From an article in The New York Times by Reyhan Harmanci:
It was a dream come true, straight out of “Antiques Roadshow.” In 2000 Rick Norsigian, a painter in a school maintenance department, bought a box of photo negatives at a garage sale in Fresno, Calif., for $45. Last month, a decade later, he stood in a Beverly Hills art gallery to announce that a team of experts had concluded “beyond a reasonable doubt” that Ansel Adams had taken the pictures.
The gallery’s owner, David W. Streets, appraised the value of the 65 images, which the experts called “the lost negatives,” at $200 million, and the incident made news around the world.
But a fairy-tale ending is eluding Mr. Norsigian. A day after the announcement, Matthew Adams, a grandson of the photographer, disputed the finding, questioned the credentials of the experts and went so far as to call the whole business a “scam.”
A few days after that, an Oakland woman, Marian Walton, announced that she had a photo (shown above) that was identical to one of the negatives. It had been taken, she said, not by Adams, the famous outdoors photographer, but by an uncle of hers, Earl Brooks.
Dun-dun-dunnnn. The intrigue continues at nytimes.com.
I know this kid is a little shit and probably a pain to be around, and if it was my boat or plane or organic vegan blueberry pie that he stole, I would want him locked up. I get that they have to make an example of him or a million idiots will set down their joysticks and try to steal one-a them planes. But c'mon, it's not like he smoked crack and stole our jeep – he's not a degenerate. He clearly enjoys the San Juan Islands. I like the kid and I'm glad he's from Washington state. Free Colton.
Anyway this morning he made the front page of the New York Times – article and slideshow here.
. I got home from work just past midnight on Tuesday and it was there. The next morning I walked out and it was gone. Later that afternoon some cracked-out jackasses ran out of gas in the middle of the freeway, and an officer of the law in the great state of Washington pulled over to help them. Upon doing so he discovered that in addition to being cracked out and jackasses, they were driving a car that did not belong to them on account of it belongs to us. These exceptionally dimwitted car thieves were scooped up and promptly deposited behind bars where they belong. Our beloved ride now awaits assessment by Geico. One of the windows is broken, the steering column is shot to hell, and everything of obvious monetary value is gone.
Luckily they did not think to take our Anchor Bar key buoy or our vintage Brooklyn Lager bottle opener, or the National Geographic road atlas that we bought when we first moved to New York and have relied on ever since, even if it did tell us there was a shortcut to Yellowstone which actually was more like a dirt trail straight up the side of a mountain and a moose was blocking the road anyway. And, oddly enough, they left our headlamps, which actually seem like they could be useful to a meth head, you know... for doing drugs, at night. Jackasses.
In 1980, an 8-year-old boy found three packages containing $5,880 in decaying $20 bills on the shore of the Columbia River – part of the $200,000 ransom D.B. Cooper was carrying when he parachuted from a plane he had hijacked en route from Portland to Seattle. Fifteen of the bills were auctioned off earlier this year by Heritage Auction Galleries.
Pacific Standard issue no.1 covers: top, Abby Brothers by Michael Donovan; bottom, Alexis Schuster by Charlie Schuck. Select image above for more information.
From an article in The New York Times by Reyhan Harmanci:
