Some people are naturals. Others may need to discover their inner storyteller. John Weber was not one of them. In the summer of 2003 I moved from Denver to Chatham, New York. For those who have not been to Chatham, it is a charming former railroad town built in the nineteenth century, with Victorian houses set back from tree-lined streets. The main street is perhaps four or five hundred yards in length. The older stretch is lined with Norman Rockwell storefronts, a couple of espresso bars, a bookstore, antique shops, art-galleries, a movie-house and a few restaurants. In the middle of the block stands the Peint O Gwrw Welsh pub. Waiting for a friend one winter day, I ducked into the pub and ordered a pint of cider. To my left on a barstool sat a lanky man in a long tweed coat, looking a bit like Fred Astaire. He turned to me and asked,
“Who are you and what do you do?
Replying vaguely, I told him “in the arts” (I never tell anyone I’m an artist unless I’m sure to be forgiven)
He extended his hand.“Pleased to meet you,” he smiled. “I’m John Weber, the famous art-dealer.”

A couple of years later I had moved to the city. Liza Kirwin at the Smithsonian Archives of American Art asked my wife, noted art historian Katherine Manthorne, if she could recommend someone to conduct oral history interviews. My name came up. A few days later I spoke by phone to Liza, who explained,
“Well…we have a grant. The donors want us to interview a number of people, including an art dealer who was very big in the seventies and eighties. The problem is that nobody seems to know where he’s living. or how to get in touch with him. His ex-wife doesn’t know, or wouldn’t say.”
What’s his name?” I asked
“John Weber,” she replied.
“I don’t know where he is right this minute,” I told Liza, “but I may know where he will be around five o’clock.”
Later that day I called the pub in Chatham and asked if Weber was there.
The bartender put him on the phone.
And so commenced my adventures as an oral historian. Here is a link to that interview.