Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Pack rats win the race?

Found this and thought it was incredible.

H's & K's,
Neil Edward Golemo


courant.com/features/hc-webbaseballcard.artjan07,0,2557404.story

Courant.com

Surprise Find: A 139-Year-Old Baseball Card

By Mike Osegueda

McClatchy Newspapers

January 7, 2009

FRESNO, Calif.

She dug into a box and pulled out a baseball card. She stopped for a moment and admired the picture. "Red Stocking B.B. Club of Cincinnati," the card said, under a sepia tone photo of 10 men with their socks pulled up to their knees. The card itself was dirty and wrinkled in a few places.

It was definitely old, Gallego thought. As a collector and seller, it's her job to spot old items that might have value today, to find the gems among the junk.

It's what Bernice, 72, and her husband Al Gallego, 80, have been doing since 1974 at Collectique, their antiques store in the Fresno, Calif., Tower District full of old jukeboxes, slot machines and records.

This card, she figured, was worth selling on eBay.

She did what she does with most items: Took a picture, wrote a description and put it up for auction. She put a $10 price tag on it, deciding against $15 because it would have cost her an extra 20 cents.

Later that night she got a few odd inquiries — someone wanting to know whether the card was authentic, someone wanting her to end the auction and sell him the card immediately.

Hmm, she thought, this could be something special. It could be worth $50, or even $100.

Or, as Bernice Gallego came to find out in the following weeks, it could be worth a lot more.

The card is actually 139 years old. It, and a handful of others like it, are considered the first baseball cards. Sports card collectors call the find "extremely rare" and estimate the card could fetch five, or perhaps, six figures at auction.

And Bernice was worried about 20 cents.

Instead, just like that, she is the least likely protagonist ever for a rare-baseball card story.

"I didn't even know baseball existed that far back," Gallego says, between puffs on her cigarette. "I don't think that I've ever been to a baseball game."

Spooked with all the questions she was getting on eBay, she picked up the phone at 9:30 p.m. that night and called her good friend, George Huddleston, and asked his opinion.

"I never make phone calls after 8 o'clock at night," Gallego says. "My mother taught me never to do things like that."

Huddleston's answer was simple: End the auction now. Figure out what you have and what it's worth before selling it. Her husband Al agreed: "Get this thing off the Internet."

So the next morning — with no bids yet on the card — she canceled the auction. She wanted to find out more about the card.

Huddleston directed Gallego to a friend who would know what to do: Rick Mirigian, a local concert promoter and card trader who sold a rare basketball card in 2004 for $62,100.

In the meantime, Gallego didn't want the card to get lost, so she put it in a sandwich bag and push-pinned it to her laundry room wall.

"If it fell off the wall, the cat would have ate it," Gallego says. "Well, or the dog."

When she met with Mirigian she found out what the card was — an 1869 advertisement with a picture of the first professional baseball team, the Cincinnati Red Stockings.

"When I came to meet her and she took it out of a sandwich Baggie and she was smoking a cigarette, I almost fainted," Mirigian says.

"They've uncovered a piece of history that few people will ever be able to imagine or comprehend. And it comes out of Fresno," Mirigian says. "That card is history. It's like unearthing a Mona Lisa or a Picasso."

Mirigian's first question to Bernice was what you might expect: Where did you get this?

To this day, the details are sketchy.

"We really don't know where we got it," Gallego says. "We don't even know how long we owned this thing."

Makes sense when you consider the Gallegos are a couple of pack-rats who have been married 45 years and whose antique store overflows into their house.

The theory is that the card came out of a storage space they bought a few years back. It's not uncommon in their line of work to buy the entire contents of storage units, usually from a relative of a recently deceased person, for around $200.

That's what the Gallegos think happened here.

Before this, the Gallegos' biggest eBay sale was a John F. Kennedy autograph from 1939 that brought in $1,000.

Because baseball cards were new to them, Mirigian laid out a plan for the Gallegos. They had to get the card authenticated, store it in something better than a plastic bag and put it in a safe place.

