Unless, that is, you were fixing up an old house and needed the right door knob, or hand rail, or pediment. And even then, this stuff was hard to find. There were no public demolition auctions to speak of, and if there was any talk of salvage rights, it was usually behind closed doors.

It's different today. Architectural salvage as a so-called "design statement" has become so ridiculously popular, so mainstream, so (ugh) mass market it seems like every decorating catalog you see has at least one item "inspired by an architectural find at the Paris Flea Market."

There has also been an unprecedented proliferation of upscale salvage purveyors, Chicago-based emporiums that are so high-end they balk at even the use of the word "salvage." First there was Salvage One, then came Architectural Artifacts, and as of a few months ago, Revival.

Another new store, Island Girl Salvage, which opened in Arlington Heights last year, does lean more on practicality than pretension. They still carry items the others frown upon, like old bathtubs and door knobs. But maybe that's just because one of the owners, Tabitha Long, is restoring a 75-year-old Cotswold Cottage herself.

Navigating the increasingly complex world of architectural salvage (aka artifacts, objets, specimens, relics, you name it) takes some inside know-how and a lot of patience. With that in mind, we've put together a mixed lot of stories that we hope paint a clearer picture of the industry and of people who, in their own unique way, are preserving our architectural heritage, one piece at a time.

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Maybe you've always fancied yourself an Italian, a rich Italian from the 19th century. Maybe it's Paris you desire — the Paris of Picasso and Fitzgerald, of smoky mirrors and mahogany wainscoting. Or perhaps you've always been more of a purist, a patriot of the American mission, faithful devotee to the Prairie style.

That's the beauty of decorating with artifacts salvaged (although previous centuries might have used the word "pillaged") across continents of lost architecture. With a little vision — and a limitless supply of cash — virtually any period in history can be replicated in your own home.

And please, we're not talking HGTV-style faux "theme" decorating or that long-expired trend of the late '90s where everything was either painted white or distressed (and then distributed for we, the lowly masses, at Target).

This really is the stuff of dreams.

Consider just a few of the items unveiled at the July opening of former Salvage One man Mark Steinke's new south Loop shop, Revival. On one side of the chi-chi, loft-style emporium (with an equally chi-chi restaurant coming soon) sits a 19th-century Italian fireplace mantel, all yours for just $18,000. Nearby, a folding French garden table is a relative steal at $225; a pair of vintage French brass sconces is $1,250; and for the American architectural aficionado waits a $4,500 (which makes it presumably original) Louis Sullivan baluster.

Designer Tips It's one thing to collect vintage furnace grates and old oak doors if you're restoring an old house, but what if you home is, well, new? We turned to Barbara Melcher of Glencoe-based Barbara Melcher Interior Decoration for expert advice on incorporating fabulous salvage finds into any decor. Here are five of her top tips: Take it outside. From antique sundials to old garden gates, salvage always works great in a garden. Melcher especially likes pieces that can function as a pot or add charm to a flowerbed. Find the right spot. "If it's a small objet," Melcher says, "you can put it on a coffee table, use it on a book-shelf, or if it's something heavy, maybe it's a bookend?" Be creative. "I just think it's fun to use in unusual places," she adds. "We once hung some old farm implements on a wall in a kitchen. It looks great. It was a curved wall, and that was a great way to use the space." Mix and match. Architectural artifacts can work in almost any decor — even if it's streamlined and contemporary. As Melcher says, "I think it's always interesting to have a few of these things around." Use restraint. When it comes to decorating with salvage, less is definitely more. "You don't want too much," she says, "or it will lose its impact."

And talk about fantasy, there's even a set of six fully attached porcelain sinks taken from a convent (just what you need if you're a widower with a bunch of kids and your name is Von Trapp).

On Chicago's North Side lies a similar trove of architectural artifacts called (what else?) Architectural Artifacts. Owner Stuart Grannen, whose educational background is an odd hybrid of archaeology and black studies, has been in the business about 40 years (he claims to have purchased his first stained glass window at 7).

But don't mention the word "salvage" in front of him. No, no, no. "We don't really sell salvage," he says. "We buy and remove artifacts. It goes way beyond that."

He muses on about the time he extracted "artifacts" from an 1880 estate house high on a hill in Yorkshire, England. "I bought it from the County of Yorkshire," he says, telling about "lots and lots of fireplaces," a stained-glass ceiling and an ornate piece of woodwork featuring a flutter of carved birds. Then there was that three-story cast-iron porch purchased and removed from an East London hospital, and closer to home, the top-to-bottom dismantling of a 1927 theater in Cicero which, like all the others, was slated for the wrecking ball.

