One fine day, I received a
call from an outlaw named Terwilliger,
inquiring if I might be interested in
rescuing some beer cans from eternal
damnation. Of course, I'm interested.
Is the Sun hot? Does Bob Jackson
drink beer? Do humans inhale
oxygen? Ok, point made, I think. So,
Tom gives me a phone number and
some information, and the ball (can) is
now in my court and time for me to
change into Rambo and
reconnaissance mode. I quickly called
this person, as beer cans teetered on
the precipice of darkness. I found out the name of the owner is Claire Nuernberg and these cans were her fathers.
I pause now, for a short history lesson.
(Claire s father was Les Nurenberg, BCCA # 1362, which
means by my research, he joined in 1973. Les collected back in the
early 1970's, was one of the founders of the North Star chapter and
quite a character I'm told. I do think that I met him way back, when
I was just a greenhorn and no more than knee high to a 16 ounce
can. Les also wrote and compiled a photographed book on
Minnesota beer cans, which at the time was a standard reference
for Minnesota cans.)
So, Claire and I talked over the phone and she was going to
throw these beer cans away but, had second thoughts as she
recalled Les had told her not to throw them away, as one of his last
requests. These cans had already been cherry picked by others
and the dust was left. I'm good with that. I told her I'd be happy to
come look at them but, I don't want to pay much. She says, no, you
are going to take them with you, they are free. Ok, I like that kind of
talk, saves time
on any negotiation
for price.
She says there is
about a truck
load, maybe a
1000 cans. Ok, I
will make the journey and take them off your hands. The following
Saturday, her address was plugged into Googlemaps and my son
Charles and I headed out. Location; just south of the Mall of
America in Eagan, MN. We arrive about 10 am and we are
invited up to her apartment for peanut butter cookies (that she
just made) and a Coke. Claire tells us stories about her Dad and
collecting back in the day. Charles and I take it all in.
I have said before, now and forever, that whatever money I may
make, out of this hobby, is meaningless to me. To listen to Claire
(and people like her) tell their memories and stories is worth far
more then anything I will ever receive, money or otherwise. We
listen, enjoy our cookies and pop, and after an hour or so, the
loading begins. I think of lyrics from a Neil Young song. All in a
dream, all in a dream, the loading had begun, flying a load of
beer cans in a pickup truck, to a new home in the sun Ok, that s
actually, my rendition of After the Gold Rush, probably go top 40
after this. It's a beautiful day in the life. We say our goodbyes and
start home.
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