Keith Burgess-Jackson, J.D., Ph.D.

8-26-89 . . . In 1968, a year after I discovered baseball, I began collecting baseball cards. It took lots of nickels and dimes, but I managed to get all 598 cards that year. In 1969 I came close to getting an entire set. Last night, on Nightline, there was a discussion of the growing business of baseball memorabilia, an important part of which is baseball cards. One of the guests, a serious collector and entrepreneur, has a card worth a million dollars. Others are worth several hundred thousand dollars. I don’t have any of these, of course, but I do have some valuable ones. The 1968 rookie cards of Johnny Bench (who was just inducted into the Hall of Fame) and Nolan Ryan are apparently worth a few hundred dollars each, as is the 1968 card of Reggie Jackson, then a young slugger with the Oakland Athletics. When these cards were shown on the screen last night, the figure “$700” appeared beside them. Today I checked my collection and, sure enough, I have these cards—in mint condition. They’ll become more valuable as the years go by. And yet, I’ve never thought of my collection as an investment. These cards are a bridge to my past, which was a time of innocence and discovery. What fun I had trading cards with other schoolchildren! What anticipation there was in opening a pack of cards! It took ages to get that last card: Dean Chance. But I did it, and I’m not about to break up the collection for a few—or even a lot of—dollars. Thinking of my baseball cards as an investment is like thinking of my mother as a chauffeur and chef; it’s possible to do so, and true, but highly misleading.