When Mickey Mantle passed away in August 1995, he left behind something most legends don’t: a genuinely complex personal life and an estate that would spend years being pulled in different directions by people who all claimed to have known him best.
There was no massive asset or disputed fortune concealed in offshore accounts at the center of the ensuing legal skirmishing. Golf shoes were the first. bathing suits. a brace for the neck. vials of prescription medications. And somewhere in the midst of it all was a collection of baseball cards that turned into a tangible representation of a dispute over who was the true owner of Mickey Mantle’s memory.
A sizable collection of Mantle’s personal possessions had been amassed by Greer Johnson, his longtime agent and, according to Mantle’s estate attorneys, his ex-girlfriend in the last years of his life. Two years after his passing, in November 1997, she intended to put them up for auction in Manhattan, with the proceeds going to charity. She had established a trust to oversee the money, designating the Baseball Assistance Team and the Make-a-Wish Foundation as the ultimate beneficiaries. She claimed that Mantle had given her these things over a period of almost ten years. She owned them.
The Mantle family had a different perspective. Speaking to reporters at the time, Roy True, the family’s attorney and co-executor of the estate, was frank. If he knew someone was attempting to sell his golf pants and robe at auction, “Mickey would stand up in his grave and do backflips,” he claimed. The estate contended that personal belongings amassed over years of a complex relationship did not automatically belong to the person holding them, and that possession did not equate to ownership.
The nature of the objects themselves was what gave the argument an odd feel. These were not the signed baseballs and autographed bats that usually serve as the focal point of a memorabilia sale. These items were remnants of a private life: penicillin pills, socks, and expired credit cards bearing his wife’s name. Reports at the time stated that there were actually four prescription vials in one auction lot. Robert Fink, the estate’s attorney, put it plainly: it was difficult to picture Mantle saying, “Take my sunglasses,” as he lay dying.
Johnson maintained that she had a legitimate claim to the items in her possession because she had spent years increasing Mantle’s market value. The estate also objected to that. True claimed she was overstating her contribution to Mantle’s signature becoming one of the most sought-after in sports and that she had handled a few autograph shows.
It’s important to pause here because disputes of this nature, such as who should be given credit for a legend’s commercial afterlife, are rarely amicable. There’s a feeling that both sides were likely incorrect on some points and correct on others. It was obvious that Johnson had known Mantle for a considerable amount of his life. It was obvious that the family had observed that relationship from a challenging distance. It was unlikely that either account of what happened was accurate.
Around the same time, Gregg Garfinkel, an insurance fraud examiner, was hired to assess a baseball card claim worth more than $400,000. This parallel story illustrates how complicated Mantle’s memorabilia world became. A 1955 Topps Mickey Mantle card was included in the claimant’s purported loss. As a lifelong collector, Garfinkel realized right away that there was no such card because Mantle had no contract with Topps in 1954 or 1955. After being denied, the claimant remained silent. Garfinkel subsequently observed that it was about as obvious an admission as you could get without making a confession.
Since then, the 1952 Topps Mickey Mantle card—the authentic, real one—has increased in value to a record $12.6 million. In 1985, one dealer, Alan Rosen, purchased 75 copies for a small portion of that amount, and he saw one of them go on to become the best known. For these things, the hobby has a long memory.
One noteworthy similarity between the fraud case and the estate dispute is that Mickey Mantle turned into a form of money after his passing. His name carried weight whether it was on a bat, a card, or a bathing suit. There will also be disputes over who is entitled to use a name wherever there is such a high value attached to it.
As far as the historical record is concerned, the auction went forward in some capacity. After that, no definitive court decision garnered significant media attention. which might be the most truthful conclusion of all—a negotiation that quietly lost steam rather than a clear verdict.
