Preamble
The Auction is a short story I wrote before the pandemic but had not brought myself to ever share in any format until now. It was my first serious attempt at writing a full short story and so perhaps not as mature as my more recent writings. It is also a more upbeat work that celebrates humanity's better angels. It was a piece intended for my own self-gratification but also a commentary on what truly has value in life and how seemingly small things can have powerful meanings in the lives of individuals.
The story involves an array of characters who are very similar and yet so different. It spans hard and hardened businessmen and men with frustrated dreams behind their successful exterior. It is a story that celebrates the many different kinds of success stories that make up America. Also, what is more American than baseball and the art of baseball card collecting? This tale of mine also blends some defining events of 20th century America into the personal narratives of the key personalities involved in the auction.
I hope you enjoy this initial attempt of mine from some time back at imaginative literature. May you find it insightful and inspiring in some way.
The Auction
Daniel Greenbaum was a self-made man. He was a Brooklyn boy who had risen from an often bullied Jewish boy from Crown Heights to the CEO of his own construction company. He had built it from scratch help from only a chosen few investors and workers who believed in his wit and manic work ethic. The work ethic, now, Daniel wore perpetual eyebags with a purplish haze. These were testament to the long hours he devoted. It was a lesson well learned from his father. "If you want something, be prepared to cry rivers of blood for it." he would admonish his son. A survivor of the war, he knew rivers of blood when he saw them. Besides the eyes Daniel had a somewhat comical appearance to him. He was short and stout with protruding ears and thinning black hair with a few dabbles of grey. His smile was Yogi Berra-esque but you wouldn't want to tell him that. He was no fan of the evil empire. He wore thick glasses and even then he squinted regularly.
Through it all he had one constant and that was baseball. He had grown up an avid Mets fan who could be regularly spotted at games. He was also prominent sports memorabilia collector. His collection was the envy of New York. He owned everything from a Mickey Mantle rookie, graded a perfect 10, to a Babe Ruth signed ball and a bat, game-used by the great Ty Cobb himself. Rumor had it that he also had in his possession the Holy Grail of baseball cards, a T206 Honus Wagner, the most valuable baseball artifact of all.
Business had gone badly though in recent months as the country plunged into a recession. Daniel saw himself in the agonizing position of having to sell off some of his prized artifacts. For some time he made excuses to delay this but reality struck him hard and fast. He was forced to make a difficult call one cold December morning to an auction house in Manhattan to arrange for an auction of some of his goodies. It was either that or layoffs and he simply couldn't bring himself to lay off loyal employees so close to Christmas, even if he didn't celebrate himself. Some of them were people who had been with him since Day One. He knew their family stories, their struggles and of their loyalty to him, and he loved them like family.
For some time he procrastinated but eventually one December morning he called that auction house in Manhattan; Godley's it was called. They entertained his request with great delight as they were aware that these would be some fine items and that naturally they would be good for the bottom line. It was arranged that the auction would happen on Saturday the 12th. Shabbat? No! Daniel protested and requested a stay of the proceedings until the following evening. Seeing that nothing was programmed for the Sunday the people at Godley's agreed to Daniel's request.
The day arrived and the auditorium began to fill with a who's who of America's great collectors. They ranged from high level bankers to oil barons to stock market magicians and tech barons. All licked their chops at the prospect of acquiring for themselves some of Daniel's goods.
Seated front and center like he always did was John W. Henry. He was an oil boy from Texas who always wore finely decorated cowboy hats made of pure leather. The brown cowboy boots which he wore too were of the finest leather. He complimented the look with blue jeans, by no means cheap, and a black, silk vest that he wore over his trademark white dress shirts, stuffed neatly into his pants. The belt too was leather and brown and the buckle bore the logo of ol' man Henry's oil company. Custom made stuff no doubt. And because everything is bigger in Texas the man was huge. He was at least six and a half feet in height, cowboy boots or no cowboy boots. He was also a mountain of a man who weighed well north of three hundred pounds. His cheeks were fiery red and round. His hair was platinum blonde but greying fast.
