Hall of Famers George Brett and Ozzie Smith autograph memorabilia at Doubleday Field in Cooperstown, N.Y. AP

COOPERSTOWN, N.Y. -- The Hall of Fame's annual induction weekend isn't just about celebrating the new members and reminiscing with the old ones.

It's also about cold, hard cash.

At least, that is what many Hall of Famers have on their mind when they come back year after year to this bucolic little town in the middle of nowhere. If all you ever see from induction weekend are the lip-quivering speeches (Bill Mazeroski) and snappy soundbites (Bob Uecker), then you are missing out on what truly drives this event. (Here's a hint: It's the same thing that makes the world go round, pal.)

If the ceremony and its ancillary events are the heart and soul of induction weekend, then the dead presidents flowing into the memorabilia shops lining Main Street are the lifeblood.

Say Hey!

On Sunday, at least 50 of the 60 living Hall of Famers will be in town to welcome Wade Boggs and Ryne Sandberg into their exclusive fraternity. "Probably 40 of them are signing this weekend," says Vincent Russo, owner of a local store named Mickey's Place.

Of course, what he means by "signing" is that they will be accepting cash in return for their John Hancock on a baseball (or picture, jersey, bat, etc.). The typical Hall of Famer (Orlando Cepeda, Gaylord Perry) ask for about $30 a pop. A bigger name (Dave Winfield) asks for $65 per signature. The brightest stars of the baseball cosmos can ask for a lot more -- and they get it.

Willie Mays, for example, is an exclusive client of Russo's and will be doing three autograph sessions this weekend, with fees ranging from $125 (for a baseball) to $300 (bat or jersey). Russo did not want to get specific, but he did say "several hundred" people will be paying for Mays to sign at least one item this weekend, so you do that math.

One owner of a local collectibles shop says it isn't uncommon for a standout Hall of Famer to earn between $20,000 and $30,000 from autograph shows during induction weekend.

In fairness, there are players who have altruistic motives. Former Cubs great Ferguson Jenkins, for example, says he donates every last cent from his signings to his foundation, which benefits charities in Canada and the United States.

"Nobody on my staff is on salary," Jenkins says. "The money goes straight [to the charities]."

Getting the call

It's good to be a Hall of Famer, and not just because of the prestige and validation that comes with it. Vinnie Carfagno, who runs a local shop named Seventh Inning Stretch, estimates the asking price for a player's signature rises between 30 and 40 percent when he gets voted in.

"Sometimes, it's 100 percent," Carfagno says.

New inductee Sandberg got a taste of this first hand when he showed up to Cubs' Spring Training camp this spring. "Big difference," Sandberg says. "All of the fans wanted my autograph, not just the Cubs fans or the National League fans."

Orioles legend Jim Palmer didn't need the Hall to enhance his profile -- Jockey underwear had already done that -- but he did notice a change after his induction in 1990.

"Your memorabilia becomes more significant," Palmer says. "It does put you in a different category."

The honor of being a Hall of Famer is especially important for the old-time ballplayers who didn't rake in princely sums during their careers. Plus, Carfagno says, it's a way to keep their names in the public eye. Indeed, many of the people paying big money for Hall of Famers' autographs bring their children, who in turn become fans of players despite never having seen them perform.

"This is what made Mickey Mantle big again, doing these shows in the '70s," Carfagno says.