El Dorado, Part 2

And I Hobble To A Show

Every so often, if you are lucky, you get invited into an actual find. Let me share the tale of a true El Dorado.

Years ago, I used to deal Academy Awards materials. I think I mentioned this before, but in case I did not, to briefly recap, I once cleared out decades of Academy Awards materials from the offices of a public relations firm that my father ran and kept the goodies to sell. There were Hollywood-themed shows here in Los Angeles at the Beverly Garland Hotel (look her up; a B-movie actress who invested in real estate and a hotel in North Hollywood), so I used to set up at the shows regularly to hawk my trove of other Oscars-related materials. One gentleman who used to come to my table was a retired entertainment reporter for Variety. I got the impression he was a little bored and lonely because he never bought anything but liked to spend time looking at Oscars stuff and gossiping and reminiscing about his experiences reporting on the Awards ceremony. At one show, he told me that he knew someone who had inherited an estate from a Hollywood executive that had some Oscars memorabilia, and would I be interested in buying it? Sure. He put me in contact with a man who turned out to be the heir or maybe the executor (wasn’t clear) of the estate of Isadore (Dore) Schary, the former head of production at MGM and, as it turned out, a memorabilia pack-rat. I visited Schary’s mansion (at four floors and probably 5,000+ square feet, I call it a mansion) where the estate was being catalogued.

The Schary estate was El Dorado, the greatest potential pick I have ever seen. I walked into a living room with an entire wall of framed caricatures and portraits of Joan Crawford by every notable artist of the 30s and 40s. I recall one that had to be four feet tall and was by Milt Caniff (a legendary cartoonist); apparently, he modeled a character on Crawford and did the portrait as a tribute/thank you. Schary and Crawford were friends, and she gave him her portrait collection. Ok, great start. My host offered me a tour of the house and the collection, and what I saw put the Academy’s own museum to shame.

He took me down a hallway decorated with framed 16 x 20 portraits of legendary Hollywood stars, all signed and inscribed. At the end of the hall was a massive dancing action photo of Fred Astaire. I doubt I will ever see a better one. There were thousands of original production photos from MGM, and there had to be hundreds of signed ones. He pulled an artwork case out of a closet in one small room filled with boxes and took out the original artwork for the lobby cards from Gone With The Wind. Looked to be Flexichromes; they were shockingly vibrant and I reeled as I soaked in the artwork. In the attic, he showed me a series of photo file cabinets that he said were Samuel Goldwyn’s archives. He pulled out negatives, transparencies and snapshots of the Goldwyn family and the mogul himself at various events, from candid vacation shots to MGM functions. Again, I was stunned at what was there. By my estimate based on prices at the time about thirty years ago, I was shown at least a million dollars in material in that house.

Needless to say, I wasn’t in a position to buy it nor was I offered the chance to buy it; he was working with an archivist to catalog it all, presumably to sell. Instead, he handed me a shoebox full of Oscars stuff. It was a load of brochures and related paper ephemera having to do with the process of nominating and selecting the winners and attending the ceremonies. There used to be a series of printed items from rule booklets to ballots used in the process, and Schary had hung onto a bunch of them, together with envelopes, parking passes, etc. I bought the box of materials since it was bread and butter stuff for my booth. At home, I opened every brochure and envelope, as I advise anyone do with the spoils from a pick. My efforts were rewarded. I opened one folding brochure and out fell two unused tickets from the 45th Oscars. Worth more than I paid for the whole lot, and I had no idea they were there when I bought it.

I often wonder what happened to that treasure trove. I stopped working in the entertainment memorabilia field shortly after, consigned my remaining stock to an auctioneer, and drifted away from it. However, I am always looking for another trove like it; this time maybe the fates will be kind, and I can buy it. That is one reason I doggedly pursue every lead I get here in La La Land even if most are just dusty roads to nowhere. One day, one time, it might just be the road to El Dorado: it’s “the stuff dreams are made of” (Dashiell Hammett, The Maltese Falcon).

