Well, dear readers, I am, by nature, a collector at heart. Yes, you heard it here, dear readers, I, BK, am a collector at heart. And when I start collecting something I become rather fanatical about it. Part of it, for me, is the chase, the hunt, the score. And part of it is that I love collecting things I love. My first collecting habit began in the early 1970s with soundtrack and cast album LPs. Within a few short years I would say I had a major collection, probably one of the best in the world, especially for foreign soundtracks. I had over 5,000 soundtracks, and lots of cast albums, and a pretty interesting and rare classical collection. In the mid-1970s, while my LP collection continued to grow, I also took an interest in first edition fiction. I began slowly, buying books that I knew and loved. Those pre-Internet days were not like these days. There were dealers who knew what they were doing and who loved the hobby. There were hundreds of mom-and-pop stores where one could, if one hunted carefully, find incredible deals. The priciest books back then, at least for modern fiction, which is what I collected, were fairly reasonable, especially considering what dealers attempt to charge for them today. One of the books I was determined to get was To Kill A Mockingbird. At that time, it was still an immensely popular and collectible book, but it hadn’t yet achieved the craziness it achieved from about 1990 onward. I finally found a very nice first edition of it in a little bookstore in Reseda. I had to think about it, because it was pretty high-priced at $38. I bought it and was thrilled to have it. I had a pretty complete Cornell Woolrich collection, and lots of interesting signed books by notable authors. I also had books that had been signed to me personally, like several books Christopher Isherwood had given me. By the end of the 70s, I had a pretty notable collection. Then I got divorced and had to sell most of the LPs and all of the books, save for about fifty that I held back. It was the only way to survive. I hated selling the books especially, as I knew I would never see some of them again. And I sold them all to one dealer in Santa Monica – and the price was, in retrospect, ridiculous, considering what he got. But that money lasted me for a year, so it was nothing I could sneeze at. I resolved never to sell books like that again, and even in the worst of times, I haven’t – IF I’ve had to sell, I’ve made money on every title, sometimes considerably so. Then, when I started on Totally Hidden Video and I was back making incredible money week in and week out for two-and-a-half years without a break, I began acquiring first editions again. Within a year I had another substantial collections, including an incredibly rare copy of Raymond Chandler’s The High Window, signed by Chandler to Billy Wilder the year they wrote Double Indemnity together. I paid more for that book than my entire first collection was worth, but I knew what I was doing, and I knew what a terrific investment that was. I again got a complete Cornell Woolrich collection, and a primo Ross Macdonald collection, along with gorgeous UK firsts on Nineteen-Eighty-Four, Animal Farm, a signed first of Lord Of The Flies, and on and on and on. Dealers gave me good deals, and there were still plenty of mom-and-pop stores. Also, during the 1980s, I began collecting movie posters, and I amassed quite a good collection, especially foreign country of origin posters, of which I had one of the biggest collections – in fact, I’d say I was partly responsible for the boom in foreign posters during that time. I had, for example, all the Eyetalian original posters on every Fellini film, gorgeous posters in primo condition, most of which hung on the walls of my Santa Monica apartment and then my first Studio City home. But I sort of grew tired of the posters and sold them – but got really good money for each and every one of them.
Then came eBay, and for a time I would just buy anything that caught my fancy. One find day in 1997 or so, I bought a painting. I’d never bought a painting before, I knew nothing of paintings, but this one caught my eye and I fell in love with it. The dealer said it was by J.C. Leyendecker. I looked him up, he was very famous, so I popped for the $3,200 and bought it (this was during the Varese days, where I also made a very good salary). I was so excited when it showed up – it was truly gorgeous, depicting a 20s gal holding a ukulele – the lighting and detail were incredible. I owned a Leyendecker, and from what I saw, his stuff was incredibly expensive. What a deal. Not. On one of my New York trips I took a photo of the painting to the Illustration House gallery in Greenwich Village. They were very nice there, and I was like a kid in a candy store. I knew then that I wanted to collect illustration art, art used for magazine covers and stories, or advertisements or book covers. I proudly pulled out my photo and showed it to the gallery guy, asking what it was worth. He said it was a fabulous piece and definitely worth what I paid – but it wasn’t a Leyendecker. I said, “Say what?” He said someone had signed it as Leyendecker, with Leyendecker’s famous signature, but that the artist was someone wholly other, because the painting had nothing to do with Mr. Leyendecker’s style in any way, shape, or form. WHY someone would sign it thusly was anyone’s guess. He had some ideas about who the artist might really be, and he showed me some originals by those people, and their style was much closer to my painting. I was devastated that I didn’t own a Leyendecker, although I still loved my painting. Then the gallery guy showed me six original Leyendecker paintings hanging on the wall, one of which was an early 1921 Saturday Evening Post Cover of a little boy scowling while walking to his first day at school. The others were advertising paintings. Well, I totally fell in love with the Post cover and asked how much it was. Without blinking an eye, he said, “For you, I’ll do $32,000.” The asking price had been $40,000. I almost fainted. There was no way I could pay that much money, not even on time over a three-year period, and I wouldn’t have the patience to wait that long anyway.