So the Gallegos headed south to Los Angeles, bound for the headquarters of PSA, the leading sports card grading and authenticating company, which has graded 12 million items since 1991.

Most people mail their cards off to PSA. The Gallegos decided that for their almost 140-year-old card, they'd rather drive it down. They picked the one day a month that PSA opens its doors to the public, dropped the card off at 9 a.m. and picked it up at 3 p.m., encapsulated and authenticated.

It was all a little much for a dumbstruck Bernice who still says, "It's a little card I found in a bunch of stuff."

They chose not to have the card graded, the process of judging the mintness on a 1-10 scale. It's PSA's most popular service, but in the case of this card, being real and in one piece is the most important thing.

"It does have some pretty significant discoloration and creasing," says Joe Orlando, the president of PSA. "The good news is that the sepia tone photo that is mounted on the front is, relatively speaking, unscathed. The clarity of the photo is still there. If this were graded, it would be near the bottom. But even for a card that low on the grading scale, it does have some eye appeal to it. It still presents fairly well and that's the more important thing."

And perhaps even more important is the story it tells.

Before the Cincinnati Red Stockings there were no professional baseball teams.

Formed in 1868, the team set the foundation for what we know today as Major League Baseball.

"To borrow a term from rock 'n' roll, they were a kind of supergroup," says Tim Wiles, the director of research at the Baseball Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y.

"They brought in some of the best baseball players from around the country. They went around and challenged all comers. They barnstormed around the country and were undefeated."

The Red Stockings won games by as many as 30, 40 and 50 runs, Wiles says.

"They were kind of an all-star team before that concept really existed," he says. "In 1871, what the Red Stockings started would evolve into the first baseball league and the first sports league."

In 1869, the team's picture ended up on the front of a card advertising Peck & Snyder, a company that sold baseball equipment. Unlike modern baseball cards, the Peck & Snyder card was larger and focused on the whole team, not individual players.

"It really provides a time capsule for the game," says Orlando of PSA. "You look at the picture and the guys are wearing boots. They don't use gloves at that point. The classic uniforms. It was a completely different game at that time."

To Bernice — who, let's remember, has never been to a baseball game — it was the history, not the sport that meant something.

"Because I love history, the thing that really got to me was that it's a photo, a real photo of real people, basically taken right after the Civil War," Gallego says. "That's what got to me. I don't know much about them. Who are they? What are they thinking? Those kind of question go through my mind."

Next is the big question: How much is this card worth?

Mirigian says he expects six figures.

The Gallegos are content to put it on eBay and "let it fly."

Orlando offers: "The last one that I'm aware, it sold about a year to a year and a half ago and it sold for well into five figures. You have to let the market decide what it's worth when you're dealing with something this scarce, because there's just not the market history to determine it."

But who would pay that kind of money for a baseball card?

"A lot of people use sports memorabilia and sports cards as conversation pieces," Orlando says. "And what a conversation piece this is."

That could mean anybody from a businessman who's a baseball fan to a baseball executive. That's the kind of stuff that Mirigian and Gallego sit around talking about.

"You might have George Steinbrenner wanting to buy this," Mirigian told her one day, referring to the long time New York Yankees owner.

"Who's George Steinberg?" she asked.

Plans are to put the card back on eBay, though the auction is expected to draw a little more attention this time, thanks to Mirigian, who is already plotting marketing schemes and sales tactics. He'll get a percentage of the sale for his part.

"I find it so hard to believe that this little card is worth so much," Bernice says. "Neither one of us count chickens before they hatch. We don't want to expect the world out of this find. It's good enough that we've found it, and have been able to enjoy it and share it with a few of our friends. That for us is more of where it's at."

It's not the first time Bernice has unexpectedly walked into a windfall. She hit a $250,000 jackpot playing quarter slots at Harrah's in Lake Tahoe.

"She's a very lucky lady," Al Gallego says.

That was 10 years ago. Now this. Next? Who knows.

"We gotta live at least another 10 years for the next one," Bernice says.


Bernice Gallego sat down one day this summer, as she does pretty much every day, and began listing items on eBay.