Seated to the far end of the hall was Edward P. Rawley. Rawley was a banker as his father had been and was the grandson of one of those notorious Tammany Hall politicians of which so much, none of it good, is often said. Rawley, like Daniel, was a New Yorker though his was a different reality all through life. He disliked social interaction and made little attempt to conceal it. He could outbid all these other suckers under the table. He was tall and lanky. He was a man of fierce countenance. Birds fled in fright as he made way in. His hair was a mix of black and grey, much like his personality. He always wore darker colored suits, tailor made to suit his vulture-like figure and further bring to prominence his sinister constitution. He sat down with his left leg crossed over his right. All the while, he caressed a stack of bills in his hands as if making love to them. Money was of capital importance to the man. His second priority too was money, and his third, and his fourth, and so on. He was not a collector. He was hunting bargains, low hanging fruit that he could then resell at a hefty markup, you know, like a vulture would.
Tatsumi Gomi was also there. He was younger than the other millionaires in tow on this cold December night. He was an automobile executive who had risen quickly through the ranks. He had a distinctive scar on his neck, a fiery red thing that he did his best to hide. He was an elegant dresser who was always accompanied by an entourage of bodyguards and a translator as his English was quite limited. He was tall, regal and imposing. He commanded the attention of any room he entered. He sat roughly front and center along with his accompaniment of other Japanese fellows, all of whom were avid baseball men. Mr. Gomi himself had been a promising young player who had forsaken a potential playing career for the business career he now had. He was knowledgeable about the game and knew which items were worth his while and which were not.
Once the lot of them had assumed their seats in the auditorium at Godley's, the auctioneer, Mr. Cunningham, summoned Daniel to the stage to say a few opening words. Cunningham was an Englishman of about sixty years of age. He was small, thin, red cheeked and wore a tuxedo. He had a prominent bald spot accompanied by thin, white hair. His long, red nose featured one rebellious strand of hair which wouldn't quite stay in the nostril.
"Good day everyone." He started. "You are about to bear witness to one of the most exciting auctions in American history. The items to be sold here are among the rarest, most highly coveted pieces of baseball history, and Americana in general. Have your wallets and eyes ready folks. And with that, Mr. Cunningham I hand it back over to you."
"Thank you Mr. Greenbaum." started Cunningham in his familiar, nasally voice. "It is my great honor to serve as the auctioneer for tonight's proceedings. Before we get into the heart of the matter however I shall take some time to go over the ground rules." He then proceeded to enunciate every rule and clause in Godley's book. He also spoke quickly, as auctioneers tend to. "Slow 'er down!" shouted ol'man Henry. Meanwhile Gomi's translator struggled desperately to relay the message to his boss while the latter nodded intently at every word. Rawley paid scant attention. He was a hardened veteran of the auction game and a regular at Godley's. He knew the rules already. "My apologies sir I will try to slow down. It's just the excitement." He continued and eventually got acknowledgement from the crowd that the rules were well understood.
And so the proceedings began. The first item was a bat. It was contained in a special glass case that was on a kind of special table which was rolled out on stage for all to see. It was a very old piece however very much intact. "The following," began Cunningham, "the following is a bat used by the great Ty Cobb himself around the year 1909." It comes with the proper certification which will be given to the winning bidder. In fact, this bat was used in the 1909 World Series against Honus Wagner and the Pirates. Now do keep that name in mind gents. We have a Wagner item coming up later." A few months began to drool in anticipation. "Starting bid," continued Cunningham, "is $50,000."
Cunningham took a deep breath and off he went. He spoke at a dizzying pace which was typical of auctioneers so he needed packed lungs.
Do we have 50? 50? 50? Yes! Good evening Mr. Rawley. 60! 60? 60? Yes good evening Dr. Grant in the back over there. 70? 70? 70? 70? Mr. Rawley again. 80? 80? Dr. Grant bids 80?
A hundred yee haw!
I see Mr. Henry is here. Good evening Mr. Henry. 110? 110? Going once. Going twice.
Here!
Mr. Rawley at 110. 120? 120? Mr. Henry yes. 130? 130? Going once. Going twice. Aaannnddd, SOLD! Sold to Mr. Henry for 120.
Ol' man Henry stood up in recognition of the polite applause and tipped his cowboy hat. Rawley smiled with a kind of sadistic, smug self-satisfaction at having run up Henry by a few thousand dollars. Henry could care less. Ty Cobb was his idol and he didn't mind overpaying for this particular item.
"Next up in tonight's proceedings," started Cunningham, "next up in tonight's proceedings is an item dating back to the 1860's". A few eyebrows were raised in anticipation. "This uniform was worn by the great George Wright himself. An Englishman like myself, he played for the Cincinnati Red Stockings, baseball's first professional team." The crowd began to applaud in delight. "Starting bid is $65,000."
