The Bottle Cap Story

Do kids still collect stuff these days?

When I was little kids squirreled away all sorts of odds and ends like baseball cards, stamps, Matchbox cars, rocks, and marbles. But I wonder what valuable commodities today’s kids might be amassing for trade and amusement: Happy Meal toys? Action figures? Apps for their smart phones?  Sadly, either I’m really out of touch or times have really changed - probably a little of both- because I really don't know the answer.

But if the question had been asked of me- and I was still a kid- I'd have trotted out my own bedazzling collection of bottle caps.

Yes, bottle caps. Not the twist off things that come on today’s plastic soda bottles. I'm talking about the little metal crowns at the top of a glass beverage bottle. The kind you needed a bottle opener to slip over and pop off.

I wonder how often that little utensil gets used anymore, too. If at all.

Anyway, bottle caps- real bottle caps- with cork inside and the brand logo on the top were for me, at nine years old anyway, the 'it' items to amass and stockpile.

As a hobby, collecting bottle caps came pretty cheap. Twenty five cents for sodas I bought at the 7-11 or out of a vending machine; nothing if the cap came off a pop bottle Mom and Dad paid for. But the challenge was finding as many different caps to add to my accumulation.

The rest of my collection was gathered in public parks, along busy roadsides and wandering through vacant lots. These places were like magnets for discarded bottle caps. Garbage cans were a good place to look, too, if you didn't mind getting your hands dirty.

My little sister even helped. When playing or walking in an area where a bevy of cast-off bottle tops might be lying in wait- like a park or open field- if Sue spotted one on the little treasures on the ground, she'd pick it up and ask "Do you have this one?" She uncovered several pearls for me, including the cap from an “Upper 10”, a 7-up like drink that I’d been trying for months to get my hands on.

It was easy getting the biggies, like Coke, 7-Up, Pepsi, Dr. Pepper; they were a dime a dozen. I had all the root beers, too- Dad's, Frostie, Mug and Hires. After that came a cornucopia of caps from other brand name sodas like Bubble Up, Diet Rite Cola, Orange Crush, Grape Crush, Fresca, all the Nehi flavors, Tab, Squirt, Royal Crown Cola, Canada Dry Ginger Ale and White Rock Creme Soda.

But what made the compilation special and worthy was finding rare gems- like the Upper 10- or Schweppes's Bitter Lemon, Vernor's Ginger Ale or Sun Crest Imitation Grape Soda cap. I picked that one up in Land Park, though I'm not sure Sun Crest was even sold anywhere near California. But now I had one of their bottle caps, and it enhanced my standing as a true bottle cap connoisseur. It was like coming across a clearie marble.

However, what made my assortment superior were all the bottle caps that’d come from beer bottles. These were the cream of the crop because, in our house, they were much harder- if not impossible- to come by. Mom and Dad didn't drink beer or associate with anybody who did, at least as far as I knew. So it was really a labor of love (or luck) to scrounge up cap off of bottle of Budweiser.

But somehow I did. I also had bottle caps from such fine brews as Olympia, Hamms, Coors, Lucky Lager, Pabst Blue Ribbon, Miller, Falstaff, Burgermeister, Schlitz, Busch Bavarian and Carling Black Label. Though these lagers and pilsners were all fairly common and regionally distributed, I had to work really hard to acquire their lids. I wasn't hanging around bars at that age, and bottles from these brands of refreshment would not be found in any of our trash cans. So these were always good scores.

But in addition to picking off the widespread beer brands circulating in the West, I was also able to harvest a few bottle cap nuggets from East Coast brews. These caps came courtesy of friends with relatives on that side of the country. Sometimes I secured them out of generosity, other times it was a business transaction.

When Buzzy Whitnall took a trip to see an aunt and uncle in Philadelphia, he returned with a Schaffer and a Blatz. Buzzy was a pal. He didn’t ask for anything in return. But obtaining a Ballentine, and a cap off a beer made at Iroquois Brewery in Buffalo cost me a nickel each. Richard Arthur brought them back for me after a family reunion in New York. But he wouldn’t hand them over till I paid him. Richard was a little more mercenary than Buzzy and some of my other friends.

