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1. We learn from our hush-hush source, Deep Worfin (alias Mr. Canada), that one of America’s
foremost auction houses has a novel payment schedule for its consignors. While other auctioneers
reimburse con signors punctually on the named date (usually 45 days after the sale) one inventive
firm tarries until it has received all proceeds from the sale before mailing a check. That is, if
the successful bidder fails to pay his invoice on time the firm in question holds up payment to
the consignor on those lots unpaid-for until said bidder remits. Often this entails a wait. A
long wait. One that could—note, that’s could--stretch out to 6 months. Cheeky. The competing
auction houses, by the way, according to our source, pay on time, even if they themselves haven’t
gotten paid. Yes, even if they are stiffed by the buyer. It is rare, but once in a paper moon an
auction house will have to "eat" a sale. This means it will have to resell the item(s) in a
future sale, without commission, and take whatever the proceeds realize. This can entail a small
loss. Service to the customer. Stiff upper lip. Keep this in mind: Whenever any of Bigbootie’s
readers gets set to auction his or her cherished Proof-70 NGC 1971-S toned Ike Dollar, for
instance, and wants assurance he will be paid pronto, be sure to ask the auction house’s policy.
It may save grief come the day of reckoning.2. And speaking of reckoning: To that ambulance chaser who prosecuted the case for the
Trompeter sisters, our condolences. Yes, you got your clients a guilty verdict. Yes, they
regained possession of their coins. Yes, the numismatic community (read: greedy son-of-a-bitch
dealers) awaits with sweaty palms their looming sale. And YES, you did earn a big fat hairy fee.
But did it ever occur to you, Mr. Barrister, that in the four years since the sale of these
golden oldies was postponed, the siblings have lost between $2 and $3 million? That is how far
the coin market has sunk since 1992. That is the proximate decline in value of their inheritance.
That is the difference they would have netted had you not come along and poked your briefs into
their affairs. You mucked things up good. Congratulations. You got paid. Maybe out of the
kindness of your heart you’ll see the honor in refunding to the two dear little ladies half your
reward. The gesture would seem only fair, seeing as how they’re out millions. Millions—not
counting the lost interest on that money, money that is currently tied up in coins “awaiting a
better market” (whenever that day comes). Heavens, they could be 100% in mutual funds by now.3. Speaking of which, it has come to our attention that a large percentage of mutual fund
buyers buy the funds because they “don’t trust stocks.” That’s correct. They wouldn’t buy stocks
on a bet. But mutual funds. They’re okay. Their broker told them so. Ask around. See if we aren’t
speaking the truth. Many, if not most, who own mutual funds will be surprised when you tell them
what it is they really own. One would almost say that all the extravagances which lunacy could
devise are running wild in America today. This mutual fund business is a sure sign. Don’t these
people realize that they aren’t “worth” $6.5 trillion (the value of the Wilshire 5000, the total
of all stocks on the stock market)? Don’t they get it? Just as the MS65 Silver Dollar buyers of
1986-7 have seen their touted investments evaporate from $750+ to today’s level of $90 to $100,
so too the mutual fund owners are holding an empty cardboard box. They’ve thrown their money into
it—the box—mutual funds—stocks—and continue to do so; but when the day comes for them to “realize
their gains” as the quaint phrase goes, they’ll find, like their Silver Dollar-brethren, that
they’ve come up empty.4. Which leads directly to another gripe: the recent spate of loud, chest-pounding adverts in
Coin World by one of the greatest coin sorcerers of the age. In this man’s ads he proclaims that
now is the time to buy. Coins have fallen anywhere from 50% to 85% since the 1986-89 highs. To
show this he lists current prices, yesterday’s prices, and the percentage decline. And all in a
nice, easy to read, chart form. Question: Does anybody care to remember that the same
chest-pounding went on throughout the decline. The same goods being peddled; the same rejoinder
by the same seller, that now is the time to buy since prices are so godawful stinkin’ wonderful
cheap? And yet, the man prospers. That he does so is evident by his ads reappearing week after
week. Had he not been selling to the boobs he’d have pulled them. For why waste $1300 per week
for a full page if the trout ain’t nibblin’?5. Yes, approximately $1300 per week for a full page in Coin World (after 20% net discount
for prepayment or contract rates). The actual number is $1335. We seem to recall that not that
many months ago Coin World was 33% bigger than it is today. Fatter. Juicier. Tastier. Higher in
calories. More square-inchage (if we may be so daring as to invent a new term). The price has
been left the same but the inchage reduced. Isn’t that what’s known in business parlance as a
price increase? Less ad space for the money? Sounds like it to us. And yet few if any complaints
were heard about this furtive deal. Instead were written glowing letters to the editor commending
the “new look” and friendlier format, easier to hold, easy to read. A new look? Yes. Less is
more? Well, perhaps. War is peace? 1984 anyone.6. We are 12 years beyond 1984, the year in which George Orwell set his spine-tingling novel.
In those 12 short years the world’s largest evil empire has come apart at the seams like a cheap
Hong Kong suit. The biggest stock market in the world (Japan’s, not ours) boomed and blew up with
a loud report. And in those years the coin market saw the pinnacle of its second largest mania
ever, second only to the 1979-80 buying frenzy. One would think that coin collectors and dealers
would be a happier lot by now. Haven’t we solved the grading dilemma? Haven’t slabs “liquefied”
the market with their standardization? However, in truth we are closer to what George Orwell
foretold in his novel 1984 than we were then. The bureaucracies of Amerika that plague us one and
all, from sea to shining sea, are sinking their fangs ever deeper into our necks. Federal, state,
local and all those countless, nameless, faceless agencies. Cash reporting came in during the
1980s. So did collecting of sale’s tax on the bourse floors. And reporting requirements:
8300-forms, 1099s, and a whole slew of others that give dealers the creeps. And now income tax
filing for the various states. Worse than any of these, though, we cannot smoke inside our own
bourse room. Auntie says it isn’t healthy.Folks, Big Brother isn’t just watching. He’s our partner now. Government has, in the years we
haven’t been looking too closely, turned into a giant protection racket. And if you don’t pay you
get your legs broke or your nose bashed in. Certainly they’ll come after your assets. Just ask
the owners of Silver Towne how it feels to be deasseted and face a prison sentence for selling
coins for cash. Cash itself has turned into a thing of evil. Get caught with a bundle and our
Protectors automatically assume you got it illegally, forgetting the fact that these same
Protectors, through their laws, have outlawed just about everything imaginable humanity does to
earn its daily bread. Is it any wonder the Long Beach show has been gasping for liquidity?
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