Found Money

As I entered the hallway to my father’s office, I flipped the light switch. This lit up a series of cheap fluorescent lights, one of which was making that annoying buzzing sound, heralding its last days of illumination.

The building janitor had unlocked his office earlier in the afternoon and I, his only child, would enter that room just after his death. He passed away just a day ago; having survived cancer and drinking for years but succumbed to a sudden aneurism.

His office was partially below the ground, and certainly one of the least sought-after locations in this university building. But that’s precisely why he wanted it, since helped keep the students away. And he was only 2 doors down from the boiler room, which made clunking sounds throughout the day.

Not sure why I felt compelled to go to his office, maybe to just feel something of his presence. I always saw the event of death as very mysterious. Did our spirits, if they even existed, leave this earth instantly? Or might some part of our essence linger on a bit?

Finally, I was close enough to make out his name on the door’s brass plaque, Professor James McGinty. Whatever else people thought of him, all respected his dedication and love of history. He could talk your ear off on any historical topic. And when a student persevered enough to find his office, he begrudgingly would grant them his time, and was secretly delighted to share his knowledge.

I entered his office and saw evidence of this room having been recently inhabited, with a partially full bottle of French mineral water on his desk. He was fussy on everything he drank, from his single malt scotch to expensive European spring waters. His timing on leaving this mortal plane, could not have been better for the university. He had just finished grading the winter semester exams. I had talked with him just 2 days ago and he was excited to pick up again on one of his pet research projects and had had enough of the tiresome academic paperwork.

The dim winter sun shone through the half-windows, which were framed on the outside by ivy vines and discarded soda cans. I sat at his desk and turned on his banker’s lamp. It had been at least 2 years since I was in his office and wanted to just sit and observe what he looked at every day. His desk was turned away from the two high windows and faced bookshelf-lined walls. He did maintain some degree of organization, with the history books going left to right chronologically. The last bookshelf covered his favorite period – 19th century America. He always felt that’s when America was truly born, having survived the Civil War. But he was also fascinated by the rise of the Industrial Revolution prior to then. I then noticed on a coat hanger by the door, his sweatshirt on a hook. At best he’d do light jogging at lunchtime, but never was an exercise junkie. I knew instantly that I would take that home with me and hold it close that night.

Reviewing all the objects on this desk – most were as expected. I saw the spring course catalog, and a spiral bound notebook where he wrote his research notes. A computer monitor was off to the right, but not used much, since he still wasn’t fully comfortable with computers and was always fearful of losing his precious writing. A few other objects were scattered about, including felt-tip pens and a packet of mint gum. He chewed gum incessantly now, after quitting smoking 3 years ago.

But then I noticed something odd, what appeared to be a coin catalog, and opened face down. I slowly turned it over, not wanting to lose its place, and first saw photos of gold coins. I then saw something small and dark underneath – a black, leather notebook. Just touching the cover – I could feel its dry texture, but the page edges still shone with gold paint. The first page simply said – “S. McGinty Coins”, written in faded blue ink. My father’s grandfather was Seamus McGinty, a first-generation Irishman, born in New York. He didn’t have the typical rags to riches story and married well. His wife’s family had a thriving import business at the turn of the century. Though the family lore did confirm he truly loved his wife, we still felt he was a bit of schemer, and used his charm and business instincts well. With his wealth, he became a bit of collector.

I turned to the next page – and it seemed to be a list of coins from the 1800’s as follows:

• Morgan Silver dollar, 1878, not P or S
• Draped bust, half dollar, 1825, good condition
• 3-dollar piece, 1842, gold, excellent condition, extremely rare, Dahlonega, Georgia

These were the only 2 pages written on, the rest were blank. Flipping over the catalog again, I and saw the listed sale prices and on the marked page, showing various gold coins. I had to re-read the numbers out of disbelieve - they ranged between ten and thirty-thousand dollars.

I had my cell phone with me and started searching on “gold coins Dahlonega”. But then I paused, and just sat still – what in the name of God was I doing? I was Googling about coins - not one day after my father died. Then I thought about calling my mother since she had seen him just five days ago, before going on a business trip. I was dealing with too much at once and needed to slow down.

She was six hours away in California, and I was left to do the initial planning details with the funeral home. Theirs was an odd relationship, having been separated for 3 years. They couldn’t quite get to the point of signing the needed paperwork to declare their union legally over and done with. Their separation started with the “oh-so-cliché” professor-student affair that lasted a single semester. I never knew her and to this day could not remember her name. My father fell into a pool of regret and scotch and was too aware that he could never truly go home again.