And with that Cunningham's show began again.
Do we, do we, do we have 65? 65? Good evening Mrs. Dalloway. 70? 70?
$120,000
Cunningham was silent for a moment, perhaps thinking that the incredibly aggressive bid was a joke.
120 Mr. Rawley?
Yes
Very well then. 130? 130? 130? Going once. Going twice. Aaannnddd SOLD to Mr Rawley. $120,000.
Rawley sat back in his chair. Another win at the auction house. He perhaps reckoned he could get twice as much out of it later on.
The event continued and Daniel sat in the front row not sure if he should feel happy that he was getting valuable money to save his business, or upset that he was losing the very best of his collection. Items were sold ranging from the predictable, such as cards, jerseys and bats, to the eclectic. These oddities included everything from Babe Ruth themed underwear boxes to a fragment of the plane Ted Williams had crash landed during the Korean War. Gomi paid five and seven thousand respectively for both items. He liked the oddities. Another item he liked was the Sadaharu Oh collection. It came with a bat, jersey, spikes and a homerun ball where he had homered in front of emperor Hirohito himself. He bid rather aggressively on this set and eventually won it for $45,000. He was damn well pleased and his entourage clapped with delight at his latest conquest. For him it was a flashback to his teenage days. You see, he had played against Oh in an exhibition against his Yomiuri Giants as a prospect for the Hiroshima Carp. This was before injuries and family pressures forced him to give up on his nascent playing career.
A few more items came and went. A set of documents from the Commissioner's office including the signature of Kenesaw Mountain Landis himself went for $32,000. A lineup card from the 1903 World Series? It fetched $25,000. All this led to what was supposed to be the climax. After three hours of profligate spending and ruthless bidding wars, it was time for the grand prize. The room went abuzz with speculation as to what this big ticket item might be. Was it the Wagner? Was it the Holy Grail of baseball cards? Cunningham had said there would be Wagner items and so far none had come up. Cunningham stood there, letting the suspense build, and build, and build a little more. He was a master at this. He had decades of experience in this game and knew that excitement generated profligacy. Eventually, when he felt that anticipation was at its peak, he spoke. "May I have your attention please ladies and gentlemen. Now, now. Please listen. I know you're excited but just a moment." Eventually the crowd came under control, fixated on the every word of the little Englander in front of them. "It is time for the final item of the evening." "What is it?" bellowed Henry. "Patience, Mr Henry. Patience.", replied Cunningham. Henry went silent and with him the room. After a deep breath, the Englishman uttered the words. "The next and final item is the one, the only, the Holy Grail of all sports memorabilia, the T206 Honus Wagner. And, and, and, this is graded at 7.5 folks. The most pristine specimen of the rarest card is now before you. Starting bid is … a quarter million dollars."
More than a few in the crowd swallowed hard once the opening bid was announced. Some twisted their faces in rage at the realization that they had spent too much too early and would likely have to withdraw prematurely from the impending bidding war. Others breathed heavily, thinking about how much money they were willing to put forth for this most coveted item. The record sale was $1.2 million for one of these things and that was only graded at a 6.5. Could it be? Was someone going to put down, say, $1.5 million?
"Now it's time to get to it!" bellowed Cunningham. "No more time to waste." His arm began to rise.
Aaaaaaannnnnnddddddd…. Do I hear 250, 250, 250? Yes! Mr Rawley at 250.
300?
Here!
Mr. Henry at 300
350. 350? 350?
Yup
Mr Rawley again. Now 400. 400?
On it went between Rawley and ol'man Henry up until the 700's which is when Gomi intervened for the first time. The three men bud each other feverishly until reaching the 1.1 million mark. The leap from $700,000 to $1.1 million took all of thirty seconds with bidding happening exclusively in $50,000 increments. So feverish and competitive was the whole thing. At $1.15 million Gomi began to prance awkwardly, contort his face a million ways and finally burst out in some Japanese profanity or other at nobody in particular. He was out. All others seemed to be out too. Only Rawley and Henry seemed to still be in this fight.
1.2?
Here!
Mr. Henry at 1.2. 1.25?
1.4.
Mr. Rawley at 1.4?! A new record folks. Tonight will live forever in infamy. $1.4 million and counting.
1.45? Mr. Henry do I have -
HEEERREEE!!!
1.45 Mr. Henry. 1.5 Mr. Rawley?
1.6. Time to separate the men from the boys.
1.6!? Mr. Henry ball in your court now. 1.65?