Saturday, November 29, 2008

The Four Chambers of a Home

Thanksgiving is, perhaps, my favorite holiday of the year. And I love holidays! I love pretty much everything about them.

I love the mixed bag of gifts that is a family get-togethers. The uncouth cousins. The mothers who try too hard. The dad's who don't try at all. The uncles that get drunk. The tee-totaling aunts who try to make up for the drunkeness by being completely lacking in a sense of humor.

I honestly love it all.

Holidays are really important to me. They're the spice in the meat and potatoes of the year. They are the moments in our grinds where we stop and, for whatever reason, we take time to appreciate that which means most to us. Family. The reasons we work and grind and push and pull.

In the last 5 years, I've spent Thanksgiving in five different places. Five different families other than the one that raised me. Five different sets of drunk cousins and stuck-up brothers and crazy aunts and accommodating mothers and incontinent elderly family dogs, hovering with graying whiskers for the next piece of turkey or stuffing to fall from an overloaded plate to the floor.

Families are very sacred and real and utterly unchangeable (no matter how hard you try) type of things. So when a friend is willing to share that with someone else... its much like exposing yourself (unfortunate wording, but I liked it so much after I typed it I just kept it... you know what I meant anyway). You can't really lie about family. "Uncle Ted isn't a drunk, he's just had a stroke recently." Or "My cousin Andee isn't a bitch, she's just getting into character for a movie part... she's playing the lead in a sequel of 'Mommy Dearest'... no really!"

Like I said, these lies don't really work. And to be honest, we're usually so consigned to the ugly truths about it, that we don't even think to warn our friends. So when someone is willing to share that with you, expose their origins and lay their lives bare, it means a lot. And the fact that I've had 4 friends think highly enough of me share themselves like that... it means that either I'm doing something really right, I'm just REALLY pitiful.

I suspect its a little of column A and column B.

It hits me when I think about that. 5 years since I've had Thanksgiving at my Grandma's in Hamilton, Illinois. My back to the big picture window with a view of the Mississippi winding through the bluffs with Iowa beyond. I haven't enjoyed my favorite holiday with the family that made me love the day the most. I remember flying kites and having experiments with my Aunt Theresa and her friend, Jim... (and never wondering about them having one of the inexplicable and androgynous relationships I've ever seen).

It causes me to pause my typing mid-word to think about it.

I've been at the mercy of others for the last 5 years. I've been floating around for the last 5 years... maybe this explains a lot about me and where I am in life. I'm so desperate to put down roots. I had an amazing support system in Eric and Steve and Shiznit in Waco. Myles and my studies.

I'm really beginning to love and appreciate Galveston. I fought it. Then I gave in... and then I had to work at it. But my relationship with Galveston Island is strong. I have an amazing job with an even better group of co-workers and a boss that has become a dear friend and confidant. I have good friends in Brian and Kristen and Will. I'm getting to a place where I'm happy with my situation. Even after the fucking storm.

I had a really good time time this Thanksgiving with Amanda and her family. Her mother, Melinda is sweet as the day is long and bent over backwards to make me feel welcome. She tried her hardest to embarrass Amanda for Amanda's sake. Turns out Amanda was too big a wuss to really misbehave growing up. Amanda's father, Barry, is incredibly laid-back. Seriously an incredibly accommodating and guy. He's done as much to make me feel comfortable as anyone. I got to meet Amanda's brother, Tyler and his wife Shari. Really cool young couple. I'm guessing they've been married 2-3 years. They have a beautiful son, 10 month old Kane. Seriously, two of the biggest, most lovable brown eyes I've ever seen. And I'm a sucker for the eyes.

And Amanda. She was a pro about the whole thing. I'm not sure if she actually wanted me around but she was cool as hell. As she almost always is.

I'm really thankful for her influence in my life. She's more than my best friend. She's sort of a lifeline into the world at outside of mine. She's smart and strong and while I think we share a sense of humor, I don't know anyone who provides a better counter-point to my point of view of the world. She's really fun to hang out with. And I defy you to spend time with her without laughing.

Besides that, she's off-the-charts hot. That don't hurt none. Like I've said. I never punch my weight.

