Back when a $100 bill REALLY meant something--true story!!!
Posted: Sun Mar 17, 2013 1:58 pmIt was Labor Day Weekend back in the summer of 1970. I was 12 years old and eagerly awaiting the start of junior high school. Nixon was President, we had recently landed on the moon, the Beatles just broke up, the "amazing" Mets were world champs, all the girls had a crush on Ryan O'Neal after seeing Love Story, all those big block muscle cars on the road were amazing, the Viet Nam War was intensifying and many of the mothers in our town prayed daily that the war would end before their sons turned 18. I swear the skies were bluer and the clouds were whiter back in the summer of 1970 and I'll never forget all the teenage girls in those "hip hugger" pants...wow, what a great time to be a kid!
My best friend Randy had just called me and was talking a hundred miles an hour telling me how he had just been paid by his father. At the beginning of the summer Randy's father, who owned a small candy distributorship, decided to keep his son out of trouble for the summer by taking him to work with him each day and finding small chores for him to do. Randy's father told him he would give him two $100 dollar bills at the end of the summer for all his work. Though this doesn't sound like much today you must remember back in the summer of 1970 gas was .38 cents a gallon and the minimum wage was $1.45. A large candy bar was .5 cents and a 16 oz bottle of coke was .10 cents.
So Randy was on his way to my house and I was excited as well because back when Randy began working he had told me that when he was paid at the end of the summer he would buy me ten dime packs of baseball cards and all the coke & candy I could handle in one sitting.
Randy was a year older than me and I must admit he was somewhat annoying. He had a loud voice, always acted tough and liked to spit--you know the type. And the thing that irritated me the most was those cowboy boots of his. Months earlier we had seen "The Good, Bad & The Ugly" at the theatre and the very next day Randy shows up at my house with these rediculous new boots. And Randy wanted everyone to see them in all their glory so he would always tuck his pant legs all the way down into the boots so all of the boots would be available for all to see. From that day on he thought he was Clint Eastwood and I simply hated those boots and the noise he intentionally made with them as he mimicked Clint's walk.
Just minutes after I hung up the phone I could hear those damn boots walking up to my door. I opened the door and there he stood, Randy "Eastwood" with a smile a mile wide and holding up and proudly displaying a $100 dollar bill. I couldn't believe what I was seeing for I had never actually seen a real $100 dollar bill before--just a picture of one. He cautiously handed it to me and I was both overwhelmed and in awe of it--not to mention jealous. Randy quickly took it back and did what he always did with his bills and folded it up into a small, thick square and dropped it into his pant's pocket. This ritualistic folding of his money into small squares was another annoying habit of his but he was my best friend since kindergarden so what could I do--right?
So Randy was going to make good on his promise of three months ago so we jumped on our Schwinn Apple Crates (remember those?) and headed toward Hobby Lobby toy store about a mile away to grab some baseball cards & goodies! We were flying down the main road of our small town making sure to pull wheelies with each approaching curb. We reached Hobby Lobby in no time and I had purposefully built up quite a thirst anticipating the cards, candy & coke. Inside the store I grabbed the usual--a 16 oz bottle of RC cola and a Milky Way and Snickers--laid them on the counter and then picked out ten packs of baseball cards. Randy then laid his hoard of goodies on the counter and reached in to grab that glorious wedge shaped $100 bill but somehow came up empty. A look of consternation suddenly came over his face as he quickly surveyed the floor. Slowly this time he reached into both his pant pockets and negotiated their every corner but came up empty again! His hands then quickly dashed through all his pockets, even his shirt pocket but to no avail. The unthinkable had happened and somewhere between the store and my house Randy's $100 dollar bill representing six weeks worth of work was laying on the ground.
