As you know, I completed the 1956 Topps set five years ago. It happened in April. Wonderful day.
Two months later, I bought a car. Not much to connect the two events at the time, except I had some extra cash floating around that allowed me to do both things.
But on Thursday — five years later — the end of a long, winding journey arrived for both. Here’s how:
Yesterday afternoon, finally, FINALLY, I picked up my vehicle from the body shop. This is the one that was attacked by ice three months ago, rendering it undriveable. Through a combination of factors — overloaded and understaffed body shops, the backwoods in which I live, way more damage than originally anticipated, incredible wait times for shipment of parts — I was without that vehicle for three months and six days.
Because of various other issues, some of which I mentioned earlier, the only traveling I did for a month was to and from work and to and from the grocery store down the street. So, naturally, I felt like I was getting into a brand new car when I drove it from the shop yesterday, and that I was getting my life back, too.
On that same afternoon, the second of two cards arrived in the mailbox. I have them both now. They are a matched set.
These are the two unnumbered checklists from 1956 Topps. When I collected the set I mentioned that I wasn’t going to bother chasing these two cards. There are varied opinions but I didn’t consider them part of the set. They don’t have card numbers, they seem like extras. Mickey McDermott, card No. 340, was the last card as far as I was concerned.
Granted, I got some “but what about the checklists” responses from people when I said my set was complete (this was mostly on Twitter, which is so Twitter, by the way). I didn’t pay that any mind. There was nothing gnawing at me that told me my set wasn’t complete.
But over the past six months or so I’ve been searching for cards that have meaning to me — without a big set to chase for the first time in decades (1967 Topps doesn’t count), I’m looking for that connection that I always knew. So it occurred to me: “I know — I’ll track down those checklists to help put a bow on that set!” There’s almost nothing with more meaning in my collection than the 1956 Topps set.
So I grabbed these two copies about a week or two in between with only a little bit of hesitation for how much I was paying for something that looks like I could print up myself.
These are the backs. 1956 Topps thinks the set is complete without the checklists, too.
I was able to get two fairly unblemished examples. The Series 1 and 3 one is more clean than the Series 2 and 4 one. Collectively, they cost just under 80 bucks, which is still a lot for checklists, but you should see the amounts for graded copies.
And so as of today, my car is back in the driveway and there are two checklists in the back of my 1956 Topps binder.
At last …and finally … all is right with the world.
Today anyway.