When you get inside the stamp shop, walk past the empty second-hand albums. Ignore the antique envelopes and full coin sets in the glass case, and the stamp binders on the shelves. It's the 10-cent bin, full of tiny postage masterpieces, that's worth checking out. There, you'll find pop-art Ozzy stamps, faded images of Cuban farmers, a Polish Sputnik, a kitschy Mexican cowboy, and a mosquito from Somalia warning you of malaria.
Look into the bin first. Then start talking to the Clearwater shop's owner, Carl Kish.
Kish likes to keep some things to himself. He won't tell you how old he is – "I don't give my age, but to give you an idea, I used to pal around with Caesar and Cleopatra" – and he won't tell you the value of his most expensive stamp, the one locked away in a safe deposit box along with the rest of his collection. But he will tell you he opened Court Street Stamp and Coin Shop 25 years ago, just two years after graduating from Clearwater High.
The store, a free-standing shoebox-shaped building just east of downtown, is a labyrinth of file cabinets, crates and Tupperware, separated down the middle by a wooden show table. Every surface is covered, every container stuffed full. As Kish looks over a batch of Canadian coins with a magnifying glass, I ask him if he knows where everything is.
"I do until I go looking for it," he says, and waits for the laugh.
Kish hasn't taken a vacation in 20 years and he's never hired an employee; the store is his world. His sole companion in the business is Bob Roose, an air-traffic controller and board member of the Clearwater Stamp Club. For the last five years, Roose has come in during his off days to sort envelopes, look through pricing catalogues and toss zingers back and forth with Kish.
Since the two philatelists started collecting as kids, they've seen interest in the stamp industry diminish. Even with the recent news of John Lennon's stamp collection providing some celebrity cred, the hobby is in the midst of a serious slump. With the onslaught of video games and computers, fewer and fewer children are coming into the shop. Places like Court Street, Roose says, are a dying breed.
"Most dealers have become what they call back-room dealers," he says. "They just work out of their house."
The Internet, as it does with most things it touches, has revolutionized the stamp game. Though most of the industry is online, Kish refuses to trade his store for a modem. "I wouldn't call it a business," he says of the web trade. "The majority of the people don't know what they're buying and the people that do are looking to spend nothing." According to Kish, his prices stay in the middle, close to where the Scott Catalogue – the stamp collector's bible – has valued them. But online, the business is all about the extremes.
"I don't do anything with computers. Nothing," Kish says. "We're backwoods where I am."
But part of being backwoods, at least for Carl Kish, is getting to know the stamps. It's hard for him to describe where his passion for the tiny squares comes from. "It's like somebody with a cigarette," is all he can say. But as he flips through a binder of British stamps – his personal favorite – understanding his passion becomes easier.
There's a history in stamps; they mark political and philosophical transitions. A huge amount of detail is packed with engrossing precision into a tiny space. For collectors, creases and blemishes can ruin a stamp's value. But to the average eye – or to Carl Kish – a little wear and tear only adds to the mystique.
"Some of them," he says, looking at a 1939 British set, "they're not pretty. But they just do something for me."
Kish is a rarity in the business: both collector and dealer. The two roles tend to feed each other. If Kish finds something he really likes – a stamp that will complete a set, for example – he'll hold onto it. And if he's strapped for cash, he dips into his private stash.
"It depends on how badly I need money," he says. "And lately, it's been needed."
Kish's business was at its height just after he opened the store in the early '80s. Though he jokes that stamps are starting to be "boresville," Kish says he won't close his shop for another 10 years, or "until I drive everyone crazy."
"You can say tomorrow then," Roose interjects, laughing before he can even finish the sentence. Kish rolls his eyes and continues talking.
Over the next decade, the stamp industry will no doubt continue its slide to the Web. Kish's already slow walk-in business will probably get slower.
But Court Street Stamp and Coin will still sell postcards from Bediji, Minnesota, envelopes from 1939 addressed to women named Irma, and mint condition 1840 "Penny Blacks" – the first stamp ever made.
Kish sells those for $255 apiece. So stick to the 10-cent bin.
You're bound to find a gem.
This article appears in Jul 6-12, 2005.