Collecting Coins is NOT Rational: Part 2.

Back in January I threw a dart at the Rational Collector. The dart hit the bullseye. There are no rational collectors!
   But some folks disagree. Is it because they have read many a thick book on numismatics? Is it because they keep a tally of sale prices? Maybe, they have fattened their wallet by trading in coins.
   Boastful? Yes. Valid reasons why collecting is rational? No.
   Here is why.
   First off, possessing a coin for enjoyment makes no rational sense. What can you actually do with it? Roll it down the hall? Flip it (heads or tails) in front of friends? Bounce it into a brewer's cup? Of course, most "rational" folks will say: "No stupid, I will study it!"

The tower of Babel.
Slabs are antithetic of collecting.

   I have a quick answer for that. You do not need to possess a coin in order to study it. That is what books are for. And for the pioneer numismatist, museums/society collections have many of the examples you want to examine. Finally, you can seek out some irrational collectors -- they will have that rare die-state (the one with the meaty cud) that fascinates you. BUT, you do not need to possess it!
   So here we have our first test of rationality. Do you need to possess the coin? If your answer is: "yes, I want it" or more often, "yes, I need it" -- well, clearly this is irrational behavior.
   No one needs an old coin! No one who is rational that is.
   To wit, collectors need coins because they have formed an emotional bond with the object. An emotional bond? Yes, an emotional bond! This is blatantly irrational. Humans form emotional bonds to other humans, not objects! No other beast -- dog, cat, horse, chicken, fish -- loves an object!
   So here we have our second test of rationality. Are you emotionally attached to the coin? Or, does you heart flutter when you view it? If your answer is: "yes, I want it" or more often, "yes, I need it" -- well, clearly this is irrational behavior.
   No one loves an old coin! No one who is rational that is.
   Think about it this way. When you see a coin (in your specialty area: say, a nice Cap cent with big cheeks) that is missing from your collection, you become obsessed. Your conscious world narrows; you start calculating and strategizing; you size up the competition; you are struck with fear -- nothing else matters! Of course, there is a dissenting part of you (some aberrant, albeit rational, neuron) that argues with weak voice that the world would not end if you failed to attain the prize. But collectors have long learned to ignore that feeble hint of rationality. We WANT the coin! we NEED the coin! And, we will do whatever it takes to get it!
   Bid high! Bid higher! Bid the highest!
   So here is our third test of rationality. Will you pay more than "book" value for the coin? If your answer is: "yes, I want it" or more often, "yes, I need it" -- well, clearly this is irrational behavior.
   Here we go again ...
   No old coin is worth more than "book" value. No one who is rational would pay more than "book" value that is. Hell, the coin is not worth book!
   I know what you are thinking. You want to talk about Art. You want to discuss demand. You want to blow smoke and bring out the mirrors (all the while holding your rationality behind your back in the form of crossed fingers). Don't bother -- you have already lost the argument. Art is not rational. And, neither is Love.

Now of course, the necromancer does not suffer these existential threats (at least not as acutely) that plague most collectors. Instead, the necromancer embraces the irrationality of collecting. We collect because we love the objects we desire. There is no escaping this tautological spiral. This is why it is irrational. We simply cannot get our head around it. Nowhere is this "crystal" than when we love the unloved. And, nowhere is the grand delusion of rationality so obvious than when hold a slab.

Collecting Jamestown: Part 4. A Site Visit

What a wonderful time to visit Jamestown. I believe that I chose the coldest day of the year with the mercury barely edging up to 24 degrees.
   You cannot collect Jamestown's coins and tokens unless you visit the place. I have been several times before, but after having read the annual archeological reports from 1994 to 2010, I had to go back. I had the fort plan lodged in my brain: pits, trenches, buildings and wells. I re-read William Kelso's stimulating book: Jamestown: The Buried Truth over the holidays. I also re-read Ivor Noel Hume's masterpiece: The Virginia Adventure (written before the fort was discovered, yet remarkably detailed and accurate). I recommend both books; both are required reading for the JT necromancer.
   So there I was, freezing with teeth chattering, standing where Captain John Smith once stood some 400 years ago. No one else was there -- too cold, and too early (it was 9AM).
   I joined the APVA, as I knew I would be back several times in the summer. You can get a reduced admission rate if you join. Plus, you can get a JT coffee mug for 10% -- I could have used some hot coffee!
   Of course, there were no archeologists digging around. I suppose the shovels are being sharpened up for the coming season. So for now, I was content to just walk among the palisades and buildings -- laid out and constructed just as they were in 1607-1610.
   Many coins, tokens, and jettons have been found here. I have a listing of what was found, and where, so I made sure to visit each site. Of course, nothing but the brick church tower (built about 1639) remains above ground, so visiting each building meant standing on a patch of grass whereat a building once was.
   Still, I found it thrilling to be here. Standing where all the action took place. Two mud-and-stud buildings have been reproduced to show their size, shape, and construction -- namely, the Barracks and the second Church. The latter is newly discovered.
   The Barracks (known as Structure 160) was a crudely built two-room long-house with a chimney near the middle. Timbers were sunk into the ground to support the walls. The rafters were steep and tent-like to accommodate a thatched roof.
   The Barracks is considered to be one of the earliest fort structures dating to 1607-1610. The building had a small cellar pit at the south end. Since many military artifacts were unearthed in and around this pit (known as Pit 1), the building has been called the Barracks. Some of the artifacts included a complete cabasset helmet, several musket rests, bullet molds, and over two-hundred lead shot.
   Of particular interest, several Krauwinkel jettons were found in Pit 1. They were of the common rose and orb design (no ships). In addition, two Irish pennies made of copper, one dated 1602, were found nearby (similar to the coins I profiled on this blog at the start of the year). A halved two-pence silver coin (half groat) was also found; it was an Elizabethan piece with the hand mintmark, providing a date range of 1590-92. Finally, a rare phoenix token (also Elizabethan) was found in Pit 1 -- the purpose of this token is mysterious.
   Tomorrow, I will be enjoying some hot coffee in my new mug that depicts a drawing of the fort by Captain John Smith.