We left everying on the counter and jumped on our bikes and rode quickly but cautiously back home retracing our every move. I remember telling Randy that because he folded the bill so small it would be more compact and less likely to blow far from our original path and that because the bill was much smaller there would be a greater chance no passerby would see it and take it. Randy felt reassured that we would find the bill after I told him these bits of wisdom so we continued on feeling good about our prospects. But we had reached my house with no luck and Randy was now broken hearted and it was obvious that panic had began to envelope him. We had no choice but to retrace our path back to the store but this time we would ride very slowly with our bikes parallel to each other six feet apart instead of riding with one bike directly in back of each other as before.
We disappointedly reached the store again with no luck. Randy was but a shell of his Clint Eastwood personna and he had all but given up. But I kept up the encouragement and suggested this time we walk our bikes back to my house so that we can carefully scour every inch of ground. Randy agreed and off we went. Two hours passed on this last trip and no $100 bill was to be found. We both walked into my house and Randy dropped down onto the couch is disgust. To this day I remember seeing him arch his head back and seeing the tears roll down his face as he gazed at the ceiling. It was the first time I had ever seen my tough friend cry. We both said nothing for what seemed like hours.
He then bent over and started to lift his leg and I thought he was going to leave but he was instead pulling off his boots in a gesture of defeat. The first boot he laid down softly on the floor in despair, paused, and then with the second boot he flung it defiantly in the air and it fell to rest with a thump against the wood floor. Randy again slumped back on the couch and looked to the ceiling as the tears continued to flow. I then glanced down at those once proud boots I so despized and suddenly caught glimpse of a small, green object a couple feet from the opening of the boot he had tossed. My heart immediately began to race and in my exhuberance I had difficulty focusing my eyes on this small, hopefully square piece. I quickly got up and picked up the object and with a fleeting glance I saw it was indeed square and my hand began to tremble for I knew precisely the identity of the treasure that I beheld and the miracle that had just occured!!!.
I yelled RANDY!!! as I bounced that small, ever-elusive, green wedge of wonderment off his chest in the same manner he bounced that boot on my floor.
We both couldn't believe our eyes or luck. Because Randy had orginally folded that $100 bill into a small, compact square it simply worked it way out of his pant's pocket while riding his bike and popping wheelies and the weight of the compacted bill enabled it to fall directly into his boot and land to rest at the bottom of his pant leg instead of blowing away. And from that day on, back on Labor Day Weekend of 1970 (when a $100 bill REALLY meant something), it never bothered me again when he wore those rediculous boots, tucked in those pant legs, unleashed a formidable spit and walked up to my door thinking he was Clint Eastwood.....
My best friend Randy had just called me and was talking a hundred miles an hour telling me how he had just been paid by his father. At the beginning of the summer Randy's father, who owned a small candy distributorship, decided to keep his son out of trouble for the summer by taking him to work with him each day and finding small chores for him to do. Randy's father told him he would give him two $100 dollar bills at the end of the summer for all his work. Though this doesn't sound like much today you must remember back in the summer of 1970 gas was .38 cents a gallon and the minimum wage was $1.45. A large candy bar was .5 cents and a 16 oz bottle of coke was .10 cents.
So Randy was on his way to my house and I was excited as well because back when Randy began working he had told me that when he was paid at the end of the summer he would buy me ten dime packs of baseball cards and all the coke & candy I could handle in one sitting.
Randy was a year older than me and I must admit he was somewhat annoying. He had a loud voice, always acted tough and liked to spit--you know the type. And the thing that irritated me the most was those cowboy boots of his. Months earlier we had seen "The Good, Bad & The Ugly" at the theatre and the very next day Randy shows up at my house with these rediculous new boots. And Randy wanted everyone to see them in all their glory so he would always tuck his pant legs all the way down into the boots so all of the boots would be available for all to see. From that day on he thought he was Clint Eastwood and I simply hated those boots and the noise he intentionally made with them as he mimicked Clint's walk.Just minutes after I hung up the phone I could hear those damn boots walking up to my door. I opened the door and there he stood, Randy "Eastwood" with a smile a mile wide and holding up and proudly displaying a $100 dollar bill. I couldn't believe what I was seeing for I had never actually seen a real $100 dollar bill before--just a picture of one. He cautiously handed it to me and I was both overwhelmed and in awe of it--not to mention jealous. Randy quickly took it back and did what he always did with his bills and folded it up into a small, thick square and dropped it into his pant's pocket. This ritualistic folding of his money into small squares was another annoying habit of his but he was my best friend since kindergarden so what could I do--right?
