In 1976, at the first-ever sports card show in the St. Louis area, I set up a table to sell some of my cards formally for the first time. I don’t think I sold anything.
I was 14 years old.
All the other tables were filled with cards that attracted much more attention than what I had available: my duplicates from the Topps sets of 1968-76. They probably didn’t hold much appeal in part because I had thumbed through them, sorted, traded, boxed and unboxed and moved those stacks of cards countless times. Manning the tables surrounding mine, grown men throughout the area and from several surrounding states had stacks of cards that I had only seen and read about in the hobby papers of the day. I knew I wanted cards like those some day.
I have accumulated many of them, more than I ever imagined possible, in the last 50 years. I’m also back at card shows trying to sell cards.
Why?
Let me tell you about Jackie, a woman I met at a card show last weekend in Illinois. She probably was in her 30s and appeared much more physically fit than many of the folks that walk the aisles. I judged her to be a runner. And though I have learned not to guess how much disposable income someone might be able to spend on pieces of cardboard, I didn’t take her for having deep pockets.
She spent a long time staring at my case filled with slabbed T206s, all graded either by PSA or SGC, priced from $40 up to $500, mostly commons with Piedmont or Sweet Caporal backs but with a smattering of Hall-of-Famers and Southern Leaguers. A long time. Silently staring.
I said hello but could see she was engrossed in looking and thinking. Finally, she told me she had a number of cards from the 1950s and ‘60s, mainly, of players such as Clemente and Aaron and Mays, maybe a Mantle or two, that she might consider selling or trading. “I’d really like to start getting into these tobacco cards,” she said. “I just love looking at them and would love to have some.”
I gave her my contact information and told her to contact me, that I know we’d be able to work something out. In hindsight, I should have gifted her a card; that thought unfortunately didn’t strike me until a few minutes after she had left and I’d lost sight of her. I hope she calls or emails me soon.
I think I can say I was present when I watched someone fall in love with something.
Earlier that day, a guy I figured to be around 50 approached the table and, like Jackie, stood scanning the case of T206s. I greeted him, and he asked, “Do you have any Hooks Wiltse cards?” I must confess, I felt speechless for a moment. I hadn’t come to the show expecting someone to ask about someone who lived from 1879 to 1959 and played 12 seasons, mostly with the New York Giants, from 1904 until 1915. I had to ask why.
“He’s from where I grew up,” the man said. Wiltse hailed from Hamilton, N.Y. The collector said that he’d had a leg amputated not long ago and, during his time of boredom afterward, decided to collect cards of ballplayers from that area. He said he just had gotten his new prosthesis the previous week and was excited that he could walk the show.
It made his day when, after sifting through the cards in my case, I was able to produce a Hooks Wiltse card.
Another man spent quite a while flipping through the hundreds of lower-priced cards I had in a three-row box. They were priced from 25 cents to three dollars, and he happily pulled out a dozen of them. He told me he and his daughters send the cards to retired players asking them to autograph them; although he confessed the girls don’t know anything about the players and don’t really get a kick out of the work it takes to mail them, they are excited when they get returned. Then, he started flipping through the plastic pages I had in a binder filled with cards from the 1950s-1970s. And he excitedly pulled out a couple of Bowman issues of Bobby Shantz.
“Oldest player still alive,” the man said of the 100-year-old former pitcher, “and he’s still signing. I hope he can get these before he passes away!”
I’ve had more lucrative card shows than that one. I don’t really care that much. I’m just trying to make a little extra to feed my personal collection – and I spent more than I made Sunday thanks to purchases of Ted Williams cards from the 1940 and 1941 Play Ball sets.
But I got to spend the day with a buddy who was set up with me, I got to support a couple of young college students who are trying their hand at promoting card shows, and I got to have numerous chats with people who enjoy baseball and collecting pictures of the men who played the game.
I also learned to always have Hooks Wiltse in stock. You never know.