A Misadventure in Jazz Collecting, Part 2
If only I’d been prescient enough to record my calls with Debbie, then I’d be able to provide an accurate blow-by-blow account of the roller-coaster ride she took me on over the next six weeks, but, then again, reliving it in all of its sordid detail might have proven too much for my sanity. I had a pretty good sense of what was to come during our first phone call. I was feeling things out, not necessarily interested in buying the collection for myself, but genuinely interested in providing help and guidance. For all I knew she was a widow who desperately needed the money.
Turns out her hub, as she called him, was alive and relatively well, at least as far as I could tell, and, while I never did actually speak to him, there were several phone calls where I could hear him yelling in the background advice to the effect that I was trying to rip them off because I was telling her that the Japanese pressings of Blue Notes were not of the same value as original pressings, even though, as hub said, they were great records and should be worth a lot. But I am getting ahead of myself.