Life Sketches by Terry Berkson
Who’s ‘The Man’ Now, Charlie?
One spring morning about 30 years ago, I headed for my camp on Canadarago Lake with a chain saw, some shingles and other material I would need to make a repair to the roof. A tree had fallen on it, allowing melting snow and rain to flood the attic and kitchen below. While surveying the damage I came across two pieces of cardboard lying face down on the attic floor. It looked like they had been used to cover a small vent window nearby.
When I turned them over they appeared to be identical, showing pictures of baseball players—eight of them. The portraits were the size of baseball cards. I recognized one of the names, Stanley Musial, a great outfielder who, in his heyday, had been known as “Stan the Man.” Coincidentally, my dad had bought me a Rawlings PMM Stan Musial baseball glove when I was in the eighth grade and I still have it—but I had never heard anybody call Stan, Stanley. It must have been when he was a rookie.
Also printed on the cardboard in bold letters was the brand name Hunter Hot Dogs. A caption read, “Kids, cut these pictures out to make a collection!” If folded, it looked like the 12” by 16” sheets would form a box that housed a dozen hot dogs. Baseball and hot dogs! I thought I had found a valuable collectable, but when I asked my friend Charlie— who is an expert in these matters—he said, “Nah.” I had to respect his opinion because once, when we were in Bouckville, an antique dealer commented on Charlie’s knowledge by referring to him as “The Man.”
Nevertheless, I ignored my friend’s pooh-poohing of my find, and put Stanley Musial and his buddies in storage. A couple of months went by. During that time I visited a baseball card shop and described to the owner what I had found. His response was about the same as Charlie’s. I still had my doubts about their appraisal and one day asked Charlie to post my find on eBay. He was bothered by the “foolish request” but said, “Okay, we’ll split 50-50 on whatever it brings.” A week later I get a call from an excited Charlie, saying, “The hot dog box went for $220.00!” That was a $110.00 apiece, plus my sweet feeling of knowing better than the experts.
“You want to sell the other one?” Charlie asked. “This time I’ll only take 15 percent,” he said, sounding a bit guilty.
“Let’s wait a while,” I told him.
Several months later I gave Charlie the green light to unload the remaining Stanley and then boarded a plane to Florida. A week later my cell phone rang with so much energy it almost jumped out of my pocket. It was an excited Charlie telling me, “The cardboard went for $550.00!”
“That helps pay for Florida,” I said in a forced matter-of-fact tone.”
“Did I tell you I get 50 percent—or 15 percent?” he asked, chuckling.
“You said fifteen,” I returned.
“Who knew?” he said, disgusted.
Now, briefly, in the area of collectibles, like Stan—I was “The Man.”
“You gotta get back to your camp and into that attic,” Charlie said. “There might be more…”
I did revisit the attic. But the hot dog cards, like old Stanley, had left the ball park.
Terry Berkson’s articles have appeared in “New York” magazine, “Automobile” magazine and many others. Reviews on his critically-praised memoir, “Corvette Odyssey,” can be found on TerryBerkson.com.