Henry staggered and flickered his blue eyes open and shut a few times. Perhaps he wasn't sure if this was reality anymore. He began to raise his arm, ever so slowly and tentatively.
Going once! Going twice!
All eyes fixated on the big Texan now. Was he going to do it? Did he still have another bid in him? Or was he done? Did he want the card badly enough to risk overpaying?
Ssss…
-HHHEEERRRREEE!
1.65! 1.65! 1.7 now Mr. Rawley?
Now it was Rawley's turn to squirm. He was easily able to afford $1.7 million I'd he pleased but for him the card itself wasn't the prize but the possibility of flipping it for even more money. At what point was he paying too much? Was this it?
Going once! Going twice!
Here.
1.7 everyone! 1.7! Mr. Henry? 1.75?
Henry slumped back in his chair. Meanwhile the crowd roared in delight, only to go silent again In what seemed like an eternity, Henry dithered and dathered, hemmed and hawed. He slumped back again after a moment shaking his head.
Going once! Going twice! And, … SOLD! Sold to Mr. Rawley for a record breaking sum of $1.7 million.
The applause was delirious. Rawley stood and drank it all in with a smug, self-satisfied grin on his face. He was now the owner of the most prized collectible in America, if not the world. He had paid a heavy price, but no doubt he was able to turn a profit if he chose to sell at some point. Daniel applauded politely but something seemed to eat away at him. The auction was a massive success. He had made over $4.7 million in total out of this. The auction house would take a generous cut of the proceeds as would the taxman but even so Daniel had enough money to keep his business going through the rough patch and beyond. Still, it pained him to lose the crown jewels of a collection he had worked his whole life to build. It pained him more still to see the most precious artifact of them all be taken home by Rawley. Daniel never liked Rawley for a number of reasons. He considered the man mean-spirited, arrogant and imbued with neanderthal prejudices which he was hard pressed to keep hidden from public view. Rawley was "money over everything, money all the time" and proud of it. This was not somebody who would cherish a treasure like the T206 Wagner like he had. For Rawley, the card was merely an asset. There was no emotional connection of any kind.
As these thoughts continued to stew in Daniel's mind, Cunningham was giving some remarks to the audience. As he continued with his address Daniel brushed his hand on his wallet as he wiggled in his seat. He pulled it out and his attention was drawn to a card which he carried with him everywhere. It was a Brooklyn Dodger card. As he contemplated it he felt a sense of calm and comfort in that this token of his youth remained with him. His mind continued on its aimless journey until Cunningham finally ended his speech by summoning Daniel to the stage to deliver his closing remarks. Daniel had dreaded this moment before the auction began as he hated public speaking but when the moment finally arrived he strutted up confidently to the stage. A few in the crowd marvelled that held no papers in his hand. Those had been left in his seat. With heightened curiosity they sat up awaiting the words that would be said. And then he began.
Ladies and gentlemen. I hope you have all had a fantastic evening. You have seen some of the very finest American collectibles and some fortunate souls among you have even walked away with some of these precious items. I want to thank you for your attendance and active participation tonight. I also want to thank you, Mr. Cunningham, for so masterfully presiding over this evening's proceedings. While it pains me to longer be the proud owner of some of these items, it fills me with the utmost satisfaction that they are in good hands which will cherish them. More satisfying still however, is that the most precious piece of my collection remains with me.
An audible gasp reverberated through the auditorium. He had put up his Wagner for auction though. What could be more valuable than that? Was Greenbaum toying with them? Had he lost his mind? Daniel let their minds wander for a moment before continuing.
You see, I carry this card in my wallet with me wherever I go. This card has been with me since childhood.
He pulled it out into view. It was a Jackie Robinson card, but it was in less than stellar shape and not particularly sought after. It wasn't worthless but not something that would attract attention in this environment. The annoyance was palpable on a number of faces. Some even began to rise, hissing and cursing as they made for the exits. The odd slurs were fired at Daniel which brought back the painful memories of being that small, bulliable kid in Brooklyn. He then remembered his father, and that dignified way in which he endured those same attacks. He was then filled with a kind of confidence he had never felt before. Every insult, every person who walked out only seemed to embolden him. Cunningham, a kindly man, seeing the unfolding chaos, attempted desperately to restore order. He ran to and fro begging, imploring people to stay. But few did. Those who did, they did so out of respect, curiosity, bewilderment, or some mixture of the three. About seven remained.
