and point us to the crowd of people at one end of the cavernous hall. Now I know where those echoing crowd noises come from when I'm watching "Antiques Roadshow" on TV.

The line moves slowly, snaking up and down time-marked aisles that lead eager treasure-seekers to the "triage" area, where volunteers hand out little tickets labled with the category of the appraisal table you have to go to depending on what you bring.

In line we see old people, young people, mothers and daughters, fathers and sons, couples in love, sisters, cousins, uncles, all transporting their treasures in everything from suitcases and tote bags to strollers and dollies.

In less than an hour, we finally make it to the triage area, where the ever-cheerful volunteers examine our things and send us along to the "Clocks & Watches" booth. Another line.

My first thought is how small the actual "Roadshow" set is. With more than 150,000 square feet in the Navy Pier festival halls, why contain the the taping area to what looks like about a 2500-square- foot space? The booths are set up around makeshift walls, with the lights, camera and action all in the center. The more I look at it and the longer I hang around, the more it makes sense. "Antiques Roadshow" is a well-oiled machine. For the most part, folks come in, get their appraisals done and leave, making for smooth, hassle-free movement throughout the day.

A woman a couple of feet away from us is getting a can of Beatles Hairspray looked at and squeals with delight after the appraiser tells her it's worth $1,000. I'm wondering if she's ever used it.

It's our turn at the booth. I take the watch and its chatelaine out and hand it to the appraiser, who I recognize from past "Roadshow" episodes. When I start to tell him about the watch, he stops me, saying it's a very colorful piece that might be good for TV. He says to sit tight, then disappears, leaving the watch sitting on the table. I start to get paranoid -- a lot of people are walking by, other appraisers are eyeing it, and I can't help thinking I'm going to turn my head for two seconds and it'll be gone. Headline: Snakeskin watch slithers away at "Antiques Roadshow."

Meanwhile, an older gentleman behind us is appraising religious relics, so we give him one of our other items -- the small religious painting with a silvery overlay. We specifically decided to bring it because we think it's yard-sale junk. It sat, high-priced, at the Happy House for years.

"This is about the 12th icon I've seen today and it's only 9 o'clock," says the appraiser, Berj Zavian. "Usually we'll see two or three a day. There must be lots of religious people in Chicago."

He says it's a Russian orthodox relic, definitely Christian even though it looks like the guy is wearing a rabbi's hat; it's mounted on good wood; it's not silver or brass plated, but etched tin.

"Very nice," Zavian says. "You should contact Christie's in New York. They have one sale per year of religious relics. You could get $1,000 for this."

Who knew? One man's trash is indeed another's treasure.

The chosen few

The appraiser comes back, as promised, picks up the watch and summons us behind the scenes. He introduces us to producer Peter Cook, who asks me where I got the watch. I tell the short version of the story, he consults with the appraiser and then pencils us in for taping. Woo hoo! "Antiques Roadshow" jackpot!

The appraiser whisks us back through the taping area and into the greenroom, which actually is blue. He tells us he needs to hold onto the watch ("Don't worry, it's in good hands") and will meet back up with me just prior to taping.

"Can I have your name?" I ask him as he's walking out.

"Gordon Converse" he says, very James Bond-like. "Gordon, like the gin; Converse, like the shoe."

Got it.

After signing paperwork, I'm escorted to a makeup chair, where Gregg Giannillo goes to work. It's 10 a.m. and I've been up for hours, I tell him, thinking I need to come up with an excuse as to why I look terrible even though I really have no idea what I look like. He tells me he got the "Roadshow" gig because Lara Spencer, the show's new host, is a client of his at J Sisters Salon in New York City. I'll have to check it out, I say, next time I'm in the Big Apple.

Sabrina has camped out at a table with an older, most likely retired couple -- George and Linda from Michigan. They have a metal lobster in front of them and are also awaiting a taping. George and Linda almost didn't make it to "Roadshow." They sent in for tickets after seeing an ad in their local paper. Five or six months later, they received the tickets in the mail but almost threw them away because they thought it was an advertisement.

There are TV monitors throughout the greenroom for those waiting to see the tapings as they happen. We all watch as a woman is explaining the history of her gorgeous Tiffany necklace. When the appraiser gives her some history and then a value, and then bumps up the value because of the original box it's displayed in, everyone in the room gasps in amazement. And then, in a Hallmark Hall of Fame- like "Antiques Roadshow" bonding moment, we all rush over to see the necklace up close when she comes back into the room.

Sabrina and I continue bonding with George and Linda. George's father was quite a collector, it turns out, and they brought several of his more interesting items to the show, including the lobster. It's very detailed and very odd, but also lifelike and interesting. I'm thinking it might be worth $500, give or take a few bucks. I really have no idea and couldn't even make an educated guess, but I'll stick with that. I'm thinking they picked George for taping because the lobster is weird, not because it's valuable. (Tune in Monday night to find out what it's worth.)