But back to the point. I talk all this mean game about how much I love it back home, but I know that if I were to go back, I would hardly be able to spend a week without wondering why I would ever bother stepping foot in the city's limits. And even so, I've only just gotten to the point where I'm interested in seeing anyone besides my family members when I do go back.

I guess what I'm saying is that home is where the four chambers of your heart is. Wherever my mom and dad live will be home. Whether that's in Illinois or El Paso or wherever they're talking about moving.

Wherever I can go and say my stupid jokes and get laughs and people telling me I'm not nearly as funny as I think I am, will be home. (so thanks, Amanda)

Wherever I can go and feel loved, and just as importantly, known, will always be home.

So home is where my heart is. And as long as it's with those who would hold a piece of it, maybe I don't need to worry so much about roots. I'm leaving cuttings of myself wherever I go!

Four chambers of a home. A heart indeed.

Monday, September 15, 2008

TAMUG news!

TO EVERYONE I TAGGED IN THIS NOTE -
Please share this information with your fellow Sea Aggies. Thank you!
Originally Posted 6:30 p.m., Sunday, September 14, 2008

The current situation: TAMUG officials were granted limited access to the Mitchell Campus on Pelican Island and the Fort Crockett campus on Sunday. Initial reports are that our campuses fared well during Hurricane Ike; however, we will be sending assessment teams of engineers and facility specialists from College Station to conduct a building-by-building analysis over the next two days. On the Mitchell Campus, there is some damage, but it appears to be repairable at this point.
We know that the roadway leading to the bridge to campus has eroded and is impassable at the current time. The roof to Mariner Hall has been partially damaged, as has the roof to the Sea Aggie Center. The academic buildings appear to have made it through the storm relatively unscathed, other than some broken glass. There is no evidence of the storm surge reaching these buildings.At Fort Crockett, one of the highest points on Galveston Island, we did not see any visible structural or water damage. We have not been able to access the Teichman campus as of Sunday afternoon.The key point to emphasize is that the City of Galveston’s infrastructure has been severely damaged, according to preliminary reports. This means that we are unsure as to when the island will have basic services such as electricity, water, sewer and telecommunications.

In addition, the approaches to the causeway from the mainland to Galveston Island have been compromised by debris. Public access is prohibited at this time.Our current plans:Our campus will remain closed throughout this week. Our next steps depend greatly upon the campus facility assessments, as well as the availability of basic services on Galveston Island.Be assured that the Aggie Spirit is alive and well, and we have begun implementing our contingency plan for the continuation of the fall semester at Texas A&M University in College Station. We will be able to share much more information about this implementation over the next two days.

The next update: Please continue to monitor www.tamug.edu for the latest official information from our administration. We are working to have our plans for the fall semester finalized by Wednesday, and provide several days’ notice for our faculty, staff and students.

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

I know how the Fires of Hell taste...

I was originally going to send this to Amanda in text form... but balked for obvious reasons. Enjoy:

I'm going to blog about this later, but I thought you might enjoy a story of how my doe-eyed trusting nature screwed me once again.

So Danielle, an anime/manga freak of a student worker whose only discernible skill is avoiding work, starts giggling and bickering with her boyfriend, Guy another student worker. Naturally, I eavesdrop. They're debating whether "Neil will try it or not."

So I walk up.

"Oh hey Neil!" Danielle says through eyes devoid of conscience, "want to try this hot sauce? It's really spice but REALLY good."

"Sure," I say, "I like spicey stuff."

"Great!" Danielle, that succubus of innocence, exclaims. "I saved you a chicken tender. Go to town."

So I dip a healthy dallop of the dark-dark red sauce and took a bite.

Now in retrospect, perhaps I should have noticed the relatively TINY size of the container of supposed "Hot Sauce" compared to the gallon containers of ranch that this girl USUALLY subjects her food to. Or maybe perhaps I should have noticed how Guy's eyes grew to the point where they could have doubled for rims on Shaq's Bentley...

But alas, I noticed nothing until I started to chew.