Order was eventually restored and Cunningham asked if Daniel wished to continue which he did, completely undaunted.
My father gave me this! This was the first card he ever bought me. I was seven at the time and he bought it to celebrate the Dodgers' World Series win. I still recall it appearing from his hand. I remember my curiosity at the numbers tattooed on his forearm. I ...
Cunningham's eyes bulged out immediately.
My God! Small, black numbers?
Yes sir.
He was, he was a survivor.
Cunningham began to tremble. It took a moment before he brought himself under control. He then continued.
Daniel, by God when I saw you I was reminded of a man who looked just like you. Exactly like you! Was he in Bel, Bels…
Yes Mr. Cunningham. Bergen-Belsen. And yes, I was always told I was a carbon copy of my father. And I did seem to remind you of someone when we first met.
By God you are sir. Apologies for coming off as creepy. Yes. I was one of the troops who entered that ghastly place. I remember it vividly, as if it was yesterday. I can never forget the stench, the looks of half-dead people, barely clinging to life. Yes, I remember one of them was your father. He was emaciated but otherwise looked exactly like you.
Daniel nodded somberly as Cunningham spoke. Gomi, who had remained behind out for courtesy after the fracas around the card, slowly made his way forward. Sheepishly he inquired, "So how did your father wind up in America?" Daniel composed himself and began to speak.
My father remained at Bergen-Belsen for a time after the war. He was nursed back to health by army doctors. He recovered slowly but surely. His initial inclination was to make for Eretz Israel, however he decided that his future, and that of his family if he had one, would be more secure in America. There was also the question of the White Paper.
To our great shame, yes. We Brits condemned many to die through that thing.
Not many survivors were admitted here in America either. My father was one of the lucky ones. He arrived at Ellis Island with the clothes on his back, with no family in America, and speaking no English. He settled here in Brooklyn because there was a large Jewish community as there had been in Germany before the war. He figured it would be easier to adapt to life in America here in New York. That was in 1946. I was born in 1948. He met my mother in America. She grew up here. They married in 1947.
Where does the card you carry fit into all this?
Mr. Henry?! You remained?
I wasn't gonna let ya down was I. Damn rude what they all did but we are who we are. We've got yer back.
Ok. The card he bought me when I was seven. The Dodgers had finally beaten the Yankees in the World Series. I listened to every game on our radio. He even let me remain home from school the day of game 7. He called in saying I was sick. He called in sick from work also. We had no TV so we listened on the radio. It was the happiest day of our lives. I remember he rushed out from the house afterwards and came back about an hour later. His grin beamed from ear to ear as he handed me this card. My mother thought he had gone insane but she was amused all the same. She never cared for sports.
Why Jackie sir?
Good question Mr. Cunningham. To my father, Jackie Robinson represented American possibility, American tenacity, American courage. Jackie was, in his eyes, an affirmation that this was a country capable of confronting its inhumanity and becoming better for it. Some of my father's first American memories were of Jackie's quiet dignity in the face of terrible insults and other slights. As such, he grew to think of Jackie as a kindred spirit. He wanted me, his only son, to be like Jackie. He wanted me to stand tall and dignified in the face of hatred towards me, and towards us as Jews. He wanted antisemitic slurs like the ones you've heard tonight to not get to me. He refused to think of his people as victims and so do I.
And what became of yer pops, if ya don't mind me meddlin' too much. What's he up to these days?
Oh no Mr. Henry not at all.
At this moment Daniel stopped suddenly. He seemed to briefly lose composure and proceeded to take a very deep breath before proceeding.
