Something Picked Up

Something picked up. September 1, 2008

In 1931, Daddy left. The banks closed; and so did the town. No jobs. Then, Daddy was gone. He worked in the bank, and now it was closed. Momma cried. Daddy was there for a while. Word would go round the town of jobs somewhere else and lots of daddies disappeared. Then, Daddy went. Momma just had herself a new baby and Daddy was gone. Momma said he’d come back. But he didn’t. Momma cooked and washed for neighbors. She sewed with her hands and rocked the cradle with her foot. Granny and Pop came to live with us. Momma just bundled us up tighter and we all somehow fit in the house.

There were seven of us all together. I was nine. And it was my turn Momma said. My sisters helped Momma with the washing and baby, Granny made the stew, and Pop fixed things. So, now it was my turn. She heard tell of jobs in the city, so she patched my trousers and jacket, and slicked down my hair. She told me it was time to get a job and walked me to the ferry. I don’t remember all the instructions she gave me, expect that I was to be polite and talk nice. She said I was to get a job. She gave me some crackers wrapped in cloth for my lunch, a penny for the crossing and her good luck penny. I paid the ferry man and shoved the other way down in my pocket. I watched Momma as the ferry pulled away. She was Momma, then she walked away.

My dogs were so tired. I couldn’t find no job. I was too big; I was too small; I was too young. I put my hand in my pocket and fingered Momma’s penny and looked around. There in front of me was a little shed, and it was busy, men going in and out. It was the construction shed for the bridge next door being built from the city to the town across the harbor – to my town. An ugly mug grabbed hold of my collar and wanted to know what I wanted. I said a job – didn’t know nothing else to say. He let go, looked long at me, then asked if I could tote. I said yes, sir. He said then get started and handed me a bucket. I carried a water pail all day, back and forth over the bridge. I pumped water and toted to each worker. All day. Back and forth. The ugly man came and got me, said I done a good job. And that if I came back tomorrow I could do it again. He gave me a nickel and two pennies. Told me them’s my wages.

I ran to the ferry, paid the ferryman a penny and watched the city get smaller and my town get bigger. I fingered the three coins in my pocket. I took out Momma’s lucky penny and turned it over in my hand. It was an 1898 with an Indian on it. I did’t know what it said, ‘cepting those words seemed important to put on the penny. There used to be a deep cut across the Indian’s face, but it was dull now. I rubbed it, and then tossed it up into the air. I meant to catch it, but it hit the deck and bounced into the water. I stood there against the rail looking at the water, then I across at the bridge, and it was still standing. What was I gonna tell Momma?


In 1995, my husband accompanied our two sons on a weekend camping trip to a Boy Scout camp. This was a regular occurrence with the troop and my husband went on many trips, becoming as much a scout as the boys were becoming. These weekends are loaded with camaraderie and badge-work. It is the pride of a scout to wear a sash loaded with badges, each badge representing proficiency in some area such as first aid, swimming, or outdoor cooking. For leaders and chaperones the work is purely the oversight of scouts. Yet my husband always had more fun being one of the boys than one of the leaders.

Included in any of these weekend trips is a hike. After a morning of cooking and badge work, the scouts take a hike before lunch. This particular weekend hike went out the road toward the camp’s entrance. This is an old camp; and access to the camp is by way of a dirt road that must be re-graded every time it rains. However, recently the camp had contracted with some company to dump new material on the road in an effort to improve its condition. So the contractor came in with a mixture of gravel, dirt, sand and debris. It was a fresh dump and therefore had a peculiar odor. One of the boys bent down and picked up a shark tooth. This changed the nature of the hike from looking around to looking down and from walking to lingering. The boys learned from the camp director that the road had recently been re-graded with dredgings from the nearby harbor. One of the fathers on the trip worked at the port and said that a big vacuum is used to bring up the dirt, sand and debris from the bottom of the harbor in order to clear channels so that big ships could access the docks. The debris is then dumped onto a barge which is floated to a dump site where ditch-diggers loaded the debris into dump trucks which then head for construction projects all over the tri-county area.

The scouts lost interest in the story and went back to hunting shark teeth. Then a scout shouted out he had found a penny. Now pennies are not unusual finds. We find them everywhere and tend to dismiss them as valueless. We toss them in jars, overboard, and at each other. But this one was to turn out to be different. My husband had a look at the penny. It was an 1898 Indian Head, with a bad scar across the Indian’s face. My husband returned the penny to the scout with an offer to buy it for a dollar. The scout turned down the offer, saying that this penny was gonna be his lucky penny. My husband conjured up a likely future for the penny: once home it would be tossed in a penny jar or used in a gumball machine. He also thought about what historical, personal, or emotional events may have played into that moment when the penny entered the water only to end up at the camp some 60 miles inland. For my husband this was not just a penny with a tad bit of value, there was a story here, and history.


To my beloved son, some extra research on a penny and a possible new hobby:

Today (2008), an 1898 Indian Head is worth one dollar. That’s a ten-thousand percent increase in value. In 2008 a penny is virtually worthless. Its primary value is in education – such as in math and history lessons. It certainly is not financial as it costs $1.26 to make a penny. However in 1938, that penny could purchase a ride on a ferry or trolley car. And a loaf of bread or a pound of sausage cost nine cents. The minimum wage law was enacted by Congress in 1938 setting the minimum wage at twenty-five cents an hour: Children were not the target of the law, however, adult male workers were.

Yet a penny does have more value than its one cent:
“A penny saved is a penny earned.”
“A penny for your thoughts.”
“See a penny, pick it up: all the day you’ll have good luck.”

Son: Something Picked Up

The homeless man picked up the lid of the trash can gingerly, sure not to make a noise so that no one would notice him. He reached into the trash can, pulled out a half-empty pop and toop a deep swig.

All of us sitting on the short wall watched in horror.

Not seeing our disgusted stares, he set the pop down slowly, picked the lid back up and put it onto the can. Grabbing "his" pop, he started moving away with eyes downcast as if to disapppear into the background of the city.

Strange, I thought, he thinks he's being discreet.

SMACK.

I saw the pop bottle go flying across the street, the top coming off and the cola spraying onto the rain-drenched asphalt. The homeless man was staring, stunened, at his empty hand whilst a roundish black woman loomed over him. She was only half his height, but her stature dominated the scene.

"That's disgusting, man!" She was digging furiously into her oversized handbag hanging off one shoulder. She wore a scrube top with Care Bears on it. Hm, I thought. She thrust her hand out and push a wad of bills into the man's hands. "Go buy yourself something .... Shi-eeeet."

She walked paost him, tennis shoes pounding the pavement, one arm clutching her bag strap, and the other swinging almost wildly in rhythm with her steps. He was stunned for a moment -- his crazed eyes reading someone noticed me... -- before moving on himself.

I stopped the lady. "That was the nicest thing I've ever seen done." I was already plotting how to pay the good deed forward.

"Man, shoot. That was disgusting. I was gonna vomit if he dran'anymore." And off she went.

---

Later that night, I was back on the short wall with a cigarette. No one was out there.

All the trash lids were off. Apparently, he's only that precise or that careful when other people were around.

I picked the lids up and put them back where they came from.