Nothing of great signficance or monetary value, except maybe for a basketball signed by Bob Cousy, long after his playing days were over. Other than that, I have a box of memorabilia that I open every now and then, usually when we’re trying to put a dent in getting rid of stuff hanging around in the basement.
Just bits and pieces of my life– a popcorn holder from the first Red Sox game I attended at Fenway Park back in the early 60s, a moth-eaten pennant from a game we went to at Comiskey Park, between the Yankees and White Sox– a game Whitey Ford pitched, and in which Mantle and Maris were playing; an old magazine or front pages from the time of JFK’s assassination, and the Soxs’ first World Series win since Babe Ruth played for them– along with an empty Wheaties box with a picture of David Ortiz, and a glossy team photo from 2004. There are mementos from my trip to Philmont Scout Ranch, small rocks and other souvenirs from various places I’ve been over the years, ticket stubs from sporting events and concerts, along with several volumes of journaling I’ve attempted along the way.
There might be a small treasure trove in the top drawer of my bureau, just bits and pieces of stuff tucked in corners, under the socks and t-shirts.
3 Cents' 