Down the Rabbit Hole: Expo Coin Immersion and a Snickers Bar

My eyes need a rest, as I have just returned from the Baltimore Expo. I examined perhaps a hundred coins, all of them up-close through a tiny magnifier lens with a hot lamp at my cheek.

My feet need a rest too. I walked all day, up and down aisles of tables, navigating an urgent crowd, all of them hunting for that special coin.

I also gave a presentation on Jamestown, telling stories about bent, holed, and folded coins that were magical. I was “on” and the hour seemed like minutes.

All of this was great fun, but it left me hypoglycemic. I had to run out for a Snickers bar – actually a Snickers first, then a sub.

Yes, the Expo is quite the immersion experience.

Dumpster Diving at the Expo

It is the tenth planet. Actually, it is a thousand different tenth planets.

Each collector has their own orbit, a grand vision, unique to them. And of course, each of us is relentless in our pursuit of the next coin – a want list in every pocket.

One man collects a single type of jetton (in copper, silver, whatever he can find). Another seeks medals depicting George Washington (medals, tokens, all of it). I even met a guy who collects “bridges” on coins (he is an engineer by trade – if that helps). And so it goes.

I like coins similar to those found in the dirt at Jamestown. Plus, other dug items. Relics – yes, that is my orbit -- lots of dumpster diving.

Each one of us has slipped down the rabbit hole.

You do not realize this when you are on the convention floor. How could you: everyone has a magnifying glass; everyone is hunting for the next one.

But, when you exit the big room, go up the stairs towards the sunlight, and press hard against the heavy glass doors, then you see. Like a rush of gale wind in the face, you are confronted with a whole world of non-collectors, just as urgent – cars honking, sirens wailing, shoes scuffing on pavement.

They have no idea what is going on in the convention center.

And, they don’t care.

The contrast is jolting.

I contemplated all of this while eating a sub at Jimmy Johns: No one out here cares about Jamestown or Washington!

If they were coaxed – and it would take some coaxing – to investigate the big room, many of them would think we were mad. But of course, they would be polite about it and remark that collecting seems like a nice respite from the hustle of life. (My wife puts it this way: “It is your break.”)

The problem is that I am not sure if I am breaking when I go out into the sun, or if I am breaking when I am peering at a relic through the lens.

I suppose that I am lucky in this way: frequently hypoglycemic and running out for Snickers.

Jamestown and Baltimore Expo

I went to Jamestown (yet again) last week.

This old medal from the 1607 tercentennial exposition
has corrosion and wear in all the right places.

I find it oddly relaxing -- walking around this hallowed ground. So much misery was felt in this place that I am not sure how to label the mix of emotions: the pit that gnaws at your stomach whenever you walk about the 33 graves along the southwest palisade wall (all from that first autumn of 1607), the whirling of colonial images in your brain (Captain John Smith shrewdly bargaining with Powhatan), and the salty morning breeze of the James that cools your cheeks.

I keep coming here. I have been here many times over the years (six visits in 2016 alone).

I keep reading about the place, and then waiting for the next book to come out.

I have been particularly engrossed in the colonists' interaction with the supernatural. Yes, that's right, the supernatural: religion, magic, divine provenance, devils, bewitching, and so on. And so, I decided to talk about it.

I am presenting a small program at the upcoming Baltimore Expo: Friday, November 4th, 11AM. It is called: Bent, Holed, and Folded: Coin Talismans at Jamestown. If you are going to the Expo, I invite you to check it out. It is part of the program for the Colonial Coin Collectors Club (or C4), but the talk is open for all comers.

Large Cent Pry or Twist Tool

Sometimes you need an edge.

Large cent pry or twist tool: cheap and easy to use.

   A firm edge can be used to open the back of an old clock or to pry open a cupboard door. Maybe, you need to wind up a clock or operate a turn. Fat, clumsy fingers just can't get it done.
   No worries, as I think this cent will do it. It is thick and easy to pinch -- just right for fat fingers, but maybe not clumsy ones. Once you get a firm pinch going, just pry or twist. Easy.
   It is not a screw driver. The coin metal is too soft for that. A stubborn screw would damage the soft copper point (well, unless you have a gentle touch).

   I enjoy musing about cent tools like this. Just think: a hundred years ago, someone saw the need for this tool. And so, they found a cent lying around and fashioned it for the task. They knew exactly what they wanted: a broad point for some specific task.
   It looks like it was used for several years as the leading edge is smoothly worn. I get the impression that it was held close with a big thumb on the Liberty's face.
   I imagine that this tool sat on a surface right next to the object that needed it: on the mantle by the clock or in the kitchen by the cupboard.

   It's too bad that coins such as this are often ignored. Yet, they have interesting stories of use. I like to think of this cent tool as a token of American Ingenuity. After all, you couldn't just go down to the corner hardware store in the latter part of the nineteenth century. Besides, why pay two bits for a tool you can make for a penny.
   You make do.

Loving the Unloved: Ode to the Penny Pocket Piece

No one loves me now.

But once, long ago, I enjoyed a charmed relationship.
I was cherished.
My keeper had faith. I was magic: A good luck piece.
And so, I was never forgotten. Always in the left pocket.
During arguments, I was vigorously rubbed; in lines, I was flipped over and over again; by the hearth, I was studied.
I was never dropped.

Back in the goode olde dayes

Well, a few hands tossed me back when I had some shine; I went from cash box to cash box.
Then one day, I was kept.
There I stayed: In the pocket.
After years of service, I was moved to a purse.
I became a still point in a world moving all around me.
At some point, I cannot remember when, I was re-examined. It was not by the hearth. No, it was a fumbling hand with a big glass.
I was encased in cellophane and labeled "ungradeable."
That's not even a word.
Poor-0.5 -- What a stupid designation.
They whisper that I have no "eye-appeal."
But I do. I am smoothed by countless touches. A refuge for tense, bored, or inquiring fingertips.
I am beautiful. I am a ghost.
But there's more. What I offer is more immediate. Bring on the fingertips.
I have a history too. Unknowable perhaps, but full of action.
And, best of all, I am magical.
Yes, I am a lucky penny. (I know, I know, it is "cent," but I'm not a braggart).
I think everyone should have a pocket piece: A lucky talisman.

Thanks to the necromancer. He loves me (again).