Along an unpopulated stretch of a Berkshire mountain road I spotted a broken down trailer surrounded by weary looking furniture, some cardboard boxes full of who-knows-what, and a FOR SALE sign. A double row of chairs funneled me to a old trunk full of detritus that looked promising for box construction. The dark haired, mustachioed man sitting in the open door of the trailer seemed to have the unshakable belief that his broken toys were priceless antiques. When I turned to walk away, I noticed an unclothed doll sitting on a chair. Had he been there before?  I asked the price. "Oh you can have him for five bucks,” the man grumbled. When I got back to our cabin, my son and husband took one look at the clown doll and refused to let him in.