Architectural Artifacts, which opened in 1987, recently expanded its showroom to 80,000 feet with plans for a Chicago architecture museum to be unveiled in early 2005. But mostly, it's still a shop of home decor fantasies, a place where for $500,000 (Grannen's priciest piece by far), you can bring home a one-of-a-kind, hand-carved, marble fireplace from a villa in Naples, Italy.

"Most of our customers these days are new construction," Grannen says. "And the thing is, you can't get it old. If you want a hand-carved marble fireplace mantel, you either buy it from me for $3,000 (obviously less exotic pieces) or spend $30,000 and wait three years."

There are, of course, more moderately priced options. Island Girl Salvage, which opened last year in Arlington Heights, specializes in local salvage, much of it procured from demolition auctions and salvage jobs on the North Shore. Here, a full fireplace mantel (rescued from a house on Connor Road in Kenilworth) goes for $2,500, rather than $12,500 or the heftier, once-removed-from-a-palace-in-Tuscany tag of $250,000.

Even so, for anyone who's passionate about architecture or preservation, the upwardly mobile appeal of architectural salvage should be somewhat comforting. After all, isn't it nice to know that in this market-crazed era of teardowns and McMansions, there are still a few people out there who value the fine craftsmanship of the past? Then again, if you're even remotely part of the mundane masses, those values are almost financially out of reach.

Consider the renovation under way at the 1929 landmark Palmolive Building in Chicago, heralded as one of the city's finest examples of art deco architecture.

Draper and Kramer's Peter Bazelli has become the unofficial architectural archivist for the project, painstakingly researching the building's history and salvaging artifacts removed during the Playboy regime.

"Unfortunately, what happens with old buildings is at some point in their history, they've been stripped of their character," Bazelli says. "We're lucky to have a few items left."

In addition to some nickel hand railings and other treasures found hidden in the basement, Bazelli discovered that the top floor of the building — site of Palmolive's original headquarters — had inadvertently been frozen in time.

"That's an entire floor that we're preserving for use as part of a residence," he says. And some residence it will be.

Here's the kicker: At 7,880 square feet, the penthouse unit with four terraces, Italian kitchen, original (restored) paneling and a fireplace carved for the Palmolive chairman's office will be listed at a cool $10 million.

Even Grannen admits that quality has a price. "These things have multiple lives; they have their own history. They are things from the days when you had four, five, six generations of stone carvers. They didn't have the means (back then) to just whip it up," he says.

"Many of the things we get, somebody had to think, 'I want this incredible fireplace and here's what I want.'"

Sigh.

Unfortunately for most of us, we already know the feeling.

Salvage divas Tabitha Long and Elizabeth Ross will never forget that house on Robsart Road.

"It was creepy," Ross says, glancing sideways at her business partner.

"Yeah," Long continues. "We both had this strange feeling."

It was supposed to be just another demo job. Long and Ross had been working around the clock to launch their first Island Girl Salvage store in Arlington Heights, so acquiring the salvage rights for this big old house in Kenilworth was exactly what they needed to boost inventory.

What they didn't anticipate were the stories they'd find hidden in the walls, snippets of life in Kenilworth in the early years of the 20th century.

They say the house had been long abandoned, left to age in a tangle of weeds and forgotten grass. Parts of it had been vandalized. The power had been turned off. Ross and Long crept in on tiptoes, crowbars in hand.

Days into the salvage work, one of them noticed a fireplace mantel in a second-floor parlor. It was smaller than the marble one downstairs but still worth saving, they thought.

The crowbars were raised. The wood creaked. "And all these little leaflets started dropping out from behind it," Long says.

They sat on the floor of that parlor for what seemed like hours, sifting through piles of letters, postcards, photographs and other remnants of the families who once called this place home. There was a prescription from a "D.S. Lyman, Pharmacist," in Evanston and a postcard soliciting figs from 1928. There was a Kenilworth-Chicago train schedule from 1931, a 1946 notice of a District 38 Board of Education meeting "in the office of the Joseph Sears School," and, most interestingly, a calendar of social events from "The Neighbors of Kenilworth."

When their store finally opened in April 2003, Ross and Long tucked the artifacts and photos (most memorable were of girls twirling batons) into mirrors and frames. Most were sold with purchase, but there are a few things left to remind them why they're in this business in the first place — to rescue, recycle and preserve.

So you've just been "shushed" by a blonde on a Jacuzzi. "Let's talk about who wants what in this bathroom," she shouts.

