The lord of the manor is Geoff Worman, a burly, mystical man in his 50s with an appropriately husky gray beard. He nearly always appears from behind one of the mounds of precious rubble to provide much needed help and navigation to customers.

The clutter of ancient artifacts and a foreboding sign on the door caught my attention as I approached the otherwise unassuming entryway.

“No children allowed without the supervision of an adult!”

Feeling oddly apprehensive, yet more than a little bit curious, I took hold of the door handle and stepped into a world frozen in time.

Heaps of books, toys, dolls, action figures and comics line the narrow path that weaves between mountains of cluttered relics, the only sign of any organization. Everywhere to be found were colorful, antiquated items from historical pop culture and beyond.

This magical land is Flipville Records, located at 1936 N. Farwell Ave, which has been a fixture of the East Side community for 15 years. It is nestled cozily on a block of other familiar, independently owned businesses like Koppa’s Farwell Foods and Comet Café. Flipville is the kind of place that contributes to Milwaukee’s unique flair.

Inside, Gumby, Luke Skywalker, GI Joe, Frankenstein and a slew of other fossils completely overwhelm the senses, nearly to the point of overload. The sound of an old movie playing in the background and a grainy television set in a corner create a subtle, nostalgic ambiance.

The lord of the manor is Geoff Worman, a burly, mystical man in his 50s with an appropriately husky gray beard. He nearly always appears from behind one of the mounds of precious rubble to provide much needed help and navigation to customers.

However, with the advent of online record and antique trading on sites like eBay, stores like Flipville may end up becoming a thing of the past. Worman said that while he’s never used the Internet to buy or sell merchandise before, he hasn’t ruled out the idea completely.

“I don’t like buying or selling things on the Internet, but I do go on there to get an idea about how much an item’s going for,” Worman explained, adding, “I don’t want to say I never will, though.”

Worman opened his store in 1992 after working for 12 years at another vinyl hub, Record Head, in West Allis. He began collecting records at the age of 13, and said he’s kept a rock collection as far back as he can remember. None of the records or toys found in the store is from his private collection of treasures.

The majority of the goods sold at Flipville have come from rummage sales or through networking with other fellow collectors over the years. While curious passersby pop in from time to time, the store has a devoted base of cult-like followers.

Older collectors sometimes touch base with Worman to get rid of their once prized possessions, occasionally selling an entire stash. Other times, regular customers or antique sellers known as “pickers” go to rummage sales and find items they know Worman can’t pass up.

While most of his antiques are from the ‘50s through the ‘80s, some of the older toys in the shop hail from as far back as the ‘20s. Moving aside a stack of comics and trinkets, Worman revealed a glass case containing model cars assembled from such an era. Covered with dust and seemingly ignored for years, it almost appears as if he had been hiding them. This is fitting, as not everything in the store is for sale.

A piggybank from the 1890s, a recent addition to the store predating the model cars, is one such item. Rather than the traditional barnyard animal, though, this personal coin bank is instead modeled after an African-American boy’s torso.

Creepy, life-like eyes are housed within a large head, while a damaged hand reaches outward. Worman demonstrated how the relic works by gently pushing the arm down, causing the boy’s mouth to open and revealing where a coin could be inserted.

Though not for sale, the item is a prime example of why going into an actual store like Flipville can be far superior to the online shopping experience. According to Worman, journey and discovery are the essential points.

“It’s a lot more fun when you can actually touch and hold these kinds of things, and find something you didn’t even know you were looking for,” Worman said.

Worman’s vinyl can be found down a small flight of stairs to a cavernous underworld in the back. Along the thin, cramped passageway are a toy semitrailer bearing the names of businesses long defunct sitting alongside Kermit the Frog and an A-Team lunchboxes.

The records, surprisingly, are more organized than the chaos above, but similar toys and games cover the shelves. They are divided into categories of comedy, R&B, soul, punk/new wave and classic rock.

Worman said he tries to carry a little bit of everything. About half the store’s sales come from toys and the other half from records and the occasional turntable.

“A lot of DJs come in looking for jazz and R&B, but I also sell a lot of classic rock,” Worman said. “That seems to be the new cool thing, along with punk and independent stuff.”

The name “Flipville” comes from the beatnik era, slang for turning a vinyl record over. It also has a more obscure meaning.

“People used to say it like, if you’d lost your mind,” Worman said. “You can hear the term in a lot of old movies.”

Some might say Worman has lost his mind for not taking advantage of the capital opportunities found in selling goods like his online. A large market for unwanted clutter currently thrives in cyberspace and Worman isn’t exactly raking in the dough. He said he’s doing OK making a living off what he calls “a bad habit,” but most of the time he’s just trying to keep his head above water.

“You don’t go into a business like this to get rich,” Worman reckoned.

Though the Internet has made shopping for old relics possible from the comfort of one’s home, Milwaukee collectors of all varieties will hopefully recognize the truly irreplaceable experience found offline. The Internet is undeniably here to stay, but unless people continue to authentically thrift shop, places like Flipville may one day become forgotten antiques themselves.

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