The dealer called me the next day to tell me that the chainsaw had been badly neglected for a long time. The bar was broken and rusted - - meaning the damage had happened long ago. The carburetor had also been broken for some time. The dealer was surprised the saw had worked at all - - especially with a chain so dull. Fixing everything would cost $155. (This was in the mid-1980s.) I told the dealer to fix everything, and I paid him.
My feeling was that my friend would be pleased with the improvement of his saw's performance, and I was willing to pay half the cost. After all, I'd been using it when it stopped working. I'm a responsible guy. Funny thing, though. My "friend" didn't see it that way. He told me that by borrowing it, I had assumed all responsibility, whether he had kept it maintained or not. My brilliantly-delivered analyis and analogies, couched in the warmth of our friendship, and the fact that I had willingly underwritten the entire cost of his neglected maintenance didn't faze him. I regretfully wished him a nice life...
Now, if a guy whom I had known for 5 years or so on a very friendly basis; a guy I had helped to roof his barn, and with whom and his girlfriend my wife and I had broken bread many times, would sell me for a lousy $155, what would a phonograph collector (so NOW we finally get to the point!) do to me in the heat of avaricious pursuit? Unfortunately, I've had a taste of that too, but I'm not about to put that on the Internet.
The point is that money (and collector's items) will do funny things to some people. They'll sell their souls - or you, if you're in their way. Thankfully, these poor people are relatively few in number, but it's difficult to tell who they are until the fever is upon them.
Again, thankfully most collectors I know don't suffer from such affliction. I think...
George P.