By the way, I’ve never mentioned this before, but I know we have a lot of readers whose native language is not English and I do tend to use colloquialisms at times, so when I say “our friends at the Jazz Record Center,” it is not to imply that I as an individual, or the Jazz Collector site as a community, is, in actuality, friends with the Jazz Record Center. Truth is, I live six subway stops away and probably haven’t been inside the shop in a few years. Not that I am not a fan. I am. I’ve always had a lot of respect for Fred and regard him as the most credible dealer anywhere. And he’s always treated me well. When The Lovely Mrs. JC decided one year to get me an original Blue Note as a birthday present, he was very helpful and supportive and kind. It’s just that we’re not actually friends. Just to be clear. So that when I write about the Jazz Record Center, or Euclid Records, or Spike’s Record Rack and I use the term “our friends,” please take it as a sign of respect, not actual friendship.

Anyway, not sure why I went on that tangent, but it’s too late now. So let’s look at one more auction from our friends at the Jazz Record Center: George Wallington, The New York Scene, New Jazz 8207. This is an original deep-groove, purple label pressing that looks to be in M- condition for the record and probably VG++ for the cover. The pricing is in the $770 range, so this one could conceivably end up in the $1,000 bin. I think I’ve told my story about this record, but I’ll tell it again because I like it. On my lunch hours working on Long Island back in the day, I would often sneak out and go to a different record store each day. There were many to choose from. One of my favorite’s was Mr. Cheapo in Mineola, although he actually had two other locations in his prime. A quick search on Google tells me he still has two, which is pretty impressive to have lasted all this time. He actually started in Flushing before moving to the Island.

Anyway, I liked the Mr. Cheapo stores because for a long time they didn’t really know jazz and would price things, as their named suggested, on the cheapo side. And they were nice enough people. I even once went with the owner Stu on an excursion to buy a collection. I offered my advice, he offered me first crack at all the records. I think the price was $5 each, so I was very happy. In any case, over time they become more knowledgeable about jazz and, while you could often get a bargain, the prices for the really good stuff began to approach market realities, which, face it, if you are looking at prices in the 1980s or 1990s, we’d all love a time machine to go back in time and swoop up everything off the shelves.

In any case, Mr. Cheapo in Mineola had the jazz records in the back of the store, and they were neatly organized and arranged and it was easy to go through them. They also had a couple of bins on the floor of “junk” records that were available for 25 cents each. These were records that were in beat condition, or artists like Mantovani or Ray Coniff that no one would be interested in anyway. As a quick aside, who the hell ever bought Mantovani or Ray Coniff records anyway???????? There were times I would look in the 25-cent bins for the hell of it, but most times I would just go to the back of the store, look at the jazz records, go up to the counter to pay for my score, and be on my way. After awhile, the 25-cent bins just became scenery that I would pass

But on this one particular day, I did not want to go back to work, so I just lingered in the store for as long as I could, looking in the rock section, the folk section, even the country section. Then, as I was about to leave, I looked down, noticed the 25-cent bins and figured, what the hell, I may as well look. Well, you’ve probably figured out the punchline. Yes, George Wallington, The New York Scene, New Jazz 8207 was sitting there, in beautiful condition, record and the cover. For twenty-five cents. I went to the counter, put down a quarter, and got out of Mr. Cheapo as fast as I could with a huge Cheshire Cat grin on my face. I never did ask how that record ended up in the 25-cent bin on the floor, and I never brought it up again. But every time I see that record in my collection or online at eBay, that Cheshire Cat grin makes a sudden and happy reappearance.

I guess, in the end, I did have a story to tell, just didn’t realize it when I started writing.