Several weeks ago, I was speaking with a friend who asked me to define organized philately. Given my service on the Collectors Club Board and, more recently, my role as a Board member and treasurer of the APS, I was a reasonable person to ask. I paused for a moment—it’s a deceptively difficult question—and finally offered that organized philately is the structured way in which stamp collecting and postal history are advanced through clubs, societies, and other formal institutions.

It’s the ecosystem that supports the hobby: bringing collectors together, sharing knowledge, setting standards, preserving history, and promoting the study and enjoyment of stamps. This aligns quite neatly with the purpose laid out in the opening paragraphs of our bylaws. The first paragraph gives our name; the next tells you why we exist. You can look it up. It’s on our website.

Perhaps you have a better definition, and that’s perfectly fine. But that’s not really the point.

The real question is why? Why do we need “organized philately” at all? Couldn’t we get by without it? A generation or two ago, no one would have even thought to ask this. So let me try to answer the underlying question: why do we need organized philately?

Implicit in the question is a belief that an individual collector can get along perfectly well without the larger structure. That we don’t need groups that take up time, space, and money—groups with cliques, self-congratulation, and all the rest. That I can do just fine in my stamp room with my catalogs and my albums. I can check what’s available on eBay or at the big auction houses. I can buy what I need, fill the gaps, and enjoy the satisfaction of doing it on my own. I don’t need the journals or the societies or the meetings.

And in the short term, that’s probably true. Our non-organized friend can do just fine—for now. But long-term, it’s a dead end.

We are not numismatists; there is no bullion value propping up the little pieces of paper we cherish. Stamps and postal history derive their value from knowledge—knowledge of usage, production, scarcity, context, and story. Without the backstory, these are simply bits of paper, intrinsically worthless. We all understand why the Inverted Jenny has its aura: the story of its printing, the chain of ownership, the lore surrounding that original sheet.

But the same principle applies to far more “ordinary” stamps: the distinction between dry and wet printings, the shift from flat plate to rotary press to offset, the subtle color variations born of wartime ink shortages, the way a cover posted in London in 1845 made its way to New York—on which ship, with which markings.

All of this—all of it—comes from organized philately. It was built, documented, debated, and preserved by those who came before us.

But why is the question even arising now? Because we are living through a generational shift. As the baby boomers age out, they are succeeded by people who want more of a quid pro quo. “What do I get for my support?” replaces the older model of membership for membership’s sake—where you supported an institution because the institution was worth supporting, even if the journal went straight into the recycling bin. Attitudes are changing. People want direct, tangible benefits. We may find the question uncomfortable, but it is being asked. And we shouldn’t be afraid to answer it.

So why should someone join—and remain a member of—the Collectors Club? Yes, we have a library you can borrow from by mail. Yes, we publish a fine journal. And yes, we host events throughout the year, in New York and at major shows. (We’ll be at Westpex in April—hint.) The Zoom programming is great, and I know you don’t come to New York all that often. Neither do 87% of the members of the Collectors Club.

But more importantly, by being part of the Club and its sister organizations, you help sustain the very value inherent in those little pieces of paper. You support the knowledge, the research, the community, and the continuity that keep philately alive.

And as for the direct, personal benefit? You gain a network. You join a group of people who share the same odd, wonderful language of philately. You become part of something that makes the hobby richer, deeper, and far more enjoyable.

Frankly, it’s a damn sight better than sitting alone in your stamp room. 

–Lawrence Haber