A Tale of Two Tusks (Four Actually)

Two sets of carved ivory tusks, now at the David Warther Carvings museum in Sugarcreek, Ohio.

It was the best of times, and it was the worst of times. The year is 2019 and the pandemic is moving across the world with unstoppable consequences. Things are shutting down left and right. My work has shuttered, and we are fortunate to live in Rolling Hills. Our family home sat on 5 acres of land with stunning views of the Pacific Ocean and Catalina Island.

For several years, we had been discussing whether we should sell the house that we loved so much. It was beautiful and full of memories, but it was too big for our needs and I also did not want to live there permanently. In the end, we decided to put the house up for sale.

This information serves as context for what unfolded.

In the 80s, when my family moved to Los Angeles, my parents invested heavily in a Chinese Art Collection. This included paintings, urns of all sizes, cloisonné horse sculptures, and furniture. The most important pieces of the collection were two sets of bas relief hand carved elephant tusks.

It is imperative to remember that my father was a big game hunter growing up, and my mother and I were huge animal conservationists. My father passed over ten years ago, and the rest of my family condemn illegal poaching and the entirety of the ivory trade. Nevertheless, we had four incredible elephant ivory tusks.

As a person who loves sculpture and artwork, these four pieces were singular. The carvings were done with absolute mastery. The detail work of figures and narratives was absolutely breathtaking. The negative spacing and foreshortening demonstrated the mastery of the artists.

And….it was always so sad that they came from a living being. And…..they were insanely impressive. The large matching pair stood at over six feet and the smaller set at about 5 feet. The tusks were displayed in our all white Roche Bobois formal living room on the hearth to the marble fireplace and back dropped in smoked mirrors. This is to say, it was immensely impressive to see them displayed in that setting and for their actual value.

Now, let’s talk about value. In the 80s, these pieces, along with much of the rest of the collection were very valuable. These were purchased from a highly respected art dealer in Beverly Hills. Fortunately, culture and valuation around ivory, and Chinese art for that matter, changed over decades.

Currently, ivory in the United States is illegal to buy, sell or export with a few exceptions for legal owned artwork or musical instruments. The exceptions are truly very narrow. This is not a bad thing and protects animals and prevents future exploitation. But then what do you do with items like what we owned?

Although they were impressive and stunning, we did not want to keep them. But we also thought we could not just throw them out like garbage. This would dishonor the animal, the artist and the work itself. We could not sell them at auction as no auction house or estate seller was interested.

My best friend’s husband stumbled on a possible solution. What if we donated them to a museum and took the charitable donation for tax benefits? Well this plan seemed to make all parties win! But donating something like this is much more complicated then you might expect.

It begins with the valuation of the tusks…..how much are they actually worth!? I presented this idea to my mom, who took the reigns on operation Tusks Away!

In all of the United States, we found only two appraisers willing to certify their tusks and value. This is after exhaustive research that lasted over 18 months!! After much back and forth, the valuation and appraisal began.

Step two, where to donate ivory tusks. Well it turns out that almost no current museum or organization wanted any ties with ivory for obvious reasons. Chinese museums of heritage and art loved them, but were unwilling to receive the donations. We were met with polite rejections again, and again, and again.

So add another year of searching for partnerships to this transaction looking at charitable institutions across the US. So at last, we return to 2019. The pandemic is in full swing and we have entered into contracts for the sale of our family home. My mom’s diligent work coalesces, the ivory tusks are appraised and she has found a sculpture/carving museum that would love to receive them.

They say that timing is everything, and so too with charitable donations. It was critical that the donation to the museum for the tusks be done the same calendar year as the sale of the house to offset capital gains taxes. In other words, everything had to line up perfectly to work.

Amazing….the items are appraised, we have a charitable institution willing to receive them and give us a receipt. We found an appropriate place for the items to be housed at, and we would receive a financial benefit from the donation.

Step three: transportation and delivery. Once again it turns out that you cannot ship ivory and it also cannot be insured!! In fact, you are only allowed to transport ivory across state lines for personal reasons (like moving).

