I’d like to talk about economics – specifically, the economics of philately.

Before I begin, let me emphasize that what follows reflects my own impressions, drawn from informal observation, rather than data or formal study.

But first, a story.

The first stamp show I ever attended was with my grandfather, somewhere in a Manhattan armory. I don’t remember the date or much about what I saw, though it must have been in the early 1960s. I also recall hearing older philatelic friends reminisce about those grand Armory shows.

Of course, times have changed. We no longer see stamp shows in the heart of major cities – or even minor ones – let alone in major venues. Today, they’re usually held in modest, three-star hotels on the outskirts of town. And, while these locations serve their purpose, they’re not exactly inspiring. (If I’ve inadvertently offended anyone involved with such venues, please accept my preemptive apology – my experiences are limited and I am a foolish old man.)

For clarity, I’m not including the major international exhibitions, such as New York 2016 or the upcoming Boston 2026. Those belong to a different category entirely – and, in a way, their scale and expense underscore my point.

Now, let’s step away from philately for a moment and visit the Park Avenue Armory, at 643 Park Avenue between 66th and 67th Streets. From April 30 to May 3, that’s where you’ll find the New York International Antiquarian Book Fair.

It’s a magnificent event – the venue grand, the booths beautifully designed, the presentation impeccable. The crowd is diverse: men and women, young and old, all engaged and curious. In other words, exactly what we’d love to see at a stamp show. Admission is $30 a day, or $65 for a multi-day pass.

Now, imagine trying that with a stamp show. We hesitate to charge even $3 or $5 at the door – and when we do, there’s often pushback.

Over time, we’ve seen the slow but steady erosion of the traditional economics that once sustained our shows. Dealers, the backbone of funding, have aged out, and few new ones have taken their place. As a result, the pool of support has shrunk, forcing shows into smaller, less central venues and creating anxiety about how to replace that lost revenue.

Raising prices – whether for admission or exhibit frames – feels risky. Even organizers question whether the current model offers enough value. Many shows have declined in quality, making the value proposition even harder to justify.

Meanwhile, at that book fair, dealers are selling – and selling high. I once watched my wife admire an old volume; the dealer, noticing her interest, began describing its history. I glanced at the tag: $900,000. Elsewhere, tables overflowed with vintage pulp novels and detective stories, rarely priced below $100.

A $30 admission fee filters the audience – only those genuinely interested attend. I didn’t buy the million-dollar book, but I left inspired and began collecting books written in New York between the 1920s and 1940s.

The book world, of course, has its own challenges. The internet has revolutionized used book sales – perhaps even more profoundly than it has altered stamp collecting – through sites like eBay, Alibris and AbeBooks. Yet somehow, the top-tier book fairs continue to thrive.

There’s a lesson here for philately. The New York Antiquarian Book Fair is the major event of its kind in the United States. There are smaller ones in Boston and Los Angeles, but none dilute the prestige of the main fair. Compare that with our world: how many WSP shows do we have? Have we spread our efforts too thin?

I’m not suggesting we simply copy the model used by the book trade. But I do believe we need to look beyond the familiar – to question assumptions, experiment with structure and explore new models. Because, as things stand, our current approach isn’t working – and it’s unlikely to sustain us in the long term.

Wade Saadi, 1949-2025

As this issue was nearing press-ready status, we learned of the passing of Wade Saadi on Wednesday Oct. 9. An email containing a portion of the following poem by Maya Angelou, which we felt was fitting, was sent out, along with the notice of Wade’s death.

When Great Trees Fall

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.

Our souls,
dependent upon their nurture,
now shrink, wizened.

Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance, fall away.

We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance of
dark, cold
caves.

….

Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.

— Maya Angelou

Our thoughts are with Gail and their family as they face this difficult time. A full obituary for Wade will appear in the January-February, 2026 issue.

 

 

–Lawrence Haber