CHECK THESE WEB SITES FOR A DEMOLITION AUCTION NEAR YOU: Murco Recycling Enterprises 708/352-4111 www.murco.net Vintage Details 630/251-2329 www.vintagedetails.com Cook County Demolition Sales 847/795-9139 www.demolitionsales.com

But other than that, it's just like all the other auctions you've been to in Winnetka, or Glencoe, or Kenilworth. Crowded. Noisy. Confusing. Only today you're in the city, and demolition queen Jodi Murphy is particularly agitated.

Questions are already flying about blinds and (her eyes roll) a single towel rack. "You guys are all in here for a bunch of nothing!" she says with mock exasperation. "Let's start at $150 for the toilet."

Bids are slow.

"We're talking toilets. Are you in at $160?" Murphy asks Mr. Bottom Dollar, ratcheting the price up to $170, then $180, and finally — "sold at $250!"

The modern brass towel bars and accessories, or "accouterments" as she calls them, go from $60 to $110 for the lot. Then come the big bathtub, fancy tile shower and sink built for two.

"Can you believe they're tearing this place down?" someone muses. But you can, because you've been here many times before. You get the e-mail updates. You know the drill.

Cash will be collected. Crowbars and screwdrivers will fly. And Murphy, founder and sole proprietor of Murco Recycling Enterprises Inc. — arguably the busiest demolition auction outfit on the North Shore — will move on with the show.

By sundown, this three-story brownstone will be taken apart mantelpiece by mantelpiece (because yes, there are several). Floors will be dissected and disassembled. Everything from cabinets to countertops will be removed. And when what's left of these 100-year-old walls go tumbling into the landfill, salvageable remnants of the house will be scattered throughout Chicago and the North Shore.

Some will find their way to antique and architectural salvage emporiums, generally at double — even triple — the price. Newer items might be ripe for consignment. Others will be reused by designers and do-it-yourselfers.

The important thing, according to Murphy, is that nothing goes to waste. "We consider ourselves preservationists to a certain degree, just by diverting these materials."

On the North Shore, where Murphy estimates she conducts at least 65 percent of her business, this is especially true. While some homes being demolished here are in disrepair and clearly ready for the wrecking ball, others may have recently undergone major renovations.

Murphy says homeowners who have the means to spend millions on tearing down one perfectly good house and building another typically aren't interested in reusing things like granite countertops and appliances — even if they are only a few years old. What they are interested in, however, is what she calls "responsible handling of materials."

This is to the benefit of people like Nick Yocca of Evanston, who often trolls North Shore demolition auctions with his business partner, Chuck Haeger, looking for good buys on good quality stuff to fix up their myriad real estate investments. They generally look for architectural items like molding and wood trim. But Yocca is also always in the market for plants, shrubs and flowers.

"Nick goes to them up and down the North Shore," Yaeger chimes in. "His garden looks great, and he's done it for 50 cents on the dollar."

For budget-minded homeowners, that's the draw. Items purchased at demolition auctions tend to be priced at about 10 to 20 percent of what the same item would fetch at retail. However, that savings comes with a price — sweat and, in some cases, tears.

"You've got to consider," Yocca says, "that you've got to rip it out yourself, and you've got to take it out that day."

Elbow grease is definitely required, especially since the power at these places is usually turned off by the time the house gets to auction. In other words, if you really want that fabulous quarter-sewn oak fireplace mantel with beveled mirror at a rock-bottom price, you're going to have to take it out the old-fashioned way.

"You need to bring a bucket-full of tools to these things," says John Corrigan, who has embellished his 1960s-era Lake Forest home with antique light fixtures and crown molding he finds at North Shore salvage auctions.

"That's the hook," Yocca continues. "You've got to come prepared."

Unless, of course, you've got Corrigan's gift of gab, which is the only explanation for his big coup one Saturday in Glencoe. "We brought an extension cord and convinced the neighbors to let us run it across the yard," he says with a grin. "But usually, it's just a pry bar and a ladder."

Demolition sales were once the exclusive domain of antique dealers and salvage shops, but these days, anybody can buy a bid card and get in on the bargains.

1) Bring plenty of cash. Credit cards are a no-go and checks are only accepted from Murco members (you pay $35 for a year's worth of bidding privileges and a Murco T-shirt, as opposed to $5 for an individual bid card).

2) Bring your own tools. Begging strangers for a crow bar is never attractive. Also be sure your vehicle is big enough to haul away the items you've got your eye on.

3) Arrive early. Chances are if it's a North Shore auction, there will be a line. Items are auctioned piece by piece, and if you snooze, you lose.

4) Measure and measure some more. Nothing is more tragic than bringing home the leaded glass doors of your dreams only to find they are three inches too wide.

5) Avoid distractions. A good deal on a closet organizer may be enticing, but not if it makes you miss out on the one item you came to bid on.

Every house has a story. Some are stranger than others. Some are stranger than fiction.