How are we going to get four carved tusks from Los Angeles to outside Cincinnati Ohio, where the receiving museum is located?

It’s important to know that it is now October 2019, we are deep in the Pandemic. We are in contracts for selling the house and are in the process of moving and sizing down. My then boyfriend, now husband, is helping us through the process of emptying the house and packing 40 years of stuff and memories.

Well the first thing we do is package the tusks. Every care was taken to protect them from any potential damage. By the time they were wrapped, papered, wrapped, bubble wrapped and taped each tusk was almost three feet in diameter and 7 feet in length. Oh and they weighed 55 pounds for each large one and 40 pounds for each small one. In other words, they were huge and heavy!!

Fedex: No. UPS: No. DHL: No. Private Courier: No. No one would transport these tusks under any circumstances. Ivory meant no deal. So my mom turns to me and says, “will you drive them to the Museum?”

A plan is hatched, we would rent an SUV and drive the tusks from LA to Cincinnati. Since we were in October, time was of the essence before snow fell and we would be hit with winter conditions. In fact, the first snow fall was projected to fall in just seven days. My man bowed out, rightfully so. He was so helpful, but also wanted no part in this saga. I was not going alone, so now my mom is the copilot.

Mind you, I have not managed the appraisal or donation, so she is the point of contact, and I am only in charge of driving. Well, since it’s the pandemic, renting a car and booking hotels is that much more complicated.

On a Monday in mid-October, Michael drives my mom and I to LAX Budget car rental. After a long line that is socially distanced, I get keys to an SUV. Michael and I take the four large bundles and transfer them into the rental, packaged to protect them and leave a little room for luggage.

And there our journey across the US begins to deliver four carved tusks. Our journey got off to a slow start. We left after lunch and hit endless Los Angeles traffic. It took four hours to get out of LA, but we did eventually arrive in Flagstaff AZ on our first night.

The hotel was fine, operating well within Covid protocols, and we even received a cookie. We parked the SUV within sight of the hotel room, and proceeded to our first night staying in a hotel during Covid.

I spent part of the night planning our route for the next day. We had made it to Flagstaff. Having crossed state lines with California in our rear view mirror, we entered an entirely new political climate! From the second we exited the Golden State, there were nothing but Trump signs as far as the eye could see. The trash factor was palpable at all gas stations.

One day down. Day two would be 14 hours of driving mostly on Route 66 from Flagstaff to St. Louis. Definitely a long day, but doable. We checked out before dawn, masks up and touching nothing. By the way, masks were clearly only a real thing in Los Angeles!

As we started driving the middle of the country, we crossed the great plains and started making our way north. Filling up the car every three to four hundred miles and making sure the precious cargo remained covered and undisturbed. As it turned out, the only thing that was actually bothered were my mom and me.

Just a month before national elections, every single political sign was for Trump. We were often ridiculed at motor stops and gas stations for maintaining Covid protocols. We definitely were not from those parts.

About four hours in, we hit a time change. And it was then that I realized that although the total driving time would stay the same, I had not accounted for losing hours due to time zones. The fourteen hour drive would actually become almost 17 hours unless we made up time! Pedal to the metal…..we had serious ground to cover.

As we started moving north, we were delighted by the change of seasons. It felt surreal to have left an evergreen pine forest in the morning, see vast agrarian plains, return to wooded forests and catch the change of season. Since Los Angeles does not have the beautiful foliage, it was a true delight to see the fall colors in full splendor.

Somewhere just outside of Springfield MO, I got pulled over! No doubt the result of some aggressive driving and supported by out of state plates, we were a low hanging fruit. What we did not expect was a super hot state trooper Ponch look alike!

“Officer what seems to be the issue?” I asked demurely.

“Where you guys headed?” the CHIPS look alike asked.

Well, we couldn’t very well say, we are diving priceless hand carved Chinese tusks to Sugarcreek, Ohio in the middle of the pandemic.

“Just going to visit some close family friends near Cincinnati. We did not want to fly.” I responded.

“Well, You were travelling 75 in a 55 area, sir. Can I have your license and registration?” Shit!!

