“Living in the Past” is (or should I say was) a 1969 song by Jethro Tull. I was in my final year of high school, 50 years ago. Although they were a British group, their lyrics perhaps reflect the war in Vietnam?

Happy and I’m smiling
Walk a mile to drink your water
You know I’d love to love you
And above you there’s no other

We’ll go walking out
While others shout of war’s disaster
Oh, we won’t give in
Let’s go living in the past

Once I used to join in
Every boy and girl was my friend
Now there’s revolution, but they don’t know
What they’re fighting

Let us close our eyes
Outside their lives go on much faster
Oh, we won’t give in
We’ll keep living in the past

Oh, we won’t give in
Let’s go living in the past

Oh no, no we won’t give in
Let’s go living in the past

With all the recent genealogy work I’ve been doing, I feel like I’m “living in the past,” trying to piece together the story of my adoption. There are all these strangers, mostly dead now, that shaped my life, and I seem consumed in finding out more about them. As a result, I spend a lot of time reading obituaries and consulting Find-A-Grave. It feels a bit morbid to live in this ancestral world.

My other pastime is collecting sports memorabilia, that on the surface seems more uplifting. However, yesterday I realized that there are many similarities. In sorting out the authenticity of certain items and determining their value, I found myself once again utilizing the same resources of obituaries and graveyard data. It’s another odd way that I “live in the past.”

It must have all started in Game 4 of the 1959 World Series when #10 John Sherman Lollar came to bat for the Chicago White Sox. I had just turned 8 years old and honestly remember watching the game at home on our black and white television, maybe one of the first baseball games I ever saw. An unbelievable crowd of 92,650 sat in the stands. The game was held in the expansive Los Angeles Coliseum with a make-shift home run wall. The Dodgers, who had moved the year before from Brooklyn, were leading the series two games to one and had a four run lead in the seventh inning.

Wow! Sherm Lollar hit a three-run blast to tie the game, and in the process won my heart forever. The White Sox went on to lose the series, but Sherm’s #10 became my lucky number. His game-worn 1955 jersey is part of my collection and I installed a mirror so you can see the #10 on the back. I also wore #10 throughout my little league and softball years, but probably never did it justice.

For his defensive efforts alone as a catcher Sherman Lollar should be in the Hall of Fame. I’ve written several letters on his behalf and contacted his son, Kevin, about a potential campaign. I continue to write about his remarkable career on this blog (See Post #5). You can imagine my surprise when I was contacted the other day by a gentleman who had some of his memorabilia for sale. Personally, I was thrilled that he had come across my name associated with this childhood hero and actually read some of my articles in this blog. He immediately struck an ego chord – the first step to making a big sale.

His list of Sherm-related items included:

  • White Sox hat with “10” written on the underside brim
  • 20 baseball cards, none of which are signed
  • Post card from Sherm Lollar’s Lanes (his retirement project)
  • 1968 Oakland A’s official scorecard from the Yankees game signed by Sherm Lollar and Joe Keough
  • Oakland A’s, Tim Mcauliffe brand lime green hat,
  • Very early (1940’s) Baltimore Orioles jacket
  • Two ticket stubs from the May 8, 1968 Oakland A’s game where Catfish Hunter threw his perfect game.  One of the stubs is signed “Jim Hunter”
  • Oakland – Alameda County Coliseum parking concessionaire stub

After yesterday’s follow-up conversation, it was revealed that he was not necessarily a baseball fan, but had purchased a storage locker full of items from Jerry Bo Lollar, Sherm’s nephew. He turns out to be the son of Sherm’s brother, Major Jerry Lollar, who was the stand-in recipient for his 1973 induction into the Chicago White Sox Hall of Fame. Included was a newspaper article and photos related to this honor. Sherm died in 1977 at age 53.

This is where yesterday’s step back into the past started. I was curious about this relationship, especially since these items should have probably been kept in the family. It’s where genealogy and baseball card collecting crossed paths, as I Googled obituaries, checked Facebook pages, and checked into graveyard data. Obviously, the seller had done the same thing, carefully researching his options on profiting from these items.

I’m not a collector willing to spend big bucks on mementos from the past. It’s why I focus on Sherm Lollar rather than Mickey Mantle and other Hall of Fame members that command big investments. I did, however, feel strongly that these items had a great story and should probably be kept together, so I made an affordable-for-me offer. Similarly, the A’s and Oriole’s stuff was not important to me, but were part of Sherm Lollar’s history as a coach. By the way, prior to this step, I did consult with about a dozen of my close collector friends to determine value. They may not have known what they were talking about?

These collectors all felt that the Orioles jacket had the most value, followed by the signed ticket stub. Like me, they reasoned that the Sherm association would not generate much auction interest. It seemed more likely to all of us that the jacket was probably from 1964-67 rather than the early 40’s. There was no manufacturer’s tag or means of identifying it as belonging to Sherm, other than it was in his nephew’s storage facility. None of us caught the “gold mine” the ticket stub might be.

The seller sent me an e-mail last night that nearly knocked me off my chair. I was at a fundraiser with my wife. There have been two previous purchases of similar “Perfect Game” ticket stubs. One sold for $4500 and the other for $1000. Neither was signed like the one currently in his possession. Unlike the others, there is a hole punch that might discourage some buyers. I was embarrassed at what I offered him, thinking that he probably was now leery of my honesty and that I might have been trying to take advantage of him. All of my friends are absolutely amazed at the price this might command, once he spends the money necessary to validate it’s authenticity. However, he might also find that it’s a fake. I can’t imagine that Jerry Bo Lollar went to that kind of trouble, although “Catfish” autographs typically include his nickname. This one just says, “Jim Hunter.”

Sherm Lollar was Jim Catfish Hunter’s pitching coach and undoubtedly advised him on strategy for that “Perfect Performance.” There are only 21 in modern era baseball history starting with Cy Young. I happen to have a ball in my collection signed by Mark Buehrle of the White Sox from his 2009 gem. It’s interesting that the great Ted Williams claimed that the White Sox would never have made it to that 1959 World Series of my childhood without Sherm Lollar, who was known to be an outstanding “diamond general” behind the plate. He guided that pitching staff to the lowest ERA in the majors. He also caught a no-hitter for Bob Keegan and a complete game for Bob Feller. If there was a hit, he had a cannon for an arm.

I’m excited for the seller of this storage locker bonanza. He makes a living as a “picker,” and perhaps has found a diamond in the rough. My friends all thought that I hit the mother lode as a Sherm Lollar fan when I got that initial phone call and photos regarding this find. I feel like I’m part of it, even if everything ends up out of my price range. It was fun to share this story with my collector friends because we’re all treasure hunters in some sense. I may never find a “pot of gold” like my new “picker pen pal,” but I did learn a few more things about Sherm Lollar and his family. It’s another great story that proves that one man’s (nephew’s) junk can be another man’s treasure.