So Randy was going to make good on his promise of three months ago so we jumped on our Schwinn Apple Crates (remember those?) and headed toward Hobby Lobby toy store about a mile away to grab some baseball cards & goodies! We were flying down the main road of our small town making sure to pull wheelies with each approaching curb. We reached Hobby Lobby in no time and I had purposefully built up quite a thirst anticipating the cards, candy & coke. Inside the store I grabbed the usual--a 16 oz bottle of RC cola and a Milky Way and Snickers--laid them on the counter and then picked out ten packs of baseball cards. Randy then laid his hoard of goodies on the counter and reached in to grab that glorious wedge shaped $100 bill but somehow came up empty. A look of consternation suddenly came over his face as he quickly surveyed the floor. Slowly this time he reached into both his pant pockets and negotiated their every corner but came up empty again! His hands then quickly dashed through all his pockets, even his shirt pocket but to no avail. The unthinkable had happened and somewhere between the store and my house Randy's $100 dollar bill representing six weeks worth of work was laying on the ground.
We left everying on the counter and jumped on our bikes and rode quickly but cautiously back home retracing our every move. I remember telling Randy that because he folded the bill so small it would be more compact and less likely to blow far from our original path and that because the bill was much smaller there would be a greater chance no passerby would see it and take it. Randy felt reassured that we would find the bill after I told him these bits of wisdom so we continued on feeling good about our prospects. But we had reached my house with no luck and Randy was now broken hearted and it was obvious that panic had began to envelope him. We had no choice but to retrace our path back to the store but this time we would ride very slowly with our bikes parallel to each other six feet apart instead of riding with one bike directly in back of each other as before.
We disappointedly reached the store again with no luck. Randy was but a shell of his Clint Eastwood personna and he had all but given up. But I kept up the encouragement and suggested this time we walk our bikes back to my house so that we can carefully scour every inch of ground. Randy agreed and off we went. Two hours passed on this last trip and no $100 bill was to be found. We both walked into my house and Randy dropped down onto the couch is disgust. To this day I remember seeing him arch his head back and seeing the tears roll down his face as he gazed at the ceiling. It was the first time I had ever seen my tough friend cry. We both said nothing for what seemed like hours.
He then bent over and started to lift his leg and I thought he was going to leave but he was instead pulling off his boots in a gesture of defeat. The first boot he laid down softly on the floor in despair, paused, and then with the second boot he flung it defiantly in the air and it fell to rest with a thump against the wood floor. Randy again slumped back on the couch and looked to the ceiling as the tears continued to flow. I then glanced down at those once proud boots I so despized and suddenly caught glimpse of a small, green object a couple feet from the opening of the boot he had tossed. My heart immediately began to race and in my exhuberance I had difficulty focusing my eyes on this small, hopefully square piece. I quickly got up and picked up the object and with a fleeting glance I saw it was indeed square and my hand began to tremble for I knew precisely the identity of the treasure that I beheld and the miracle that had just occured!!!.
I yelled RANDY!!! as I bounced that small, ever-elusive, green wedge of wonderment off his chest in the same manner he bounced that boot on my floor.We both couldn't believe our eyes or luck. Because Randy had orginally folded that $100 bill into a small, compact square it simply worked it way out of his pant's pocket while riding his bike and popping wheelies and the weight of the compacted bill enabled it to fall directly into his boot and land to rest at the bottom of his pant leg instead of blowing away. And from that day on, back on Labor Day Weekend of 1970 (when a $100 bill REALLY meant something), it never bothered me again when he wore those rediculous boots, tucked in those pant legs, unleashed a formidable spit and walked up to my door thinking he was Clint Eastwood.....