The complete bottle cap collection was stored in a Dutch Masters Cigar box. I got the carton from my friend Glenn Vogel, although I have no idea where he got it because his old man didn’t smoke cigars. And Lord knows cigars weren't allowed in our house either. Nevertheless, I was happy to have it because the cigar box held all my caps with room to spare. Plus it featured a nice easy flip top to open and examine them. Or show them off…

…which I did one summer evening when Reverend Nelson and his wife were over at our house for dinner. We hadn't been attending his church all that long, and I assume the schmoozing was for the good Reverend to become better acquainted with our family, and he with us.  

When dinner was finished, and before I’d been excused, Reverend Nelson asked if I had any hobbies. Up until then, I'm not sure any church official had ever asked me anything of such a non-Biblical nature. This was cool and I though a moment before answering, wanting to impress the man with a worthy response. "Sure. Wait here”.

Desert hadn’t been served yet- so I knew he wasn’t going anyplace- but made a beeline for my bedroom anyway, just in case he didn't want any of Mom's brownies. "Hey, hey, hey, no running in the house" Dad commanded at my back and, like a dog I pulled up short on a leash, I immediately slowed to a brisk walk down the hall.

In my room, from under the bed I pulled out the bottle caps box and hurried back to the kitchen, although at much more controlled pace. Then I proudly handed it over, opening the  box up so Reverend Nelson could inspect my cache. "Go ahead. Take some out and look at 'em if you want." Like sifting through somebody's lost fortune, his fingers caressed several bottle caps before choosing a pair. He pulled them out and studiously appraised them, as if they were pieces of silver. "Very nice. It looks like you've got quite a collection going. Where did you find them all?"

I though he was genuinely curious, though I'm sure he was just being polite. Didn't matter because when Mom was done slicing up the brownies and finally noticed what I'd brought to the kitchen table, she became immediately mortified. There, in front of God and everybody, her little boy was showing the pastor of our church, a bunch of bottle caps. Filthy, disgusting bottle caps, gathered from who-knows-where. And not just Coke or 7-Up bottle caps; but a whole mess of BEER bottle caps, too. And all displayed in a Dutch Masters cigar box.

Oh, the humanity.

Practically shrieking my name, like she'd discovered a dead body in a closet, Mom issued a command. "Put that box away! Reverend Nelson doesn't want to see your dirty old bottle caps. Take them out of here and back to your room. Now."

I’m sure Mom was probably worried what the Rev might think. She worried what everybody thought. But if Reverend Nelson got the idea that either Dad, or she, (or both) had been the consumers of all the beer that produced all those-bottle tops, Mom would be unable to ever show her face- or her families faces- in his church.  But if he thought they were the hosts of many a wild party- and cigar smokers to boot- he’d think our house was the source of everything evil in the Sacramento suburbs and we’d have to leave town.

I’m sure that was running though Mom’s mind. But not Reverend Nelson’s

My parents? Wild partiers? Puh-leese. The idea couldn't have been any farther from the truth than Sacramento is from Shanghai; a theory grounded in as much reality as the Roller Derby. Besides, as as a man of cloth, the Reverend probably didn't dabble in petty snap-judgements- particularly new parishioners. Instead, he was kind and gracious. He chuckled at Mom's over-reaction and told me I had an “A plus” bottle cap collection and to keep it up.

I still wanted to cry, though, because I'd just been bawled out in front of company. So I took my little box of treasures and slinked back to my room. I didn't even get a stinkin' brownie, and didn't make another appearance till told to, and that was only for the sake of ‘being polite’ and say good night. The next day, Mom asked for the cigar box. "Your collecting days are over. Give me the box."

And after sending me out to play, she deposited it in the garbage can. But I got even. Unknown to her, I reclaimed the box and most of the contents, and added to it until I traded them all to Teddy Shea for his entire baseball card collection. It was a pretty shrewd deal, too, because 15 years I was short rent money and sold the cards for a hundred bucks to stay current with the landlord. See Mom? And you wanted me to throw all that stuff away.

Pretty sharp kid after all, right?