STUMPTOWNBLOGGER

I don’t even know where to begin with this one. So maybe I should start at the beginning.

Many years ago, from around 1964 through the early ‘80s, my mother worked as a bio-chemist/lab tech at UC Berkeley. She worked for a very brilliant woman who pioneered research on brain function. Specifically, how information passes between cells—synaptic exchange.

Another woman on the project (it was an all-women team) was a very kindly, sweet, pretty, unassuming lady a bit older than my mom. Think Donna Reed minus the puffy dresses. Dedicated bio-chemist during the week, churchgoing Baptist on Sundays. She, my mother and Bob Weir’s mother (that’s a story for another day), would carpool into Berkeley together.

Donna Reed/church-lady began to lose her mental faculties early in life. I’m guessing she was in her early sixties when the symptoms first appeared. Before her family put her in a special care unit, she asked my mom if she thought I would like to inherit her stamp collection. She new me since I was a sprout, and remembered when I collected stamps. And yes, I did collect stamps as a kid. But once I discovered girls, I had new things to lick.

Oh, I REALLY digressed that time! 😱 Where was I? Oh yeah...

This lady’s daughter gave my mother two big boxes with “FOR BRUCE” written on them. She passed away maybe 25-30 years ago, at which time, my mom told me I’d inherited her stamp collection. Okay, that was nice of her. Sorry to hear about her passing. I brought the two boxes back to Portland with me, only peeking inside once, and filed them out in the garage under “I’ll get to that one of these days.”

So yesterday was one of those days. With the task of shuffling boxes of whatnot around, I finally examined the contents of one of the boxes... boxes of stamps WILLED to me by my mom’s old coworker. I suppose because in her deteriorating state of mind, I was the only person she thought of when it came to finding a new home for her collection.

But first, here’s a primer on stamp collectors. There’s no “typical” philatelist. Stamp collectors can be anywhere from nerdy little kids (as I was 🙋🏻‍♂️) to ersatz historians who don’t know how to write, but view stamps and coins as historical time capsules, to misinformed “investors” who think they’re going to get rich off little squares of paper, to... hoarders.

My mom’s friend was DEFINITELY in the hoarder category. At least she was towards the end of her life. What’s fascinating is that I can see evidence of the onset of her dementia *IN* her stamp hobby.

The oldest stamps in the box are from around 1938-39. She has those all individually separated in philatelic baggies and labeled. Year, condition, watermark, perforation, etc. Very typical of dedicated stamp nerds.

Then the ‘50s and ‘60s commemorative issues, she has all haphazardly packed in envelopes by year. 30 different stamps, maybe four or five of each issue, all crammed in one envelope. Alrighty.

Then later on, it’s as if she had completely lost interest in her hobby, and was just going through the motions. From the late ‘70s until the end, it appeared she just went to the post office with a wad of cash burning a hole in her pocket, which she’d spend on whatever was available. I’ll take ten of those, fifteen of those, and OH!, those look nice! Give me fifty of those! Which she then took home and squirreled away in two boxes, along with maybe fifty little pink “FELLOWSHIP FUND” envelopes to the First Baptist Church of Oakland... all stuffed with random American stamps. There are also two smaller boxes inside the big boxes, holding some 200-300 first day covers. Again, in random order.

There’s literally HUNDREDS of unused booklets of perfectly good postage here. Nothing that would be of any interest to a collector though; it’s just indicative of someone compelled to maintain her hobby. Which was probably more habit than hobby at that point.

Mind you, even though the price is now 55¢ to mail a first class letter, this is all still usable postage. You just have to mix ‘n match them until you have 55¢ worth on the envelope. Between these two boxes, I bet there’s enough postage here for me to slap it all on my ass and mail myself to Tahiti and back.

I almost feel voyeuristic going through these boxes. Like I’m invading someone’s “Heart of Darkness” final days. But it was literally in her will, so...

Anyway, R.I.P. to a very, very sweet lady, and thanks for willing me your very unconventional um... collection.