The Art of collecting

I’ve been collecting for over 50 years, and the question I’m most frequently asked is, “How’d you start?” It isn’t easily answered.

Like any kid in the late 50s and early 60s, I spent hours outside playing, enduring stifling summers and brutally cold winters.  While baseball filled the hours during the summer, the heat was a factor in the length of our games. However, in the winter, hockey never seemed to end, whether on the street, schoolyard, local rink or in a basement. I became obsessed with the game! Watching the Toronto Maple Leafs on Hockey Night in Canada every Saturday evening elevated my obsession to the next level. Foster Hewitt’s voice was as familiar to me as my own father’s.

Kids in the neighbourhood all felt the same way about the Leafs. The right to call yourself Dave Keon or Frank Mahovlich for a road hockey game became as important as choosing who was on your team.

My life changed the day someone showed up with a handful of hockey cards. We were all mesmerized by these colourful, sharp-edged, majestic cardboard works of art. If there was a moment when my collecting passion began, this was it.

In its simplest form collecting is the process or extension of admiration, love, or obsession, with a team, sport, player, art, book, historical period, or anything else that calls to you. The key is that intense focus on whatever captures your interest. For me, that just happened to be the game of hockey. I’ve often asked myself, if I’d grown up in Montreal, New York, or Boston, would the Canadiens, Rangers or Bruins have been my team? I lived in Toronto; therefore, it was the Maple Leafs.  

Saturday afternoons, my mom would grocery shop. While she unpacked her bags at home, I’d pace anxiously, waiting to see what players were on the cereal boxes, what coins in the Sherriff package, who was on the York peanut butter jar. Did she buy me another Maple Leaf colouring book? Did any new product have a player on it? If my passion for the Leafs hadn’t developed at that age, 30 years later would Max Bentley’s 1951 Toronto jersey have as much meaning? I’m constantly asked to name my most prized possession. What they really want to know is the most valuable. But it’s those Saturday afternoons I’ll cherish forever. Watching my mother, who is now deceased, laid my heroes on the kitchen table. How can you put a price on that?

Collecting should be combined with preserving history and uncovering the stories connected to an artifact. If the piece doesn’t have a story, what’s the point? There are many who believe because they purchase expensive items, that automatically makes them the biggest fans or the owners of the best collections. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Bill Gates is one of the richest men in the world. If he wanted, he could accumulate the largest baseball collection in the world. The financial impact on him? Like a feather falling from a pillow. Would this make him the biggest baseball fan in the world? Maybe the richest, but without the stories or passion to accompany the collection, what would he really own?

What makes collecting an art is the collector’s personal connection to the artifacts. Maybe it’s family, team, or player related, or something else altogether, but regardless there must be a link. Talk to fellow enthusiasts about your respective collections. Imagine every item has tentacles connecting it to people, events, and other items. Any additional information enhances the historical significance.   

Collecting should be educational, but most importantly it should be enjoyable. If your objective is to create value, then you aren’t a collector; you’re an investor. Anyone with a big enough bank account can do that. But if your collection tells the story of something you truly love, then you’re a collector.