Who'll Buy My Memories?

Pittsburgh's Paul Mawhinney owns the world's largest record collection, valued at over $50 million. His health is failing, so he's trying to sell the entire shbang for the bargain bin price of only $3 million--and no one's buying; he's not received one legitimate offer in over five years. What gives?

Well, Mawhinney owned a record store, but had to close up shop earlier this year because no one was buying records anymore. Duh! I feel for the guy, but come on--vinyl is a niche market and has been for twenty-five years now. Vinyl will never sell to the masses anymore. Why doesn't Mawhinney just auction off his most valuable records, and then drastically lower the price on the rest of the collection? I mean, just getting read of the building/warehouse where they're stored would save hundreds of dollars a month on taxes, utilities, and whatnot. Mawhinney refuses to split his collection because, well...I'm not sure.

Maybe he's hoping to eventually bring in the type of haul that Nicholas Cage did when he auctioned off his entire comic book (and memorabilia) collection in 1992 for $5.2 million dollars. I don't think that will happen, though. I've read some accounts of people who have been to his store/archive, and they've stated that most of his records are shi...uh...junk (reminds me of what George Carlin had to say about "my stuff and your [shi...uh...junk]"). He houses very few (relative to the size of his collection) rare or valuable items. Very few people--even if they had that type of money to throw around at will--would pay that much money just to get a few items worth of stuff that are probably only worth less than a third of his asking price. I think Mawhinney just can't bear to break up his collection because it has become almost as much a part of his life as his own family. It's part and parcel of his identity. It's not only what he does; it's who he is.

Is this necessarily a bad thing? Is Mawhinney's archive merely a collection, or is it more than just a hobby? Is it an addiction? When does collecting cross the line? My wife would say my hobby (or hobbies, depending on whom you ask) has not only crossed the line into addiction, but it jumped over it, clearing it by a good five feet. She's got a point, of course; when your collection/hobby prevents you from building a new, larger house with a big backyard (and secret passageways) out in the country, then it's time...to build a bigger garage at your current residence, so you can have more place to put your stuff!

My wife's been very patient. I think she understands the nature of the collecting game (if not the complete and utter fervor of us OCDs): she collects hardback Nancy Drew novels. Her sister Ninny collects glass angel figurines. My brother Ben collects naval lint. British record producer, songwriter, & DJ Ian Levine owns a copy of every DC comic ever sold at retail, from 1935 to today. It took him forty years to complete his collection (found the last missing back issue in 2005). Paul McCleod houses the world's second largest collection of Elvis memorabilia at Graceland Too in Holly Springs (give you one guess who's got the largest). Forrest J. Ackerman was once the proud owner and exhibitor of the world's largest collection of horror & sci-fi memorbilia, though he's since had to sell most of his items as he topped ninety, his health failing, too. I guess George S. Kaufman was right.

And that's a bit sad, too. You spend a good portion of your life--and your money--collecting something of value to you--and you can't take it with you. Whenever Mawhinney dies, will his tombstone read, "Beloved Father, Husband, and Once Proud Owner of the World's Largest Record Collection"? Doubt it. Does that mean that Mawhinney's wasted his time, money, and his life in amassing his archive? Heaven forbid, no. When it comes down to it, he doesn't want the world (or whoever sees his tombstone at the cemetery) to remember him that way for all eternity because that would mean giving away part of his identity, just as much as selling part of his collection is like splitting his soul. When we meet someone for the first time, we don't immediately share with them our innermost dreams and desires; we rarely do that even with the people that are closest to us. We don't do that because we can't do that. We each have to retain a bit of ourselves for ourselves; we have to have a bit to call our own, and it doesn't matter if that bit is as small as a locket from your grandmother or as large as a warehouse full of vinyl. We collect to complete as much of ourselves as we can, prudence be damned. Some people just need more to complete than others.