Damn it! I handed my license over and found the registration in the glove compartment.

“I’m sure sorry officer, I was just going with the flow of traffic and trying to merge correctly. I’m unfamiliar with the roads and was kind of tired.” I literally was thinking of offering myself, or my mother, to avoid the ticket.

Hot cop goes back to his rover and does whatever they do there. My mom and I are working on what to do next. How do you pay a ticket in a different state? “oh well-ing” each other.

Tap Tap, and I roll my window down. “You two good looking folks need to slow down. Keep it at the speed limit. I would hate to see anything happen to you (and then he touches my hand!!!).

“Travel safe and stay well. Have a good evening.” And off he went.

Dumbfounded and proud, I turned the car on and headed on our way. Full of glee, we giggled our way northeast. Had the legendary “hot cop talk your way out of a ticket” just happened to me WITH my mother? Yes. Yes it had.

We laughed for a while and enjoyed the changing foliage as we headed into the night. Our second hotel was not as nice as the first. Again, Covid protocols in place, we made the best of it. We had a brutal day of driving and I was out of steam.

After some online correspondence with the curator of the museum, my mom shared the emails with me before bed. The email was overly friendly and vague. He said that the donation paperwork email would be forthcoming shortly and that we could drop off the tusks the next day. It was unclear who would be there to receive them, but we could always leave them in the entrance.

I was freaked out to say the least. Under no circumstances would we “drop off” anything without an official donation receipt. Also, what the hell was going on, and why was this guy so vague? It felt like my heart sank to the floor. Had we done this whole thing for nothing. My mom had handled the donation, so I was not privy to the details or exchange arrangements.

My mom seemed unbothered and encouraged a good night’s sleep! Lord help me.

The next day was our planned arrival at Sugar Hill for the exchange. Apart from driving 2,000 miles in two days, I was tired of driving, stressed from the cargo, short tempered with my co-pilot and nervous about the upcoming transaction.

My mom, sensing my ornery mood, was finally able to get the curator on the phone. The donation letter was already in my mom’s inbox, as of that morning. Stress reduced. But the transfer instructions were the same. The only thing that was made more specific was that we could leave the tusks under the portico, and not to worry about any cats.

What the hell did that mean? In the end, it didn’t matter. My mom had what she needed and what we came for, the donation later to a 501c for goods we were providing! Hallelujah!

That day of driving was actually magical. Going through gorgeous hills of central US heading toward the great lakes. The interstate was surrounded by firelit foliage. All the colors never seen in Southern California. We basked in the change of season and reveled in the impossible fall colors.

The day of driving went. With less and less Trump signs, we were given hope by a smattering of Biden placards. It felt like we were going in the right direction. The interstate went from four lanes and then down to three. Then we exited the interstate and joined a two lane highway through the most beautiful rolling hills. Farms, pastures and orchards as far as the eye could see.

Eventually, Google Maps led us to a small country two lane road. It felt a little like Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. The road was stunning, and the kind of thing you’d see in a Hallmark movie. Winding with rolling hills and the most stunning foliage you could imagine. The more beautiful it became, the closer we were getting to Sugar Hill. We were excited that our heirlooms would end up in some place so beautiful. I was feeling hopeful and excited to complete this adventure.

Suddenly, just past a rolling hill, the first sign for Sugar Hill Carving Museum. That’s it, my mom squealed! And exactly as the curator had said, we pulled up. No one was present. It was misting, almost lightly raining. Right by the entrance was a wooden portico overseen by a few outdoor cats.

Are we being punked?! What was happening that this totally bizarre set up was exactly as the person on the phone described? I asked my mom what she thought. She seemed untroubled by the situation. And then, the savy Mexico Socialite, roused. She looked around. We were far from other structures and removed from a tiny street. No other persons were visible, and no signs of life on the beautiful and bucolic landscape. Where the hell where we!? We agreed it felt safe enough.

With two bars of reception, I asked my mom for her phone. I inspected the email thread and the document. My legal training all supported that everything passed muster. Enough! Let’s finish this, I told myself.

