Suicide Squeeze

NEW ORLEANS, 2002

“Welcome back to Antiques Road Show,” said the host. “This week, we’re in New Orleans, the Big Easy, and we have another amazing assortment of antiques and collectibles. Let’s continue now with Arlo Watts, curator of the San Diego Museum of Pop Culture. He’s looking at an item that combines baseball and Hollywood. Arlo.”

The camera switched to Arlo, a middle-aged man decked out in tweed, little half glasses. He stood next to a stout man with gray hair, midfifties. On the table between them was a large picture frame.

Arlo said, “We’re here with Teddy Folger, who’s driven from Pensacola to show us this piece of not only baseball memorabilia, but also an extraordinary piece of Hollywood history. Mr. Folger, tell us how you came to possess such a special item.”

“It all started when my father wanted me to meet Joe DiMaggio.” Folger told the tale succinctly, all facts, no embellishments. The story was already good. It needed no exaggeration. Folger finished the story, then said, “And if you want to see this wonderful treasure of American history, I’ll have it on display at my store, Pan-Galactic Comics & Collectibles on Davis Highway, in Pensacola, Florida.” Folger waved at the camera.

Arlo ignored the plug and dove into a lengthy and tedious story about the filming of The Seven Year Itch. Folger smiled, tried to appear patient and interested, but what he really wanted to hear-what everyone wanted to hear on this show-was all about how much the damn thing was worth. Get to the money, egghead!

Now Arlo was yakking on and on about Monroe’s marriage to DiMaggio. Folger knew all this already. He supposed the TV audience found it interesting. In the last forty years, Folger had read every word written on the subject. He’d even written a short book on Monroe, but twenty New York agents had turned it down, claiming the subject was exhausted.

Finally, Arlo asked the golden question. “Mr. Folger, do you have any idea what this item is worth?”

Folger had seen the show many times, knew what he was supposed to say. “Oh, I really have no idea. Its sentimental value is more important as far as I’m concerned.” A million dollars. Say it. It’s worth a million if it’s worth a penny. Say it, you nerd.

“First, let’s review what we have here,” Arlo said. “The presentation is very nice. You’ve taken a full-size Seven Year Itch film poster and framed it nicely in glass. The poster features Marilyn in her famous pose, the skirt flying up. On either side of Marilyn, you’ve encased the two artifacts. Individually, each artifact would probably bring a nice price, but the letter and the card are connected by a personal story. This all adds value.”

Get on with it, thought Folger. He felt sweat under his arms.

“The card,” Arlo continued, “is a wonderful example of an Apex brand Joe DiMaggio baseball card in mint condition. Signed by Joe DiMaggio, Marilyn Monroe, and film director Billy Wilder. These are the key players in one of Hollywood’s great stories. Really the quintessential American marriage between one of the nation’s great baseball athletes and perhaps the nation’s greatest movie star. It all comes together on this one baseball card.”

Folger nodded along with Arlo’s lecture, but in his mind, he was spending money.

Arlo said, “Then we have the letter. It goes without saying that Monroe got millions of fan letters, so the fact you received a return letter is in itself pretty amazing. But notice the date.” He pointed to the corner of the letter. “This letter was written less than a week before Monroe was tragically found dead in her home. I haven’t had a chance to check this yet, but it may very well be the last letter she ever sent. Certainly one of the last.”

Arlo scratched his chin. Folger held his breath.

Arlo said, “Unfortunately…”

Folger’s heart stopped.

“… it’s difficult to predict how much such an item would fetch at auction,” Arlo said. “It all depends how eager collectors would be to get their hands on such an item. Certainly the rarity and importance of the item would drive the price up a good bit, but one never can tell.”

Folger felt sick. His fake smile hurt so much, he was afraid his face was going to detach and fall on the floor. He cleared his throat. “Well… that’s interesting.”

“It is an irreplaceable item,” Arlo said. “For obvious reasons. For insurance purposes, I’d value the card and the letter together at close to a hundred thousand dollars. At auction, it would be anyone’s guess, but I’d certainly get this insured without delay.”

“Thanks,” Folger said. “I’ll look into some insurance right away.”