Bicycles and Baseball Cards Deux

Please note that I have invoked my French heritage in the development of this blog’s title.  We can all use a bit of culture and refinement.

The saga continues.

My youth was spent in the 1950’s.   I was two years seven months when they started and twelve when then ended. (You officially stop counting partial years when you turn ten.)  My earliest memory of the 50’s was waking up on the morning following the presidential election  and asking my mom if the “soldier” won.  He did.  Ruth and I enjoy using the interstate highway system that he initiated.  We “Like Ike”.

Another big takeaway was baseball cards.  Bicycles and baseball cards consumed a lot of time during the fifties.  While bicycles were the mode of travel.    Baseball cards were the power behind many a young lad’s bicycle. (Girls too, I guess, but this is the continuing tale of a guy – me.)  We took a baseball card and clipped it with a clothes pin to one of the spokes of our front wheel.  The card made a clicking sound as the carded spoke crossed the front fork of the bike. The faster you traveled, the greater the roar.

Some of us owned tricycles prior to learning to ride a bike.  Tricycles often had a triggered bell or a horn with bulb that you pinched to emit the horn’s sound.  A few novices transferred the bell or horn to their bicycle, but anyone with an ounce of cool used a baseball card as his source of power.   That’s truly what they were – a source of power.   Bells and horns sounded a subdued warning of one’s approach, while the roar of the baseball card was more of “get out of my way I’m coming through” technique.   If the first guy who attached a card to his bicycle took out a patent, he’s a zillionaire by now.  If not, he’s just an uncelebrated genius who has been left off the pages of history books.

Baseball cards were also collectibles.  While only a fool would use a Mickey Mantle card on this bicycle, I expect some vintage cards met their demise in such a fashion.  In an article written in 2014, the highest valued cards from the 1950’s were as follows:

#1 – 1952 Topps #311 Mickey Mantle (figured value of $254,196)
#2 – 1951 Bowman #253 Mickey Mantle RC (figured value of $156,050)
#3 – 1952 Topps #1 Andy Pafko (figured value of $69,442)*
#4 – 1951 Bowman #305 Willie Mays RC (figured value of $61,092)
#5 – 1953 Topps #82 Mickey Mantle (figured value of $59,423)
#6 – 1952 Topps #407 Eddie Mathews RC (figured value of $53,912)*
#7 – 1953 Topps #244 Willie Mays (figured value of $35,173)*
#8 – 1955 Topps #164 Roberto Clemente RC (figured value of $30,536)
#9 – 1954 Bowman #65 Mickey Mantle (figured value of $29,147)
#10 – 1951 Bowman #1 Whitey Ford RC (figured value of $28,919)
#11 – 1954 Topps #128 Hank Aaron RC (figured value of $28,608)
#12 – 1955 Topps #123 Sandy Koufax RC (figured value of $26,671)
#13 – 1954 Topps #94 Ernie Banks RC (figured value of $25,146)
#14 – 1952 Topps #261 Willie Mays (figured value of $18,117)
#15 – 1952 Bowman #218 Willie Mays (figured value of $17,391)

The value of a card is determined by the market.   The baseball card market reached its peak in the 1980’s so these prices are down from the 1980’s but way up from their original price when they were included in a packet with four other cards and a piece of gum.  (The cards were included to increase gum sales, but the cards proved to be the better draw.)

My friends and I attached cards to our bikes, collected them, and “pitched” cards like some of our older friends “pitched” pennies.  Pitching cards was a form of “gambling” and a forerunner of the casino industry.

The act and goal of “pitching” cards was simple.  We always used a porch step or the foundation wall of a house as a target.  You took a card and “pitched” or flipped a card as close to the step or wall as possible.  The guy who pitched his card closest to the target won and received the other tossed cards as his prize.   There was no limit to the number of guys who participated.  If there were two “pitchers” you received your card and the card of your vanquished foe.  If five guys participated, you received all five cards.  Only a fool would “pitch” a valued card, however, there were times when you threw your prized card against the prized card of your opponent.  These contests were very suspenseful and sometimes required an impartial judge to render a final verdict.

Baseball provided all of the neighborhood boys heros to follow.   The cards provided the constant reminder that there were faces that we could place with the names.

We had a park at the end of our street and one year the dads from both sides of the park decided to organize two baseball teams.  Our side of the park received green and white t-shirt uniforms and the other side received blue and white shirts.  Mitch, Bill, Mark, Chuck, Tom, Bruce, and Bobby joined me and a few others to play for our side of the park.   Rocky, Chuck and Marion led the crew from the blue shirted side.

The dads also purchased iron-on numbers for the uniforms. Each guy on our team got to pick his own number. The Detroit Tigers were our “home” team so most, if not all, picked a number from one of their favorite players. I knew that I was no Al Kaline, so I never considered choosing number 6. The numbers of my two favorite players – second baseman Frank Bowling #24 and first baseman Ray Boone # 8 – were gone by the time I got to select mine, so I went with third baseman Reno Bertoia #16.  (Reno played second as a rookie in 1953 and switched to third when Frank Bowling came to town 1954.)  Reno was a Italian-Canadian who had a better glove than bat so that was a good choice for me.

Bicycles and baseball cards were a huge part of my childhood.

Around the time I started driving a car, Rick’s dad from across the street came to my house to ask if I would be interested in selling my one of a kind, three speed, Red Schwinn Racer with the double hand brakes.  I sold my prize to Rick for $10.00.    Another way to say it is – Rick became 1 in 4,350,000. He was special… unique…a standout…exceptional…extraordinary…exclusive.

When I went off to college in 1965 my childhood room remained in tack.  My model cars filled the shelves of my room.   My Lionel train set,  erector set, army men, toy farm animals, and baseball cards were packed in boxes awaiting my return.  When I graduated from college, married Ruth, and was “really” gone, my mom packed up everything and brought my stash to our new home in Kalamazoo.  Upon inspecting my returned treasures the baseball cards, like my childhood, were gone.

I don’t know what happened to the cards.  I may have tossed or given them away.  I do know that Reno and the boys remain with me.