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“The Encapsulated Roll”: a tale of strife
Last night I decided to go through some BU memorial rolls that I purchased a while back (wreck-less spending) and kind of set aside for a rainy day or, as it was, a cold dry night. These were old collector’s rolls, each of them stored in ancient acrylic, “pop top” type tubes. The labels faded and wearing gobs of a few decades’ worth of sticky clear tape residue, these coins had been sitting for a while.
First of the rolls was to be a 1960P. Judging from the ends, the coins appeared to be large date, but in the spirit of adventure, I thought I’d take a closer look. So I prepped:
Clean, roomy workspace……check
Adequate lighting……check
Magnification……check
Full printout of “Brad’s Master Checklist”…….check
22oz claw hammer……chec-k?
That’s right, I said it.
After a slight skirmish with the tape funk I made way to remove the cap. I tugged at it for a bit, but she didn’t budge.
It didn’t take long before I realized the cap to be less a “pop top”, but more so a “press fit.” So trial one ensued. I wiggled and jiggled, twisted, bumped, wrenched and wailed and finally, by working the cap on each side (in .002” increments) freed the coins from their plastic tomb.
Or so I thought. The cap was only the beginning of this sordid tale.
These coins and their holder had become as one. Encapsulated.
Again, an engagement in force that one would certainly not attribute to BU coinage began. I tapped them on the table. I rolled them between my hands like Tonto building a campfire; I slapped ‘em like a bottle of ketchup. These coins were not budging, not an inch. Not a thousandth of an inch.
So out came the Eastwing. A few good cracks and then a few more and, voila, coin one began to reveal its rim. I picked and picked at it and finally, my first prisoner had been released.
Glorious triumph?
No sir.
After coin one’s release, I thought for sure the rest would slide on out with a little help from my “little friend”, Mr. Eastwing.
This was NOT THE CASE.
Now, allow me to wrap up this twisted tale by describing to you how I had to “un-wrap” a hard plastic coin tube.
Just think “peeled potato”.
I basically had to peel that puppy off an eighth inch at a time with a pair of needle-nose pliers, a tiresome endeavor that took me nearly as long as it did for me to write this blurb about the whole vile event. I did manage to keep the majority of the tube in one “peeling”, if you will.
The last coin remains lodged in the bottom, as there is no sidewall left to grip on to. I guess I’ll keep it as a memento of the whole affair.
And, to top the whole thing off, not a small date in the bunch.
Last night I decided to go through some BU memorial rolls that I purchased a while back (wreck-less spending) and kind of set aside for a rainy day or, as it was, a cold dry night. These were old collector’s rolls, each of them stored in ancient acrylic, “pop top” type tubes. The labels faded and wearing gobs of a few decades’ worth of sticky clear tape residue, these coins had been sitting for a while.
First of the rolls was to be a 1960P. Judging from the ends, the coins appeared to be large date, but in the spirit of adventure, I thought I’d take a closer look. So I prepped:
Clean, roomy workspace……check
Adequate lighting……check
Magnification……check
Full printout of “Brad’s Master Checklist”…….check
22oz claw hammer……chec-k?
That’s right, I said it.
After a slight skirmish with the tape funk I made way to remove the cap. I tugged at it for a bit, but she didn’t budge.
It didn’t take long before I realized the cap to be less a “pop top”, but more so a “press fit.” So trial one ensued. I wiggled and jiggled, twisted, bumped, wrenched and wailed and finally, by working the cap on each side (in .002” increments) freed the coins from their plastic tomb.
Or so I thought. The cap was only the beginning of this sordid tale.
These coins and their holder had become as one. Encapsulated.
Again, an engagement in force that one would certainly not attribute to BU coinage began. I tapped them on the table. I rolled them between my hands like Tonto building a campfire; I slapped ‘em like a bottle of ketchup. These coins were not budging, not an inch. Not a thousandth of an inch.
So out came the Eastwing. A few good cracks and then a few more and, voila, coin one began to reveal its rim. I picked and picked at it and finally, my first prisoner had been released.
Glorious triumph?
No sir.
After coin one’s release, I thought for sure the rest would slide on out with a little help from my “little friend”, Mr. Eastwing.
This was NOT THE CASE.
Now, allow me to wrap up this twisted tale by describing to you how I had to “un-wrap” a hard plastic coin tube.
Just think “peeled potato”.
I basically had to peel that puppy off an eighth inch at a time with a pair of needle-nose pliers, a tiresome endeavor that took me nearly as long as it did for me to write this blurb about the whole vile event. I did manage to keep the majority of the tube in one “peeling”, if you will.
The last coin remains lodged in the bottom, as there is no sidewall left to grip on to. I guess I’ll keep it as a memento of the whole affair.
And, to top the whole thing off, not a small date in the bunch.
Thanks for the story 
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