And a brief show report:

I went to the Front Row show in Pasadena last weekend. It was my first card show since last summer when I busted my foot. I did not expect much; I was really just trying to gauge my ability to be on my feet at a show in preparation for the Natty this summer, and to drop an order with SGC that had been rotting on my desk for a while because I was too lazy to pack and ship it.

I knew enough from dealing at that show to not get there during VIP opening at 10:00 or at the general admission opening at 11:00, because I did not want to stand in line and overtax my feet before I got inside. I showed up around noon instead, expecting to walk right in.

As I hobbled up to the Pasadena Convention Center, I was shocked to see a line for the show that was all the way down the plaza and back up again more than halfway; hundreds of people were still in line. WTF?? I’d prepaid for a ticket online, and security told me that I could jump the line. Whew! I got in right away. The days of spontaneously going to a show on Saturday are over and done with; buy a ticket online in advance or stand outside for hours with the other losers. The Front Row team was using counters to limit the entries into the center and into the hall itself. Even so, it was a zoo inside. I couldn’t even get a look at some of the tables, except I could tell that they were filled with Pokemon or other shiny stuff I wasn’t interested in.

Eventually, I battled my way to the back corner where SGC sets up. I had prelisted and prepaid my order, so the wait was just a few minutes to drop it. Order processed, I turned to the show.

A dealer I used to set up next to was right there by the SGC booth and he recognized me. He said that the shows are all like this now and sales are great, especially on mid-grade postwar vintage, his thing. If it wasn’t for the foot stuff I’d still be there.

Speaking of vintage, there wasn’t much. A few tables with pricey slabs in showcases, but only two vintage picker tables. I ran into a friend at one who was so entranced with the choice commons he found that he didn’t even see me. I don’t blame him; the dealer was throwing away the non-superstars from some vintage sets and the cards were vending box fresh. I came away with about 40 really crisp, clean cards for my PC. I don’t even collect 1976 hockey but at a quarter each for all but the biggest stars, I cleared out the entire run of HOFers and fan favorites (Dave The Hammer Schultz, for example) in the binder. Ditto some choice 1969 Topps high numbers. My friend was first and smarter than me; he bought out the entire run of 1971s before I could get a look.

Also interesting is that there wasn’t much alternative sports stuff. If it isn’t the big three, it isn’t there. I was looking for some modern F1 insert cards and I found nothing.

I know I harp on it a lot but show decorum…I will call it out every time until people stop behaving like turds. I had a walking boot on my foot and a cane, and most people were considerate, but a sizable group were not. One idiot actually knocked me over trying to bull his way into a corner area to look at something. I was lucky to fall across the dealer table and into the wall to catch myself. Even the dealer was shocked by that asshat’s selfishness. At another table, I was going down a row of cards in a box and some dipstick actually tried to sneak in under my arm and go into the same row. Didn’t even say a word. Last time that happened I was so surprised that I froze, then decided that if it ever happened again, I would go on the offensive, so I called the guy out. He made some lame excuse that he was looking for a card that he had put back and tried to do it again, then slunk away when I boxed him out and he realized I had a foot and 75 pounds on him and was…vexed. Reminded me of the time I nearly got in a fight in a casino bar at the Casino Royale in Las Vegas about 20 years ago. I was leaving the casino, wasn’t even in the bar, just walking past it, and some wasted old idiot stepped out to block my way, tapped my Yankees shirt and drawled: “don’t come in here with that crap on”, then looked up and realized that his drunk Texas-sized mouth had written a check his Rhode Island-sized body couldn’t cash. “Even if you are about 6’9” and 300 pounds…uh, sorry about that.” I’d have torn into him for being an ignorant, bb-brained redneck, but I like that casino and I didn’t want to get barred, so I just muttered “asshole” and walked away. Definitely for the best; life’s too short to get into it with every dumbass who crosses my path.