[jingram058]

I have told this tale of woe before many times, including several times on this forum. The first event in this tale was walking away from my childhood complete sets collection of 1967, 68, 69 and 70 Topps (and many, many duplicates) and not quite but almost a complete set of 1962 Topps also. I moved out of our house into my own apartment before I decided to join the Navy. Many things got left at home when I moved out, including my cards. My mom kept asking me what did I want her to do with all this stuff (cards, books, comic books, old steam machinery parts). "I don't know, Mom, just get rid of it." She did, and then of course cards and all this stuff went up in value.

The second event was 2 shore duty assignments to Charleston and Key West, with my wife and daughter at home in (at that time) Coral Springs (Fort Lauderdale). I would drive home from Charleston, 540 miles each way, on weekends. I got to know I-95 and US 17 like the back of my hand. Then, 230 miles each way to and from Key West, US 1 and the Florida Turnpike. Even as a Chief Petty Officer, the bills piled up and after a while the money dried up, too, as the miles added up on my 1988 Mustang. I ended up putting 326,000 miles on that car when I finally sold it (the guy I sold it to still has it)! My second era of collecting included a paper grocery sack full of GREAT cards, literally given to me by a man who over my time in Charleston became a good friend. He had a good-sized booth in Vendor's Mall on Spruill Avenue, selling cards. When he retired, and took his thousands of cards to an auction house, he gave me hundreds of wonderful cards. And I accumulated many others at shows at Coral Square Mall, Broward Mall, eventually having a fine collection. But on one of my trips home, I was in desperate need of money. With my Top Secret security clearance, the idea of a "pay day loan" was out of the question. So I gathered up a 1934 Goudey Gehrig, 1941 Play Ball DiMaggio and Williams, 1958 Mantle, and about 15 or 20 other cards, and went to a card shop on Atlantic Boulevard in Coral Springs. When I told the guy behind the counter that I wanted (needed) to sell some cards, he almost began to salivate. He broke out a loupe, and said they were unquestionably real. But I then learned the harsh reality that what he could sell them for, and what I could sell them for, were two entirely different things. I think I got $200 for them. I felt sick, but I really needed the money. I vowed I would NEVER do something that foolish again.

There will not be a third event, ever. 3 strikes, you're out