My mother was taking a red-eye home, and likely at the airport waiting and probably snacking on some horrible airport food. Janice McGinty’s phone rang four times and was just about to forward to messaging when she answered and said, “Hi Kat – honey I’m so sorry I can’t be there right now”. She was the only one who called me Kat, an abbreviation for Kathleen.

Just hearing her voice put me on the verge of tears and I answered with a crack in my voice. “Mom – I’m in Dad’s office and it’s like he’s still here.”

Janice replied after a pause, “I can imagine".

“Mom I know there are so many details to talk about, but I have an odd question”

Janice replied with a hesitancy in her voice, “OK go on “.

I explained to her that I found out Dad was looking into some coins that likely were from great-grandad Seamus. Before I could finish, she jumped in and said, “Yes, I know, he told me about this when we had dinner last Sunday. He came across an old cigar box and found the coins and some description of them.”

I was startled and replied, “How come you didn’t tell me – and furthermore do you know we’re talking possibly a lot of money here?”

“Yes, he knew but wanted to get a good appraisal first."

“Mom - he could have gotten thousands of dollars. That would have been so great for him, since this stingy university had never payed him what he was worth. And you know how his books never sold well.”

There was a long pause, I thought the call was disconnected, however I kept hearing flight and gate announcements. “Mom – you still there?”

Janice sighed and simply said, “The money was going to you, Kat.”

I answered more loudly than I had intended, “What – and more importantly – why?”

She explained that he felt it would help with the house I was about to buy. And he didn’t see ever having to pay for an expensive wedding. And then brought up the subject of my long-term relationship. “You and Charles are clearly going to have an endless, non-committal relationship.”

I replied with exasperation, “Jesus - do NOT get into that topic, now of all times”

Janice replied in a quieter voice, “OK – fair enough”

Then it just occurred to me - where were these coins now? My mother then explained he had given them to her to help with the appriasal process. And then further added, “Since the funds of the sale were going to be yours anyway, I say we declare them as ours and not get into a legal hassle. I don’t think he mentioned them to anyone else.”

I thought for a moment replied, “I’m not entirely comfortable with that – but I’ll go along, since it was his wish, as they say.”

We ended the call shortly after and I felt more comfortable doing the research on especially the Georgia coin. Evidently there was a little-known gold rush there in the 1830’s. Being so far from the Philadelphia US Mint, it made sense to open one right where the gold was found in Georgia. The value of this coin was especially high since there were only slightly over a thousand made of the 3-dollar piece. The mint stopped making coins at the start of the Civil war, with the remaining gold going to the Confederacy.

And of course, with any coin, its condition was paramount to its value. But I knew Dad well enough, that if he was this excited, then the coin likely was in excellent condition. I decided to take home the coin catalog and the old black book, carrying them out, bundled them up in his sweatshirt.

The next 3 weeks went by in a blur, and finally I had enough energy to contact an appraiser. He then worked with an auction house that was to have a coin sale very soon. Professional photos were taken of the precious Georgia coin and put up at the on-line auction site. It ended up selling for twenty-four thousand. Minus the auction house commission, I netted twenty thousand.

It’s odd how when someone is no longer there, you get a different perspective on your past relationship with them. Our closeness waxed and waned over the years. He always felt slighted that I didn’t follow his academic footsteps. And sadly, my mother was only to have one child due to medical reasons. We were very different people but were actually both child prodigies. He was reading at an adult level at six years old. I, on the other hand, was showing advanced math skills, doing algebra in third grade. He did appreciate my skills and got me private academic lessons, far beyond what the local schools could provide. I ended up having a computer career, using my math skills for encryption algorithms.

But he always saw math as sterile, and devoid of the drama and emotion he loved from history, and we had many a lively dinner discussion on this topic. I would share how Isaac Newton created calculus to match his new world of physics and how fractal math could create visual worlds beyond our imagination. He would smile and nod his head, but then would launch into his more recent historic research.

Talking more to my mother recently, she provided details of their last dinner together. She felt he sensed maybe that time was short. We can’t be certain – but I’ll always know, he was thinking of me just before the Fates took him too soon. And I just might travel to Dahlonega someday and check out the local history.