Meanwhile, one of the Keno brothers (Leigh or Leslie -- I can't tell) comes in with a reference book, looks up a few things and then starts to talk to himself. We think he's rehearsing what he's going to say during his next taping.

George is called out as another woman's taping starts. We look at the monitor. She has the famous Beatles' "Yesterday and Today" album with the dismembered dolls on the cover. This very prim and proper- looking woman says she bought it decades ago at Sears for a couple of bucks. Well, she had exquisite timing because those albums apparently were on the shelf for only a day before record companies recalled them to paste new, less offensive covers over the originals. Her mint- condition album is now worth between $10,000 and $12,000.

Gordon -- we're on a first-name basis now -- comes in to get me for taping. We go out to the taping area and are situated behind a podium, where the watch and chatelaine are set up against black velvet. Gordon puts on a green sport jacket. Sounds horrible, I know, but it works for him. He's got the coloring to pull it off. Again, I'm sure I'm not looking my best, but I'm also not all that worried about it and surprisingly not nervous.

A technician sets up the microphones and has us do a little bantering to check the sound. A segment producer comes over to give us instruction. I'm told to look at Gordon or look at the watch and not to touch the table so it doesn't get jostled while the camera is focused on the watch.

And ... action!

Gordon looks at me, smiles and asks me right off how I came into possession of the watch. I start my spiel and, "Cut!" There's an audio problem so we have to start again. Show biz can be so annoying. The second time goes off without a hitch. I'm surprised to learn several things about the watch. First, it's not snakeskin but shagreen, or sharkskin. Second, it's old -- made between 1780 and 1820. And it's not a woman's watch as we thought, but a man's dress watch. It's value? I have no clue when he asks me, but I venture a guess based on the fact that it was kept hidden away in a safe, and because of its beauty. And the gold. And the pearls. I say, "$10,000?" He says no, but that's a good guess. (To find out, you'll have to tune in on Jan. 12, when my segment airs.)

Back in the greenroom, Sabrina assures me I looked and sounded great, and as we're getting ready to go out and get our remaining items appraised, the segment producer pulls me back out because they need to put the watch under the "lipstick" camera, so called because it's as big as a lipstick. It captures the tiniest details that the big cameras can't pick up. Gordon is called back, too, because they need his hands to be on the watch for consistency. It is then that I notice how nicely manicured his hands are. It makes sense, I suppose, especially if you get summoned for the up-close "lipstick." Maybe the producers encourage the appraisers to get regular manicures for this very reason.

Gordon discovers even more detail on the watch that he didn't see before. It's marked "Dublin" on the inside. I assume it was made in Ireland, but Gordon says it was most likely made in England and then engraved wherever it had been shipped. I'll buy that.

Finally, we can leave the greenroom. On our way to our final appraisals I see an old guy wearing green overalls who I recognize from my old condo building. So I ask him, "Do you live at ...?"

"Why yes," he says. "Do you?"

I tell him I used to live there and I remember seeing him in the lobby on occasion and on every Election Day at the polls. And I recognized him because he always wore green, and little shamrock pins, as if every day were St. Patrick's Day. He engages us in tales of real-estate appreciation and tells a couple of jokes. Quite a colorful character. Lara Spencer thinks so, too, and interrupts our conversation to snag him for a segment where she asks "Roadshow" participants if they know the meaning of certain antiques terms, like "marquetry" and "bougie box." Nice talkin' to ya, Mr. Green Jeans.

Back to the real world

Our remaining items don't bring any fanfare. The nude -- a vintage photo/print of an Angelo Asti painting -- is pretty common, the appraiser says. Asti's work was used for glamor-girl calendars and postcards in the early 1900s. The binocular/goggles are simply a novelty, the appraiser says. He laughs and says he's got a pair just like it on his desk at home and has never really seen any others.

"If I had a shop I'd probably price it at $100 and take $75," he says.

My own further research tells me that the company name stamped on the binoculars -- Brown & Bigelow of St. Paul, Minn. -- was in the specialty advertising business at the turn of the century. Their products included calendars and postcards, and they introduced the "girlie" calendar in 1904, using Asti's paintings as their pinup subjects. Strange coincidence.

OK, we're done. Good thing, because I'm tired and my feet hurt.

On our way out, we run into some old friends. George and Linda are resting outside the "Roadshow" walls. I ask them how the rest of their day went and George says they brought his father's spoon collection up to the booth and the appraiser wanted to tape it for TV, but since he had already been taped with the lobster -- which, as it turns out, is a crayfish -- he can't be taped again.

"Why not have Linda do the taping?" I ask.

Linda says they only allow one taping per family, so now they're just waiting for the guy to come back over and give them more information about the spoons. Talk about hitting the "Roadshow" jackpot. With all their heirlooms and interesting collections, George and Linda no doubt have their very own Happy House.

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