A photo of Ed Oestreich in Port Clyde. Laura Sitterly / The Times Record

When Ed Oestreich moved to Maine, he restored his two-bedroom home in Damariscotta to resemble that of an early 18th-century working man, filling it with period-appropriate antiques to match the style and economics of The Cape house. 

After closing his relics shop in 2008, he left behind a double life as a Lutheran minister and an antiques dealer. Oestreich now spends his days writing poetry and learning more about the rare goods that have entranced him his entire life.

An illustration Isabel Bishop gifted to Peggy Bacon in the late 1930s was found in Ed Oestreich’s home library. Laura Sitterly / The Times Record

Centuries have brought changes. Today, the road is paved, and the house has expanded to accommodate more guests. Nevertheless, the home doesn’t exude wealth. It rejects modernity in many ways. It appears cozy from the outside and even more so when you step inside.

That’s how Oestreich likes it. He takes pride in his humble upbringing in a coal-mining family in Ashland, Pennsylvania, and the retirement home he curated with modest possessions in the Midcoast. 

At 91, Oestreich’s mobility is strained, but his memory is quite the opposite. After 25 years of owning the property, he can still recall the history of each acquisition — both before the item reached his collection and now. 

While minor health-related changes to the space have been made — a wall was taken down across from the home library to make the half-bath handicapped accessible, and the Scandinavian 10-arm chandelier that once hung in the parlor now sits tucked away after being knocked down by a nurse aid — Oestreich remains as invested as ever. 

“They call it an addiction,” Oestreich said. “I can’t collect anymore — because I’ve run out of space and money — but that doesn’t mean I don’t still watch the auctions.” 

A time capsule in a changing world

Most of the furniture dates to the 18th century, but you’ll see no Philadelphia highboys. Every artifact found in Oestreich’s home was once used by a working man.

While most of Ed Oestreich’s antiques are from the 18th century, he expanded to include some 19th-century paintings. Laura Sitterly / The Times Record

“I grew up in a poor family, and these were the kind of things we had,” he said. “I find it comforting.” 

What may seem like treasures today were once everyday items that were affordable to pretty much anyone. Over time, they accumulated value. Now, even the most minor items — like antique combs — could sell for as high as $7,500 per brush. 

Others hold educational value. 

Oestreich has the suede vest of the first president of Harvard College, the Rev. Henry Dunster. John Demos, a professor of American history at Yale University, once asked to borrow the waistcoat to show off in his History 101 class. 

The collection resembles a time capsule in a changing world. When asked why we, as a culture, ought to still seek value in antiques, Oestreich said that at one point in time, these were important items to someone. 

“The world has changed,” Oestreich said. “People don’t want big, bulky pieces — they live in apartments or condos. Some things that I paid thousands for are going for hundreds today, and vice versa. Nonetheless, the value is in the antiques, not the marketplace.” 

How it started

Oestreich was born in Ashland, Pennsylvania, in the early 1930s, when coal fueled everything from steam locomotives to mass production lines. His father worked as a carpenter rather than a digger in the anthracite mines.

Inspired by his maternal grandfather’s career as a Lutheran pastor, Oestreich attended Susquehanna University and later the Lutheran Theological Seminary in Germantown, Pennsylvania. He taught in the ministry for years at parishes in Allentown, Pennsylvania; Long Island, New York; and at St. Phillips Episcopal Church in Brooklyn.

The suede vest that belonged to the first president of Harvard College, the Rev. Henry Dunster, hangs in Ed Oestreich’s home alongside petticoats. Laura Sitterly / The Times Record

At St. Phillips, he traveled abroad as the minister on board a Swedish-American cruise line, visiting all the Scandinavian countries, including Russia (when it was still behind the Iron Curtain). 

Through his travels and formal education, Oestreich was always surrounded by history, but it wasn’t until he got into antiquing that he said his curiosity piqued. 

At his first parish in Allentown, Oestreich became friends with a couple who imported fine pottery from across the country for their antique shop. Their days off aligned, so one week, they took him to visit a shop outside of Kutztown called Lambs Mill Antique. In the 18th-century stone barn, he met Jack and Lucy Lamb, who soon became his mentors. 

“I picked up a napkin ring, and Lucy wouldn’t sell it to me because she said it was junk,” Oestreich said. “She told me to read ‘Furniture Treasury’ by Wallace Nutting and ‘Fine Points of Furniture’ by Albert Sack. I read them all, returned, and told her I wanted to learn more.” 