You may recall I mentioned my father had strongly debated moving to what is now Israel rather than here. He always maintained that he made the right choice by having me grow up in a much safer environment here in America but it was the great regret of his life that he had never gotten to see the land of his ancestors. He always talked about wanting to be buried in the land of Israel and made me promise that I would do so. As I started my construction company and grew to have success I made it a point of honor to one day go with him and my mother to Israel. A few years ago it finally happened. We arrived at Ben Gurion on a Monday morning. I remember my father bending down with great difficulty to kiss the ground. My mother simply contemplated the lovely skyline. For five days, we had the time of our lives. We saw everything from Eilat to the Golan heights, from Tel-Aviv to Jerusalem, the Dead Sea to the Baha'i Gardens. On the sixth however, …, on the sixth, …, something happened which would change my life forever. The most traumatizing event of my life. My mother had stayed behind at the market. My father and I decided to take a bus to an art museum that had been recommended to us by one of the locals. Well, …, that bus, it so happens, …, I'm sorry, …, was, em, hijacked by terrorists. There were two of them. They had wanted to ransom us off in exchange for a few dozen of their comrades. Soldiers stormed the bus to free us and killed both terrorists however, …, however, …, in the crossfire my father was hit. By the grace of Hashem I remained unharmed. I rushed to the market to inform my mother of what had happened. At the hospital we were informed that my father's state was not good. He passed away that very night. We buried him two days later, in the land of Israel as he had wanted. The fact that he died in the land of his dreams gives me some comfort. However, the way in which this happened weighs heavily on my heart and mind. My mother's health collapsed in short order. She could not fathom a life without her beloved Gershon. She died of a heart attack officially but in reality it was a broken heart. This card which I carry with me is my reminder of my father and the all in all happy childhood he gave in spite of everything that he went through. In spite of death and misery hounding his every trail, he gave me everything I needed to be a man. This card represents his American dream, THE American dream.
This final exertion caused Daniel to break and he burst into tears. Perhaps his mind gravitated to the terrible suffering inflicted on his father in those terrible days at the camp. Or perhaps the picture in his mind was that of his father's untimely death. His story was moving though and caused a commotion amongst his now sparse audience. Gomi had been nodding along all the while as his translator relayed Daniel's speech to him. Eventually, once Daniel had finished, he seemed to deliver some kind of instruction to his translator who duly requested permission to speak which was granted.
Mr. Greenbaum, we thank you for your speech today. Mr. Gomi would like you to know that you have inspired him to share a story of his own if that is fine with you.
Yes please do. It would be an honor to hear it.
Gomi bowed politely and he began to speak, each word duly translated by Mr. Inaba.
As you know, I have a distinct mark on my person. I was born on the outskirts of Hiroshima. I survived the bomb but was burned by it. My father, mother and brothers too were wounded. That is this mark that you can all see. People were consumed by the fire in their thousands. Many more would perish from the after effects, not to mention the psychological trauma of watching a massive ball of fire making its way towards you. Baseball was my resurrection. They returned to me my sense of humanity again and allowed me to see beauty in life. My father disapproved though. His takeaway from the experience was that life is short and every effort was to be expended in getting ahead. He saw baseball as a distraction. I was good enough to be on the radar of the Hiroshima carp. That is why I bought Sadaharu Oh's items. I got to play against him in an exhibition. I struck him out. Nothing I have accomplished before or since can compare to this. However a short time later I felt a snap in my right arm. I tried to come back but my father pressured me to quit and turn to what he deemed more productive things. And I did to my great shame. My career since has been good and prosperous, but I always sought a way to reconnect with the dream I had allowed to die. That is why I started collecting cards. Your speech just now Mr. Greenbaum helped to remind me, us, of why it is we started collecting in the first place. So many of us, perhaps all of us, have lost sight of this. Thank you.
Henry had listened intently as the other men spoke. He was not a man of a long attention span so clearly he was moved. He had been playing with something however. It looked like a card of his own. He gazed at it with a tenderness that seemed incongruent for the burly Texan. He seemed to be reliving some experience as he did so. Mr Cunningham leaned in as Henry became further and further immersed in this new world he was creating in his mind. "I say Mr. Henry, what is it that has you so lost in thought?" "Ya know Cunningham, as Greenbaum and Gomi told their stories, my mind went to the old days. The original ol' man Henry gave me this. It's from the Texas League. It ain't worth a lick but to me it's worth a billion barrels of Texas oil." "Well kindly do us the honor of sharing Mr. Henry. We are all in story telling mode after all." Cunningham then proceeded to loudly clear his throat and call attention to Henry. "Mr. Henry would like to share his story as well."
Once the room was firmly fixated on Henry he began.
Well, I guess I'll keep 'er brief. Don't wanna bore y'all. This card was from pops, the original Ol' man Henry. He used to buy a couple ev'ry now 'n' then. Remember how the ol' man used to bring a couple of 'em. Didn't see it at the time but in 'em dust bowl days that was big. He didn't care though. He wanted his boy to have dreams. He wanted his boy to feel connected to America and its game. His stomach used to always growl and at the time I didn't get why. He also had this constant cough. I know now that he would go hungry so that his boy wouldn't. He would buy cards such as this to show his boy that there was a possibility that life could be good. He worked from sunrise to sunset in the mines. We's originally from Oklahoma and many mines to ravage yer lungs in there. He ain't ever saw no sunshine on most days. And I know 'em damn mines killed him. All that filth in 'his lungs so that I could have a future. He never complained. These cards remind me that he watches over me. The Good Lord keep him in His glory. And that's all I really wanted to say.
