I want to talk about someone that I never met until after he passed away,and yet I feel as if I know him as well as I know myself. And no, as far as I know, he never went to Kemper.
About 10 years ago, while I was working as manager of the local Hobbytown, I was approached by someone to appraise some stuff. They said it was small figures and some games. A man had passed away a year before and his possessions were now going to auction through the bank. He didn't have any relatives around, and they need to know what some of his stuff was worth. I asked the name, as if he was in gaming there was a good chance I knew him. They told me, but I did not. They gave me the address of his house and we arranged a time.
I pulled up to a house in a neighborhood of Columbia I had never been too before. As the person lead me to a back room where the stuff was, I noticed it was a nice place, and there were some great pictures on the walls. Obviously who ever lived here also loved space exploration.
The back bedroom had been converted to an office/workshop. Normal for a gamer and hobbyist. As I started to examine the small figures, I realized this guy was a war gamer, and his work on the figures were exquisite and accurate as he had a ton or reference materials. I should know as I had the majority of the same stuff; only I was coming at from a military history angel. Then they showed me the closet where he had boxes and boxes of games. A lot of the same games I had. Then his books... need I say that I had some of the same, and what I didn't have, he did of series that I liked. I was speechless. I tried to tell the person who brought me here that if he could wait, I knew people who would pay a lot for this stuff; primarily for two reasons I thought. One: this was great stuff. Things that only came around once in a blue moon for any hard corps gamer/hobbyist/collector. And two: At that time, and to an extent now, the ones are passionate about this, who "paid their dues" are saddened when one of us leaves this mortal coil. So we try and rescue what we can from the auction vultures who only see what they can get for it. Not the value of the item/book/game/etc. I was told that there was no way they could wait, as the auction was the next day, and everything had been arraigned. Luckily I was off the next day. Unfortunately, my bank account was in an iron lung as I was still reeling from my first divorce and my funds were limited. But I know I had to get a hold of some people who would love to get their hand son this stuff. And I would get what I could with what I had.
I made sure I was there early to see what was going up and to make notes of what I wanted. Only two others could make it, as it was during a weekday, and most people had to work. I was lucky; it was my day off.
I will not bore you with the details of the auction. Only to say, that my opinion of people who go to auctions are now spilt. In one group you have the people who truly appreciate what is being sold and want it for themselves, as they value the item as much as the person who had the item did. The second are the ones that should be confined to the deepest gates of Hell. No, I don't mean the fire and brimstone; but, for a year, they should be made to sit next to someone who is knitting something with nothing. The most blatant of examples is when a group of games were going up for sales. These were board games from companies that were no longer around. They were not new, they were well used and loved. And yet, these bottom feeders were bidding against myself and others. We wanted them as we knew the games, knew they were out of print and wanted them as we couldn't find them anywhere, short of E-Bay and even that w as stretch. So we were outbid on some. Ok, fair enough. But then these "antique dealers" and I use that term loosely had the gale to ask us later, how much did they think someone would pay for those games? I had to walk away before I became abusive.
I got a couple of framed prints, a lot of books that completed some collections and others that turned me onto authors I had never heard of, or always wanted to read, but never picked up their books. These were all well taken care of, and had his initials in the front of the books.
These books have become part of my library, and I treat them with respect when I pull one and see those initials. The reason is that I found out only a little more about this person. It seems he kept to himself; or at least none of the people that were gamers knew him. Only one person I knew, knew him, and then only casually. He liked military history, military gaming, role playing, science fiction and fantasy, and from a picture I saw at his house, he went to Space Camp. He wasn't old by any means, and died around the same age I was.
Every time I have pause to reflect on him, I do so with a mirror. I don't know what kind of person he was other than what I saw of his possessions. And yet, I feel that I know him. I feel I am him on a lot of levels. And where we are the same, I know him.
It amazes me that I never crossed path with him. I might have, but have no recollection of ever meeting anyone by his name. I wish I could find out more about him, to clarify my illusion that I have of who he was; and to an extent who I am.
I only hope that he knows that he will not be forgotten as I have told this story to many; and some of his more intricate books I have given to others who I know appreciate them as much as I or he did. And the story goes with them, so his memory lives on.
The only picture I ever saw of him has faded from my memory with the exception that he was in a NASA shuttle jumpsuit. So I hope that where he is, is also with my dear friend that passed a few years ago, who would be a great companion for him. He too left this world too soon. I hope they are enjoying each other's company. And when my time comes for me to leave, they are some of the first to greet me. I look forward to shaking his hand for the first time, even though I have known him far longer than that initial meeting.
Second star to the right, and straight on til morning.
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