My mouth was aflame. I can only honestly describe the feeling as a cross between a Rampage Jackson hay-maker to the mouth and a passionate make-out session with the rusty tailpipe of a overheated '69 Chevelle.

But I'm a man, and this wasn't my first rodeo. I soldier up, for the sake of the troops, and swallow. (yes, I'm fighting the use of a "that's what SHE said" joke as well).

I'm cool for the most part. No tears. But my mouth, literally, hurts and I've already downed most of a nalgene bottle of water. I'm ignoring their hoots of approval and I want to slap the looks of pure adoration for this manly deed right off their still pubescent faces. I'm currently doing a mental inventory of alkaline substances at my disposal as I sit down and try to go back to work. No milk. I honestly consider gurgling chlorine... (shut up, I still run the pool)...

So, after what I feel is enough space to give me some distance, I excuse myself to "go to my apartment and also check the pool numbers." I go to my apartment, chew a few antacid (years old, I think they still have a picture of "uncle joey" from FULL HOUSE on the box) and I have some cottage cheese and take a few mouthfuls of that. It helps.

So, feeling better, I go out to the pool and do what I do best: make fun of students.

After 5 minutes and bragging about how awesome I am for hitting this sauce described as "barely legal in the U.S.", Karma hits.

My gut first starts to tingle, then burn, then full-out viva la resistance revolt. There are French people in torn pirate shirts singing songs of rebellion and building barricades in the banlieue.

I honestly get a flash in my mind of Tom Skerritt in ALIEN.

Mumbling some fucking lame excuse, I start to walk towards my apartment. I trip on something before I realize that my pupils have honestly begun to dilate.

I pull out my FUCKING ID and honestly don't know if I can make it to my apartment. So I stop, try to catch my breath and lean over a trash can. But wait, after 30 seconds of exponentially increasing pain, I realize that I'm about to full-on yak into a recycling bin. Yes. I get the irony. I actually slipped a laugh out between gasps.

Bad move. Turns out, my abdominal muscles are the jealous type.

I hear a sound come from my bowels that would make a StarWars nerd applaud. It might have been Klingon, but I knew what it was saying "get this fucking shit out of me you worthless mouthful of cock." (sorry for the language)

I throw up everything I've had in the last 10 minutes. Water? Check. Cottage Cheese? Check. Red bits of Uncle Joey's worthless antacids? Check.

Chicken tender? No dice.

I'm in a cold sweat. My legs quite literally, are wonkier than a newborn colt.

I make it into my apartment and begin an immediate evacuation from my clothes. Everything... almost. Socks are a bitch to get off and the floor was kinda cold.

I'll spare you the rest of the gruesome details only to tell you that I'm only NOW fully recovered. I robed and went back to work. No one the wiser after being gone for 30 minutes. I stayed until around 6 and then came back and took a short nap.

I don't know what I did to deserve that habenero sauce. I honestly don't know.

But I'm sorry, Jesus. I really, truly am.

Fin

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Education with "a Capital E."

I love my job. I love working with students.

College is such a dynamic time in one's life. I'm absolutely in love with how hundreds of people come here from nearly every walk of life, rich, poor, fat, smart, hot, cold, local, international, black, white, mixed, Christian, Muslim, even Mormons who aren't afraid of learning show up sometimes -all come here with different world views trying to leap all kinds of different hurdles to gain an education for a myriad of reasons.

What I think I like most, is the education aspect. I am enthralled by how everyone learns. It might be the one thing that every human being has in common.

But speaking of commonalities, no matter how different all our students may be, there seems to be a lot of the same mistakes made. The psychologist in me wants to talk about Piaget or Erikson or Kholberg or Chickering, but I'll just save you the tired dogma and nerd-talk and drop it like this: Students are a lot like people.

I have a lot of the same conversations about mistakes and dumb decisions, etc. I also hear a LOT of the same excuses. That's cool. Students make mistakes. They should. For some reason, there are lessons out there to be learned that can only be taught through the pain of consequence. Drinking too much = hangover. Not studying = bad grades. Taking turns with your best friend's brother shooting each other in the chest with a paintball gun = bruise on your sternum that makes breathing painful.

