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PERSONAL
FROM THEPUBLISHER
That's
Not
OurMoney!
G ET!
That one little word
seems to sum up the fundamental nature
of man. "There's a little larceny in us all!"
one sage of human behavior put it.
It's amazing how the prospect of getting
something, especially getting something for
nothing, can change a person's whole
perspective, attitude and conduct. In like
manner, so can the prospect of losing
something one already possesses.
An incident in my childhood, when
1
was about
11
years old, really brought that lesson borne to
me.
I
had developed the hobby of raising pigeons in
the backyard of our Chicago, Illinois, borne.
I
think at that time
I
probably had about 50 pairs,
mostly rollers and homing pigeons.
lt was about 1937. 1 used to visit the
neighborhood businesses to collect their empty
cigar boxes to use as nesting boxes for the birds.
When
I
returned borne one afternoon with my
arms full of cigar boxes, 1 was in for one of the
surprises of my life.
1 went to the Ioft and began tearing the lids off
the boxes. When
I
picked up the third or
fourtb box in my stack, tbe one under
it
popped
wide open.
I
couldn't believe what
I
saw
inside. The box was literally stuffed with hundred
dollar bilis!
When the initial shock wore off,
I
began
September 1986
counting. The box contained $12,000 in hundred
dollar bilis. My little heart was pounding so hard
I
thought the neighbors could hear it.
What to do?
1
sealed the box and buried it deep
in a hundred pound feed sack. 1 hardly slept that
night, pondering how to spend that money.
For the next two days
1
couldn't concentrate in
school.
1
just sat and stared out the window, trying
to figure out the best way to begin using those
hundreds.
I
knew
I
couldn't just walk in a
store with a hundred dollar bill without raising
aJI kinds of questions.
1
realized nobody would
believe an 11-year-old would lawfully be carrying
around that kind of money. Especially
not in 1937.
I
finally concluded l'd have to get my dad
involved.
That evening after dinner
1
told my dad the
story about finding the money.
" Well , what are you going to do with it?" He
asked the question rather patiently.
1
was a little
surprised that he didn't seem as excited as
1
did.
1
quickly told him how
1
thought he could pay
off the mortgage on the house (we owed about
$4,500 on the $6,500 purchase price- remember
those days?), buy a new car, get Mom new
furniture and kitcben gear, and get new clothes for
the family ...
My father didn't let me finish.
"What's the matt:er with you?" he boomed.
"That's not our money! You're going to ti1ke it
back!"
" But
I
don't know where
I
got it," 1 pleaded.
" I
don't know which one gave it to me."
"You're going to find out."
We walked to each store where
I
had asked for
boxes. He would wait outside while
1
went in. He
told me 1 wouldn't have to say anything-that they
would remember me.
Finally, at the last business 1 could remember
having gone to, one of the owners saw me across
the store and started shouting, "That's him! That's
him! That's the boy!"
As it turned out, one of the two brothers who
owned the combination ice cream parlor, liquor
market and delicatessen had been accusing the
other of stealing the
(Continued on page 24)