Jim Bisognani: Numismatic Tales From Our Youth

May, though only three letters, is a hugely important, big-letter month in my neck of the woods. Yes, the month of May is here, my fellow coindexters, and she is an extremely welcome sight. Summer is truly on the horizon. I mean, just today, the thermometer on my front door at my New Hampshire home peaked at a rather summery 82 degrees!

As a youth, the ushering in of May had many youngsters in grade school beaming with delight, knowing that the rigors and studying of seemingly unimportant textbooks and pop quizzes were quickly coming to a close. Yes, that joyous summer vacation was within sight. I was not truly one of the masses then — as a student and coindexter, I enjoyed the academic routine. But vacation did afford me time to study numismatically for several months. Ah, Nirvana!

I recall one special summer, exactly 55 years ago. My dad helped me build a coin stand. No, not brick and mortar — it was made primarily out of several sheets of plywood, a few 2x4's and sundry other wood scraps, studs and such to frame my shop. It was small when completed, about 7 feet wide, with a high slanted roof. The countertop was plywood, which I covered with several bathroom tiles. The total cost for the supplies ran a little over $37. Overall, it kind of looked like a small produce stand that one might find on a country road. I even painted and stained it!

My mom, sensing my enthusiasm, said to just put it out on the front lawn next to the road. My "shop" was pretty heavy, and since it was just a frame that didn't have a floor, it wasn't really meant to be moved about. To facilitate more mobility, I affixed a few small wheels and bearings to the bottom corners and was able to carefully move my shop about 50 feet down the road from my house. Back then, I knew nothing of vendor permits or such; hey, I was just a kid. But if others could sell corn, eggs and granny's preserves, then I could sell some numismatic stuff! I proudly put up my shingle, a small stenciled sign which simply read, "COINS!"

I had about $30 worth of 90% US silver and some better Lincoln Cents and Mercury Dimes — a nice mix of foreign coins, too. My "draw" piece was my fabulous 1911 $5 Gold Indian Head. It wasn't for sale, but I thought that its mere presence gave some legitimacy to my fledgling venture.

The first day, some neighborhood kids and classmates stopped by on their bikes. They had to nose around and take a look at my coin shack. I remember Jerry asking me if I was buying any coins, too. I said, "of course," and asked what he had. He responded with some Franklin Half Dollars and a few Indian pennies, which I invited him to bring down so I could look.

Another classmate, Tracy — whom I nicknamed "Duckling" — bought a 1958 Franklin Half Dollar from his birth year. It was a nice Mint State coin. I sold it for around $1.25 — yes, my fellow coindexters, silver spot back then was around $1.50 or so.

About a week into my venture, I had my first complaint. The father of the two brothers I had sold some Indian Heads to came over to see what was going on. Both kids were with him, and the dad says to me, "I just wanted to see what kinds of coins you have," then followed up sharply with, "after I saw the junk that my sons paid you $3 for."

I defended the coins and said they were of good value. I even pulled out my Red Book and went on to show him the estimated value for the coins. After a bit of enlightenment, he said, "OK, OK, I just didn't know that much about coins. I didn't want my kids to be paying $3 for a handful of pennies."

As the gent simmered down, I then thought it would be a good time to pull out my 1911 $5 Indian and see his reaction. His demeanor was rather curt, standing in front of the counter with his arms folded. I began with, "Sir, I'd like to show you something special." I then pulled out the small silver, red velvet-lined trinket box which held my prized Half Eagle. He crept closer, his hands now unfolded and hanging over the counter. His expression changed. "What have you got there?" he asked.

It was a bright and sunny afternoon, and the sun's rays were landing in just the right position on the counter. I flipped open the trinket box lid, and I could see that both dad and sons' eyes were laser-focused on the presentation.

Click images to enlarge.

I carefully removed the coin and placed it in my right palm, displaying the obverse of the Indian Head Half Eagle. The golden sun rays reflecting off the coin seemed to conjure a slight hypnotic effect on him. I could sense by his expression that his admiration was growing. He blurted, "Wow, that's a real $5 gold piece!" It was a Very Choice Uncirculated example, and I told him so.

The dad then asked me how much it was worth. I shot back that it was $50 or more in that condition. Fascinated, his two boys asked, "Dad, is it really worth that much?" He just shrugged and said, "I don't know, I don't know; it's real pretty, though."

I had, of course, no intention of selling my $5 Indian, but it did make for a rather grand presentation. And yes, I still have that lovely $5 Indian! You can read more about it here.

Later that month, I had another exciting adventure unfold. It was a Saturday afternoon and my family and I were picnicking in Stratham, New Hampshire. After lunching on charcoal-grilled burgers and mom's aromatic apple pie, my two brothers and I took a walk around and beyond the picnic grounds, venturing off into the surrounding woods.