I took the smaller pair out of the car, one at a time and placed them GENTLY under a wooden portico in the misting rain. Two cats oversaw the transfer. I needed my mom’s help for the bigger pair, and we proceeded with caution to set the other two on wooden benches off the wet ground, but under the covered area. An additional cat wandered in and meowed for attention.

I was ready to tear out of there, and I notice my mom sitting with the tusks petting a cat. A few tears rolling down her face. This was a moment. She was saying goodbye to a family treasure and passing it on. All the awe and dazzle of these tusks was being given to a benevolent organization. In this new place, many could come admire their beauty and extraordinary rarity.

It was as if something that was created for beauty, but caused suffering was finally being washed clean. The karma of the tusks finally burned away. She was equally sad to let them go and end this chapter.

After a few minutes, we were ready. Having petted all the cats, it had stopped raining. Still noone in sight, we left the priceless tusks outside under a covered portico.

I put the address to our final hotel in Cincinnati. We were about ninety minutes away. The sun was on his way down, the golden hour happened at drop off, and dusk was well on its way. I remember we turned out of the driveway and up a short hill. A street sign and stop sign. We turned onto what must have been the main road of this little town. A charming Bed and Breakfast.

An heirloom furniture store with rocking chairs in the window. Wait. An apple butter and pie store. Wait!! Oh my god……

And then, like a flash from my time in Pennsylvania, a yellow street sign indicating horse drawn buggies. We were in Amish Country!!

“Mom!!! Did you just donate our Tusks to the Amish?!”

“What?! No……, well I didn’t ask, ooooh maybe…….”

“Our priceless Chinese tusks made their way from China to Beverly Hills, where we held them in Palos Verdes, so they could be driven across the country during the pandemic and end up in Sugar Hill Amish Carving Museum?!!!”

“Well looks like it…..”

Two of the carved tusks in their place at the museum.

The laughter was as infectious as it was incredulous. I gazed down at my phone to make sure that the route we were on was still ok. Oh shit, NO BARS. NO RECEPTION.

I had the route on my phone via Google Maps, but it was not active. Oh my god, the sun is going down. Oh my god there is no electricity, no signs, no people. We have to get out of here: so I punched it.

As I sped up over a short hill, two Amish women were riding bikes in the middle of the road. Swerving to miss them, they shot off to the right and one of them lost control and went into the grassy shoulder and tipped over. In my rear view mirror I saw her get up. I did not stop, and my mom, aware of the importance of making our way out confirmed she had gotten up. No harm, no foul.

Despite my short-lived guilt, I was focused on getting out of the backwoods and reentering the modern world. With the light dwindling and the automatic lights turning on, I felt the frog in my throat get bigger. The once charming winding road we saw earlier felt uncertain and a little terrifying. We had to get back to civilization, if we were to catch our flight back to Los Angeles. With limited flights, this felt like a do or die situation.

After about 35 minutes and the last halos of light behind us, we made our way to an interstate. Full bars and an interactive map on my phone. It was like we exited the twilight zone.

Our last hotel was located at the airport. It was gross. It offered no food and we couldn’t wait to leave. Going to a nearby gas station, we got road pizza that we ate in our room and tried to touch as little as possible. Exhausted from the journey we passed out for only a few hours, ready to board our early morning flight home. The rental car returned we made our way to our gate.

The plane ride home was hilarious, terrifying, necessary. Hoodies up with gloves and masks. Everyone was stressed on the plane. No one spoke and no one ate or drank. Everyone just wanted to get where we were going.

Michael picked us up in LA and we headed home. Mission accomplished having crossed the US in less than three days and delivered priceless artifacts to the Amish in the middle of nowhere, while simultaneously taking a serious tax deductible donation and preserving something beautiful, and hopefully cleaning it’s karma. Somehow, even my father’s memory was involved in this process. Giving away something he cherished, and through unexpected circumstances, making new memories with my mom and healing ownership of something unique.

My mom is looking forward to visiting David Warther Carving Museum this fall. She expects to go “leafing” (taking in the fall foliage) and visiting the beautiful tusks she donated. I’ll keep you posted!