Oestreich soon became not only a student but also a customer. He came to appreciate quality — one of the first pieces he bought from the Lambs was the refectory table that sits in his great room, a black walnut American piece dating between 1690 and 1720. Later, he acquired Lucy’s shrunk, a clothing cupboard, after she passed away. 

“As I became more knowledgeable, I relied more on my intuition,” Oestreich said. “I didn’t rely on others as much, so at that point, I began buying.” 

Moving to Maine

Oestreich moved to Maine in 1995. After retiring from ministry, his financial adviser said he needed a second income, so he opened an antique shop in his back barn. 

In the parlor, the Massachusetts corner cupboard holds a collection of English “Salopian ware.” In front of the fireplace, a rare “curfew” from the Low Countries sits. Laura Sitterly / The Times Record

He claims serendipity led him to Damariscotta. After vacationing in Vermont for quite some time, he stumbled upon Pemaquid Harbor in the 1980s. 

“I always felt that Maine was the home I was exiled from by birth,” Oestrich said. “I knew it was where I wanted to end up.” 

With scarce written records, a local historian pegged the house built in 1800 based on the nail heads used in construction. As the house changed hands, families added rooms, and purportedly, by the 19th century, the owner had converted the buttery on the south side into a new kitchen. 

The Cape has two fireplaces to heat the little parlor and prepare food. The one in the kitchen is 6.5 feet tall, nearly as tall as Oestreich. During a restoration project to fix the bake oven, evidence of a fire was found — charred beams and a plaster wall. 

“I hired a mason, Richard Irons, to rebuild the bake oven,” Oestreich said. “The brick used dates back to the 18th century; on the inside, it curves to create a dome ceiling. He also used wood from an old meetinghouse to ensure genuine reconstruction. If you look closely, you can see the pew numbers.” 

In New York, Oestreich took a hearth-cooking class at Van Cortlandt Manor, skills he said he used to use when guests would visit. 

More than an addiction

When considering a purchase, Oestreich said the item must fit the date and style of the home. He still monitors the annual East Side Settlement auction in New York but admits he’s come to trust the eye of local dealers like Timothy Gould and Thomas Moser. 

A late 18th-century horse hide trunk, the interior lined with the “Philadelphia Daily” newspaper, dated Sept. 14, 1796. “Gen. H. Knox” is written in black on the bottom. Laura Sitterly / The Times Record

To bulk up his collection, he turned to mini-projects: bookplates, Salopian cookware, redware, pewter shells, salt glaze stoneware, kugel jugs, lighting devices and men’s pocketbooks. 

In the parlor, light paint brightens the room with accent stenciling near the ceiling. The Massachusetts corner cupboard, in original paint, holds Oestreich’s collection of Salopian ware, which he claims to be the largest known collection. True Salopian is blue-on-white porcelain; this kind is an English ceramic made for the American spatterware market circa 1790–1820.

“I found Salopian in a shop in Ashland,” said Oestreich, laughing at the irony that the spatterware had been hidden in plain sight. “After speaking with the deputy chief curator at Colonial Williamsburg, I realized how rare early forms are.”

The Oriental scenes hand-printed on Salopian saucers, teapots and platters feature a more refined style. Oestreich explained that antiques native to Pennsylvania tend to be more robust — like the bulbous legs on the refectory table — especially compared to the delicate New England style. 

“It’s like comparing apples and oranges,” Oestreich said. “But my ultimate love would have to be Pennsylvania antiques — they’re more gutsy. Even the script, called fraktur in German, relies on broken letters; I find it has more character.” 

‘I want to be remembered by my collection’

Ed Oestreich sits in his front parlor with original mezzotints of George Washington in the background. Laura Sitterly / The Times Record

Oestrich has sold a set of monogrammed ceramic spoons to the Old Sturbridge Village Museum and loaned a late 18th-century horse hide trunk to the General Henry Knox Museum.

According to journals in the trunk, Knox retired as George Washington’s secretary of war in 1792 and moved to Maine. Oestreich bought the luggage in Thomastown for $100, shocked to find, when cleaning the chest, an authentic signature on the bottom. 

“I want to be remembered by my collection,” Oestreich said. “I have lived in this house longer than anywhere else. This period has marked the most significant productivity in my life, and I consider this my life’s work.” 

He appointed John McGinnis to dispose of his collection after his death. Given the breadth of his acquisitions, he anticipates a three-day auction.