The mosquitoes were thick and all three of us were busy swatting at the blighters when we literally stumbled upon what appeared to be part of an old foundation. The irregular stones were overrun by brush and bramble, yet you could still make out a rudimentary floor plan. We scoped out what we could and then went back to tell Mom and Dad what we had found. My dad, always the adventurer, went to the car and opened the trunk, pulling out a small garden shovel, pry bar, hammer, a small bucket and a few pairs of work gloves. (Yes, Dad was always prepared!)

We all returned to the site. Dad and I cleared out the brush on the front while my two brothers cleared a path in the rear. Dad took out the small shovel and soon unearthed a few medicine bottles and found what appeared to be a child's spoon. My brothers found a few large solid-colored glass marbles next to the chimney. I felt a bit left out, so Dad gave me the shovel and suggested I dig around the front near what would have been the entry.

I dug, and found beetles, spiders and sizeable earthworms before finally unearthing a round disc — a coin! It was nearly the size of a half dollar, but brown. I clung to my treasure as I took it over to my parents. Dad took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the coin off, with me following suit with my T-shirt. Eventually, I could make out a shield and "E Pluribus Unum" surrounding it.

I put the coin in my pocket and, when we got home, gave it a long overdue bath in the sink. Ivory soap and my old toothbrush removed most of the dirt and residue, revealing the outline of a horse and plow along with a date: 1788!

I was thrilled. I knew I had seen that coin in my Red Book, so I quickly retrieved it (an outdated version from 1965) and leafed through the pages. On page 34, there it was: the 1788 New Jersey Cent Horse’s Head Facing Right, valued in good at $7.50 and fine at $17.50! The obverse, though fully complete, was well-worn. The reverse, however, was quite strong.

My parents congratulated me when I gave them the news, then asked if I was going to sell it in my shop. I said, "no way!" I still have that lovely New Jersey copper in my collection. I viewed it once more today and held her in my hands. As I did, the magic of that early summer outing with the family vividly came back to life. I still wonder how that coin from the Garden State made it to New Hampshire.

Speaking of the Garden State, my fellow coindexter and buddy, Chris B. of New Jersey, shared the following adventure and coin connection from his youth:

"Jim," he said, "I just bought this 1982 Philippines 1500 Pisos graded NGC PF 70 Ultra Cameo, struck by the Franklin Mint." I congratulated him on the recent acquisition. The gold coin is a low mintage modern issue rarity; only 445 Proof coins were minted to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the Battle of Bataan-Corregidor.

The story behind the coin and its connection to Chris is amazing!

Chris's Story

"I lived in the Philippines from February 1973 to June 1976 — from when I was around age 12 to nearly 16. I spent a lot of time exploring Corregidor, along with other battlefields, but Corregidor was of great interest to me because it had a lot of tunnels to explore. Malinta Tunnel was the biggest tunnel complex on the island and was somewhat open for tourists, but most of it was 'permanently' blocked off due to the abundance of live ammo, crumbling infrastructure and rumors of Japanese booby traps.

"My friends and I would enter through air shafts that were deemed too inaccessible to worry about — we found a lot of World War II souvenirs through there, including helmets, guns, ammo, and even a US soldier's dog tag while crawling through one of the very narrow access tunnels. (I wouldn't recommend this activity to the claustrophobic or more sensible people out there!)"

Chris obviously enjoyed his treasure trove of souvenirs but the one that stood out was that pair of dog tags. Who was the soldier who had made his way through the same airshaft that he had just explored during World War II? Chris was determined to get more information. It took nearly a quarter century, but...

"Although my attempts to contact the soldier by sending letters to the Veterans Administration and to the next of kin address on the dog tag ended with no success, I was able to eventually speak with this soldier, Dusan (Dan) M. Pegan, in 2000 with the help of the internet and White Pages!"

Chris B. said that the conversation was, indeed, surreal.

"I told Dan that it was like speaking to a ghost, as generally when one loses a dog tag, one is dead! He told me — among other things — that he actually remembered losing the tag, and that his slight build (5'2, which was around my height at the time) enabled him to easily enter those tunnels, stripped to the waist and armed with two pistols and knives, in search of Japanese stragglers. I remember one Japanese, soldier, Hiroo Onoda, surrendering in 1974 after almost 30 years of hiding in the (then) remote Lubang Island. Needless to say, when I lived in the Philippines, the war was still fairly fresh in the memory of most Filipinos, many of which still harbored a great deal of animosity towards the Japanese. I encountered more than a few extremely rude Japanese tourists while living in Manila, so it was easy for me to sympathize with the Filipinos — but since then, I've learned that the world is full of rude tourists, and they come from everywhere! Ah, memories."

Very true, coins and their stories and connection to coindexters everywhere help make and keep our hobby relevant. You never know what coin will not only pique your curiosity but will be the foundation for a lifelong numismatic journey!

Until next time, be safe and happy collecting!

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