Y'know, the basics.

I expect the bone-headed lack of thinking from students. Its comforting. Like the changing color of leaves in the Fall, or the snow in winter, these are things we've all come to expect and plan for. In fact, I would say these are things, students screwing up, are almost depended on by us. While we're disappointed to see them, fixing them working through them gives us a sense of efficacy and job-well-doneness.

But something that really chafes my ass is when PARENTS are behaving badly. You, gentle readers, have no idea how often it is that the parents of a student are completely to blame for their behavior or trouble.

And I'm not just talking about questionable parenting. I've seen girls with enough hard alcohol in their fridge to intoxicate the Irish National Soccer team and while watching them dump out their gallon bottles of tequila, bacardi 151, and vodka complain "my mother JUST bought this for me for my [18th] birthday tomorrow." I've seen parents who send their children to a very stressful first year at college on more drugs than Heath Ledger spending Flu Season at Keith Richard's house (too soon?) and not feel the need to tell anyone that their child might be under stress.

But today, a good friend of mine sent me an email that sorta summed up what we, as professionals, have to sometimes deal with.

"My daughter has expressed interest in attending [your institution]. She is a very good student (SAT 710 math 720 Verbal - member of American MENSA). My brother lived in [this town] for several years and he expressed concern about crime in the [this town] area. Since only about 35% of your students live on campus it follows that should she attend [your institution] she will at some point live off campus out side the safety area provide by the University. Please speak to the safety issues I have mentioned."

Please speak to the safety issues I have mentioned... I honestly don't know what I would have said if this lady, who has every right to be concerned about the safety of her daughter, would have suggested to me that I start worrying about the safety of students as if that weren't already my #1 concern already.

"Oh, make things safer?!?! I hadn't thought of that. Let me go get my tazer and bullet-proof vest. And ma'am, do you mind if I keep your number so that I may call you back for future sage advice? I might be chewing some food later, and while I get the whole 'move the jaw up and down' thing, I sometimes get confused on how my tongue works into the equation..."

I've been told my sarcasm is sticky.

The worst part is that I completely understand how these parents have a right to be concerned. I understand that they want to give their children everything and how they're giving up control and how that can be incredibly scary and the anxiety caused by such can sometimes cloud reasonable thought.

I understand parents who simply don't speak the "college language." It is a whole new world here of forms and FAFSA's and deadlines and housing deposits and core curricula. I can completely understand how the confusion of a first-time college parent can cause the eyes to cross and the straight-forward to bend.

What I don't understand is the consumer culture that college seems to have adopted. Just because you pay to attend, does NOT mean you pay to have your happiness guaranteed. Good grades are a product that can be purchased only through effort, not cash.

Perhaps it is I that needs to change my attitude. Perhaps I need to realize that in today's fractured family unit, a student is not the only one receiving the education. Perhaps my inability to understand that not every parent is like mine, and expects me to deal with my messy roommate or the dude down the hall who watches animal porn "because it's funny, dude" on my own. Perhaps I am the strange one for thinking that my dealing with these issues without having my parents call the President's office made me a little better equipped to deal with the world at large.

Perhaps.

Perhaps not.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

One cloud is enough to block the sun

I guess my approach to my faith and the faith of others can be summed up in the thought that one cloud is enough to block the sun.

But the Sun still exists.

I understand that some people have gotten the shit end of the stick more often than not. And the hurts vary from a broken home to parents who cannot see past their own needs to atrocities I cannot understand. I can truly understand how some people can have trouble seeing the good for all the clouds that block their view.

But the Sun still exists.

But how can a small cloud block the sun, an object 864938 miles in diameter, it's 109 times the size of earth. It's a matter of perspective, quite literally. When you're closer to the little thing than the big, the big thing can get boxed out.

But the Sun still exists.

I guess I'm just saying that no cloud has the balls or gumption to outlast or outshine the sun. I guess at some point it just comes down to your ability to recognize the sun for what it is. Especially when you've never seen it shine before.

But it exists. I know that much.

I just really want everyone to enjoy a tan.