I came back to LA and could not stop thinking about the Leyendecker. They’d given me a photograph of it and I stared at it all day long. On eBay I found that issue of the Post and ordered it. Then, a day or two later, I was sitting in my book room staring at the photo of the painting, and I just said, “That’s it, I’m having it.” As it so happened, there was a book fair that day in Pasadena. I went. I spoke to a dealer pal there, and asked him if he had the wherewithal to make a large purchase of really good books. He said he did if he partnered with another dealer, which they’d done several times. I told him I’d get back to him. I knew he was trying not to show his excitement, because he knew what I had in my collection. I went home, went in the bookroom and pulled off the shelf fifty books (of the over 3000 I had). They were primo titles and copies, and they included the Woolrich collection and the signed Chandler, which I knew would be the carrot. I called the dealer and said, “I’ve just pulled fifty books off the shelf. You have one hour to come here and look at them and write me a check for $32,000.” He laughed. One hour later, he was at my house, and an hour after looking at the fifty books, he wrote me a check for $32,000. The next morning, I called Illustration House and bought the painting. It hung in my house for two years and was amazing. I had the painting, and below it a copy of the magazine. Over the next year, I bought a lot of illustration art – I owned several Post covers, including a fabulous one by John Clymer. I owned several 1920s Liberty Magazine covers by a major artist, I owned several Collier’s covers, I owned a stunning Benda painting, and about ten classic paperback book cover original art, including pieces by the two greats, Robert Maguire and Robert McGinnis. When Stephen Schwartz came to dinner he couldn’t believe the paintings and spent a lot of time looking at and admiring them.
And then the bad business happened in October of 2001 – and suddenly I had lawyer bills to pay every week, endless and pointless lawyer bills, which depleted my savings within two months. Large, ugly lawyer bills. So, I sold the Leyendecker. I put it on eBay and put a very high reserve on it. It came very close but didn’t sell, but I got a call from a dealer friend who’d seen it and had a buyer – we settled on the price of $55,000. So, in two years I’d made $22,000 in profit – not bad. That money went quickly, and then I had to sell almost all the other good stuff I had – mostly through an auction house, where I got pretty decent money on everything. In fact, I never lost money on a painting – they and the books were the best investments I ever made.
Since then, I’ve just tried to stay afloat – that’s what pointless and frivolous lawsuits that people cannot hope to win do – they can afford it, and the intent is always to ruin the other person. That they did not do. Over the last few years, I’ve been able to do a little trading and a little bartering and I’ve managed to get some nice paintings (none with the value or importance of what I had), and I still have that very first faux Leyendecker and I still love it. And I have a few good first editions in my book room, which still has over 1000 books in it (and I have boxes and boxes of mysteries in the garage).
Well, why don’t we all click on the Unseemly Button below because I have a busy day of preparing for tonight’s event.
I had a nice time at the book signing yesterday, although I didn’t sell many books because it was not that kind of event. Most of the authors there just signed books that people brought in – they weren’t selling books, which is what I was doing. Still, I met some nice folks, and got a couple of new cool art books. Afterwards, I supped at the Hamburger Hamlet, came home, packaged up about fifteen orders and took them to the post office and put them in the drop box, then I watched a motion picture on DVD.
Last night, I watched a motion picture on DVD entitled The Odd Couple, starring Mr. Jack Lemmon and Mr. Walter Matthau. I’m quite fond of some of the film, although I remember seeing it the day it opened and thinking it was the first time I hadn’t loved Jack Lemmon. Oh, he was funny at times, but there was something in the performance that just didn’t click with me, and that has never changed over the course of seeing the film many times. I’d seen the national tour of the play, as directed by Mike Nichols – the leads were Dan Dailey and Richard Benjamin and both were great and the staging was incredible. The movie lacked the energy of that staging, but it’s still very funny and I laughed out loud many times. The transfer is wonderful, and much better than the previous DVD release. Unlike Warners’ usual yellow and brown transfers, this one has perfect color and the image is very sharp.
Today, I must ship some more packages, and preorders for Illya Darling start in the morning. I’m hoping we’ll have CDs on Friday or Monday, but that’s dependent on how fast they do the print – I’ll probably know today. The latest we’d get them is mid next week, and that’s over four weeks earlier than the street date. I’m hoping this one gets lots and lots of preorders. Anya is down to the last 300 or so, and it’s really only been out for a couple of weeks. For whatever reasons, there seems to be a lot more interest in Illya Darling, and collectors will have to have it as it has material not on the original LP. Then I’ll be doing my Cabaret and Singer Workshop from seven to nine, after which I’ll dine.
Well, dear readers, I must take the day, I must do the things I do, I must, for example, do the long jog, ship packages, get lots of preorders, do a workshop, and sup. Today’s topic of discussion: What do you like to collect – what were the most exciting items you ever found and where did you find them – and if you had all the money in the world what would you collect that you’ve never been able to afford? Let’s have loads of lovely postings, shall we, whilst I prepare to hold an audience for two hours.