The Awful Allure of a Shipwrecked Piece of Eight. Part 2.

Eight Reales from the Hollandia sunk in 1743

On my desk (as I write this) rests the 1741 Pillar dollar that I profiled two weeks ago. Even after owning it all these years, I still find it amazing that this coin found its way here -- on my desk. 
   It is quite amazing after what this coin has witnessed. Indeed, the secret lives of objects -- particularly, the relics that have survived for generations -- is mind-boggling.
   This Pillar dollar was minted on a screw-press in Mexico, counted and stacked in a chest, trekked overland on a wagon pulled by mules, then hoisted into the hold of a Spanish Galleon. It arrived in Seville months later having survived a treacherous voyage across the Atlantic. The contents of the chest was paid out, ending up in the hands of Dutch merchants. Finally, it was loaded on Hollandia.
   Alas, this piece of eight never arrived. It never circulated. Rather, it went down with the ship.
   There it sat, among the fishes, at the bottom of the sea. This piece of eight was a still-point (one of many) in a busy world moving above it. In limbo. Herein lies part of its allure: what I like to call the pause.
   There is something about the discontinuity of use that makes folks pay attention to relics like this one. It is the pause that transforms a shipwrecked coin into a direct link to the past. No layovers. Add to this, the tragedy of a ship breaking apart on the rocks, and you get a relic with unequivocal authority.
   Relics that have come directly from the sea (or the ground) possess an immediacy that evokes strong emotions. Consider this: Your touch is one of the first touches. Only the diver and the dealer handled it before you did -- perhaps a few collectors also touched it (but not many). Before this, the coin was on a ship bound for the East Indies.
   This immediacy born of the pause elicits a reverence that borders on idolatry with a dash of necromancy. Collectors of shipwrecked relics like to imagine their pieces coming directly from the sea and into their hands, as if the manna of history passes -- like an electric charge -- directly into the new owner.
   I am reminded of Nathaniel Hawthorne's description in the The Old Manse when he said that: "... picking up for one's self an arrow-head that was dropped centuries ago, and has never been handled since" was like getting it "directly from the hand of the red hunter."
   Relics don't get much better than this.

Old Sails: More Ship Pennies

Lovers of old sails usually have a small flotilla of ship pennies from Nuremberg in their collections. These pieces are charming with a distinctive medieval look, so I find it hard to resist stopping at just one. These are old pieces dating in the late-1500s. Also alluring, there are many different varieties.
   Last April we saw the typical cog ship found on these jettons (known as type1). This time, we explore a more unusual design with a bit more flourish that is scarce to rare (known as type2).
   Ship pennies were popular in their heyday, particularly in France wherein a cog ship was part of official Arms for seafaring towns and cities (Paris and Nantes, for example). In fact, cog ships found their way into the Arms for many ports that were part of the Hanseatic League in northern Europe. No wonder there was a market for these pieces in the late sixteenth century. Keep in mind that jettons were still widely used as counters.
   The type2 cogs have a distinctive sail that billows out to the left. We see the port side (bow to left), as the vessel is on a port tact. This is a more realistic design than found on type1 jettons. Both Hans Krauwinckel I and Hans Schultes produced type2 ship pennies. I don't know if Hans Krauwinckel II produced them or not, as I have not seen one and Mitchiner does not illustrate one. By the way, the spelling of the name differentiates between the two nephews: Hans I spelled his name with one "n" whereas Hans II used two "n"s (Hans and Hanns Krauwinckel).
   Pictured, we have a very nice piece from Hans Krauwinckel who worked until about 1580 (at left). The darker one is from Hans Schultes who worked until about 1612 (at right). As you can see the cog ships are similar at first glance, but the closer you look, the more they differ. Both jettons are made of a brass alloy and struck on razor-thin planchets. Both pieces share a similar reverse of four fluers-de-lis in a lozenge.
   Hans Krauwinckel's piece depicts a deep, bulbous hull, clinker-built with high gunwales, much like the hulks of the era (so maybe it is not a cog after all). Hulks were trading ships designed for freight at the expense of maneuverability. The forecastle is small and open, whereas the gabled-roofed stern castle  appears more elaborate. The sail is large with pennant atop the mast (blowing in the opposite direction). Two stars -- perhaps for navigation -- are seen fore and aft. The legend reads: SCHIF+PFENING+NVRENBERG (translation: Ship Penny Nuremberg). Of note, Hans put his name on the reverse.
   Hans Schultes' piece shows a thin hull with less depth and little difference between the fore- and stern castles, both open (or just styled as such). As before, the planking is bold (clinker?) with high gunwales. The sail is slender, narrowed at bottom, and tilting aft. The pennant crosses the inner border into the space above (also blowing back). The stars are replaced with floral ornaments. Overall, the design is simpler and crudely done. The legend reads: HANS+SCHVLTS+NORNBERG (translation: Hans Schultes of Nuremberg). What you cannot see is that Schultes' jetton is thinner than the earlier one -- a cheaply made piece.
   Typically, these pieces were sold in tubes of 25 or 50 for "counting" purposes. The Orb and Cross designs were the most common of all Nuremberg jettons, with the type1 ship pennies coming in a distant second. The type2 pieces pictured above tend to be scarce. Of the hundred plus jettons found at Jamestown in Virginia, none of them were ship pennies -- too bad, we could have combined collections. In any case, be on the lookout for these billowing sails.