A couple of others that remained shared their stories as well. Each person had gladly denuded his soul. Each had been reminded of why they had begun to collect. For a while, that childlike feeling of opening a portal to a new world through the crackle of plastic being torn open to reveal four or five cards. It wasn't all about the money then. It was a dream. It was about simple pleasures. It was about relieving that nostalgia that all adults feel deep inside; that latent desire to reconnect with a childhood long past. It was about rekindling the dormant dreams of the past. For others, it was a little token of what it means to be an American, whether born there or not. All reflected with amazement on these truths and on the idea that moral lessons could be drawn from little slips of paper or plastic.
With the holiday season fast approaching, Cunningham proposed that something nice be done by everyone left in attendance for the children of the Big Apple. Daniel immediately proposed that boxes of cards be distributed to the children of New York City. All agreed to do so and plans were set to distribute on Christmas Eve which was less than two weeks away. Christmas had meant nothing to Daniel but that was not important. What mattered was sharing his love for card collecting with the new generation. He agreed to coordinate the whole affair and with that, all parties started home for the night. Moved by all the magnanimity, Henry began to bawl uncontrollably. All were taken aback by the sight of this mountain of a man reduced to tears. And since everything is bigger in Texas, rumor has it that his bawling and his shouts of "I love you papa!" could be heard as far as Edgewater, New Jersey and Yonkers, New York.
Gomi had to fly to Japan so he couldn't be part of the Christmas initiative. However, he bought many boxes of cards and had his whole entourage pass them out to random strangers in the street. He had done his bit and flew home happy.
As Daniel headed home, he spotted a family looking at some cards outside a hobby shop. It was a mother, a father, and a small child about seven years of age. The man and the boy wore a kippah as he did and Daniel immediately saw himself reflected in this small child. Overhearing their conversation Daniel learned that they were looking at one card. It was a Jackie Robinson, just like his. "Look papa. This one is really old." "Yes son but we can't afford that. It must be worth a fortune." "Awww." "One day you'll grow older and hopefully then you'll be able to afford it". "Yes abba".
Daniel approached discreetly. "Hi there," he said. "Hello,'' replied the father. "Are you looking at the Robinson?" "Yes! Yes!" replied the child enthusiastically. "Simon enough!" snapped the father. "It's ok. Kids will be kids. I have a card just like that by the way. Jackie Robinson meant a lot to me and my father." "Yes. Simon wants it but with what money?" Daniel smiled broadly as these words were uttered. "Don't worry about it. I've got it." Before the man could reply Daniel had entered the shop and in a New York minute emerged with the card in hand. "No sir, we can't accept it. It must have cost you a fortune." "No worries. I'll be ok. Consider it a little Hanukkah present since it starts Tuesday night, a little Hannukah miracle of sorts. Plus, children need role models and Jackie Robinson is a good one for your child to have. He was mine growing up. We as Jews need to be resilient and able to stand tough in the face of adversity. Your boy needs someone to look up to who embodied those traits that have marked our history." "Thank you. God bless you." murmured the man. The child wrapped his arms around Daniel's leg and everything was merry. It was going to be a happy Hanukkah for him. Before disappearing into the night, Daniel shared the same story he had shared at the auction house. He also produced seven more cards. Little Simon had asked for one card but providence, via one Daniel Greenbaum, had seen to it that he would have eight. It was a little Hanukkah miracle for little Simon. Daniel had done his mitzvah for the night.
Christmas Eve arrived and boxes and boxes of cards were given to the gleeful children of New York. Ol' man Henry joked around and roared in delight as he distributed the boxes. The man was a child again, and so was Daniel. The atmosphere was one of perfect togetherness. Ol' man Henry and Daniel gushed that they had never felt more American than on that day. Whether they knew it or not, George Brett, Jack Morris, Kirk Gibson and Ozzie Smith had sparked many dreams in the children gathered in that New York warehouse. All this through the little plastic cards being handed out to and fro. In the year 1987, it was a merry, merry Christmas indeed in New York City.
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