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Photo by Jeff Thompson.
Greystone museum Apollo 13
Greystone resident Steve Dichiara with a dehydrated piece of cinnamon bread that flew on NASA’s Apollo 13 mission. Dichiara said it’s one of his favorite pieces in his collection of more than 160 historical artifacts.
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Greystone Museum autograph
The first item in Dichiara’s collection is the photo in back, signed by an astronaut. In front is a moon rock.
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Greystone museum Gettysburg
This portion of a fence post from the Gettysburg Battlefield in Pennsylvania was scarred by two bullets during the Civil War.
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Greystone museum Egypt
Part of Dichiara’s collection includes artifacts from thousands of years ago, including this Egyptian statue.
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Greystone museum Confederate swords
Swords forged for Confederate soldiers during the Civil War.
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Greystone museum Cosmonaut
A glove used in space by a Russian cosmonaut. Dichiara said the mark on the palm is a steel wire that protects against pressure changes.
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Greystone museum pistols
Pistols created during the U.S. Civil War.
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Greystone museum shuttle tile
Greystone collector Steve Dichiara’s tile from an orbiter’s exterior survived reentry into earth’s atmosphere.
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Greystone museum Apollo 13 food
A piece of cinnamon bread that traveled with astronauts on the Apollo 13 mission.
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Greystone museum rifles
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Greystone museum swords
Anna Marie Dichiara was making her way to the exit when her husband caught up. The couple was in a flea market out of state, and the particular piece of Old South paraphernalia draped across his arm made her pick up her pace.
“We’re in Tennessee, and you bought a rebel flag? Really, Steve?” she asked him.
“Do you know what this is?” Steve replied.
“Yeah. It’s junk,” she said.
Steve Dichiara is a firefighter by trade, but at home he is a self-defined collector. However, it’s what he collects that alters the definition. His hobby of finding rare pieces from the past has also made him a historian.
Inside the couple’s home in Greystone, Steve has built a stunning scene. The glass cases around his basement room are teeming with items of significance — from Viking bracelets to pieces of the space shuttle — but it’s unlike any museum you’ve ever toured.
No velvet ropes. No “Don’t smudge the glass” signs. No ticket prices. In fact, it’s completely the opposite.
“All right, the first rule of coming down here is that nothing’s off limits,” he said. “Touch anything you want.”
Down there, people who are privileged to see the collection don’t just simply marvel at the past. They become a part of it. Steve’s affection for the items in his cases pours out onto those who see them, and his only hope is that they move you as they have him.
And sometimes that means moving them.
He flips open one of his gun cases to reveal four pristine revolvers dated during the Civil War, three made by Colt and one by Remington. He goes on to say that the Union Army only ordered two of the models in the case, the .44 and .36 caliber. Then, he hands one over nonchalantly.
“Feel how heavy that is?” he said. “Imagine carrying that around on your hip for months.”
Imagine. It’s the key word for the collection, and it’s practically impossible to avoid in Steve’s basement. Hold the Spanish rapier from 1540 and try not to picture yourself as a conquistador. Pull the hammer back on the M-1 carbine from 1943 and try not to put yourself in your grandfather’s shoes. Slip your fingers into the glove worn by a cosmonaut, a Russian astronaut, and the emptiness of space settles in around you.
“It’s all about how it makes you feel,” Steve said. “Everything down here has a story, but it’s about making your own story when you see it. It’s about creating a memory for someone else.”
Steve’s personal fascination with the past began in a moment. At 9 years old, he vividly remembers watching news coverage of Apollo 13, and celebrated with the country as catastrophe evolved into triumph. He decided he would write one of those brave astronauts and ask for a moon rock.
He didn’t get one. Well he did, but he bought it much later. That astronaut did send an autographed photo though, and much like a writer starts a story in the top left corner of the page, that photo sits in a similar place in his collection.
Move left from there, and you’ll find one of his favorite pieces — another item that tells Steve’s personal story. He owns eight items that have flown beyond earth’s atmosphere, but only one that went up on Apollo 13. It’s a piece of dried food, framed and labeled, and it came from an astronaut’s personal collection.
The rest of his NASA case includes checklists from both rocket missions and shuttle flights, and even a flown protective tile from an orbiter’s exterior. Surprisingly, it has almost no weight but somehow seems as dense as concrete.
Next are Steve’s ancient artifacts. He said he’s never been to Egypt, but he’s amassed a great love for the culture. Those pieces adorn the top shelf. Medieval artifacts, including an iron dagger and ax head, follow them.
Across the room are Steve’s Civil War and World War II cabinets. The latter is filled with items from multiple fronts. There are Japanese Rising Suns next to a U.S. one-dollar bill stamped with the word “Hawaii.” Steve said the Japanese counterfeited American money during the war, and America’s solution was ink branding.
The highlight of his Civil War case is a portion of a wooden post from the Gettysburg battlefield. In the post are two bullets.
“Somebody was hiding behind this and ‘thump, thump,’” he said emphatically. “It saves his life.”
On the wall between the cabinets are two more items Steve searched for — swords. He has a rack on the other side of the room where he keeps his 1860s swords from the Union army, but his Confederate, Mobile-made officer’s sword is framed.
Collectors, Steve said, prize items from the Confederacy far more than those from the Union. During the Civil War, the government issued items to its soldiers, while much of the Confederate armory was scrounged together. Pieces like his hand-forged Confederate belt buckles and the officer’s sword, created by an Alabama silversmith, are extremely rare.
He gave another example. At a Civil War show in Tennessee, Steve and Anna Marie were discussing Confederate uniforms. While full suits from the Union army run about $2,000, Confederate suits can cost considerably more.
“You should get one,” Anna Marie said, knowing Steve’s desire but not what it would take to fulfill it.
“All I want is a hat,” he replied. “One of those and I’d be happy.”
So, Steve eyed a Confederate cap at a trader’s table and instructed his wife to scope it out.
“Make sure you ask him before you pick it up,” he told her.
So, while he stayed out of sight, Anna Marie looked at the price tag.
“She comes back, and her eyes are this big,” Steve said, shaping his hands into claws that could fit grapefruits. “I said, ‘$20,000, right?’”
“Yeah. We don’t need that hat,” Anna Marie said.
But for Steve, part of the fun of collecting is the hunt, and what he ultimately sees for his collection is a museum where not only does every item have historical significance but also a specific story. Getting those rare pieces, like his flown Apollo 13 food, requires constant searching and refining the lot through trading up with other collectors.
The end result, however, could be a collection that stuns as effectively as it speaks.
“It’s not the monetary value, it’s the stories,” Steve said. “It’s the history behind the things you see in here that make them so valuable to me.
“When you talk about WWII or the Civil War, these things represent what people fought for and stood for, what they sacrificed. When you talk about the space program, everything in this cabinet shows the courage someone had to strap into this thing say, ‘Well, I hope it gets me there and gets me home.’”
His favorite story in his collection is much like what he wants for those who see it. It’s not about the item’s history; it’s about his history with the item. It’s the Confederate flag.
Steve bought it at a flea market in Tennessee for $20 after he saw it draped across a vendor’s fence. Anna Marie called it junk, but he knew better. After all, he has more than 100 books in his library that tell him what to look out for. In this case, it was the stitching.
“This is a reunion flag,” he told her. “It was made in about 1920.”
Within a year, someone had offered him $500 for it. But its story, as it is with most of his collection, is worth far more than that.
