Omega

. . . from Pulp Fiction?  "It's the little differences."

Well, to my way of thinking as an Omega collector, it's little differences that can make a reference worth owning.  For example, a 220 bezel on a Speedy.  A Portuguese import mark on a case, an OXG engraving on a movement imported by Norman Morris, or a P.A.F. engraving on a cal 285 movement in a Railmaster.  Fab.Suisse on a dial delivered to France, or 'US Army' engraved on refs 2179 and 2384 . . . little differences that lend a mark of distinction.

One of the 'little differences' are double-signatures - dials signed with the Omega brand and symbol plus the retailer's.  They're not exactly uncommon, but serve a purpose for collectors by establishing the point of sale as well as an additional point of reference to help ascertain authenticity.  Some are seen regularly, like Türler , Tiffany&Co, and Beyer.  There's a '46 ref OJ2364 chronomètre double-signed by Tiffany in my collection which I acquired as much on account of its rare dial script as its overall excellent condition.  In nine years I've seen four others . . . further confirmation of rarity as well as authenticity.

Just a few weeks ago, I was scanning eBay when I ran across an Omega with an unusual double-signature.  So unusual that I'd never heard of it before, although I should have: Rudolf Niklaus.  The dial reads

     Ω

OMEGA

NIKLAUS

  BERN

At first glance, I thought the name of the retailer was Niklaus Bern, but immediately realized it was Niklaus in Bern, Switzerland.  A scan of the internet brought up a few examples of wristwatches so double-signed, all with 'Rud.' before 'Niklaus', and all Omegas or Tissots.  The brand belonged to a clockmaker and watch retailer in Bern that apparently disappeared mid-century. 

The watch captured my attention as it was in excellent condition and completely original, down to the crown and high-dome crystal.  More compelling than its overall condition, though, was the intrigue of the obscure retailer.

So for the first time I initiated an eBay auction.  Bidding was sparse at first.  Early on there were a few watchers, then forty, then nearly sixty.  I raised my bid twice over the course of a week, never out of the lead.  When the auction was counting down to its final minutes, I raised my bid again to a point where I thought no one would follow.  It was, after all, a 2390, an unexceptional mid-'40s reference of modest size powered by a regular (unrated) 30T2 movement.  These types of Omegas can go for four figures if they're jumbos or black dials, but this particular example was neither.  My expectation was no one would bid over a thousand bucks, so the final bid was adjusted to that point.

With fourteen seconds left in the auction, another bidder passed me by. 

🙁

I was dejected, but had firmly set a price I was comfortable with.  As intriguing as it was, there was another Omega aficionado that had higher regard for it than myself, and as they say, "All's fair in love and war." 

The next day, I checked my e-mails to find a message from the seller.  The winner of the auction bailed out, so I was eligible to acquire the Omega at my highest bid. 

It doesn't run, so off to my watchmaker tomorrow.  Fortunately all parts are still available, so even if the movement is mechanically compromised it can be brought back to running condition.

The Niklaus will be my last addition for 2020, joining the Dornblüth and two other vintage Omegas.  I hope your year was as productive as mine.

Art

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