Forgotten Treasure, Found

I’ve always enjoyed estate sales. The culmination of someone’s life that family and friends leave behind. Old tools, wrapping paper, drawers full of pencils and pens, books, collectibles, and well-used pots and pans. Some would call it all junk. Depending on the estate sales agent, you can haggle for some great prices. Listing the items I’ve seen could be an encyclopedia of its own. Once, I bought a replacement glass pot lid for a buck. This story is about forgotten treasure found in a small black book and a vintage clock. I picked them up together for only ten bucks.

∞∞∞

It all started with looking through the daily list of estate sales in the local papers to decide which sales to visit and which to pass. During this time, I was searching for a retro wall clock for my 50s stylized kitchen. I chose two sales in the northwest part of town. With just enough time to get to the first one to open, I grabbed my keys and wallet, threw on my jean jacket and left the house.

After a quick twenty-minute drive, I arrived at the first location a couple minutes early. Not bad, just a few other sharks waiting to snag pieces for their vintage or antique shops. I walk up the driveway and greet the others and start a little small talk as we waited. After a few minutes a familiar estate seller greeted us and welcomed us to the sale, at which we said our hellos and see you arounds, then went in separate directions on our search for treasure.

I headed further down the driveway into the garage. I know the clock wouldn’t be here but sometimes there are quite interesting things hiding in garages. From bowling balls with vintages bowling shoes to collectibles from childhood. I once found an original Howdy Doody puppet in good condition and sold it on eBay for some fun money. A tall creepy doll greeted me with her old-glass eyes, with various household goods, lamps, a vintage TV, tools of all kinds, and a few books.

I picked up three books on the floor, two were old electronic repair books from the early 1900s, and the third was a small black book. I put the two repair books on the table and lightly thumbed through the black book, rather it was a notebook. Personal and project notes, drawings, clippings, with random quotes, and a little dust. There appeared to be something on every page whether pencil or pen, mostly readable. I don’t know why I felt the need to take it home. Kismet perhaps. I just had to take it. I quickly perused the remainder of random items on the table, then walked back down the driveway and in the front door of the home.

The usual leftover furniture was set up nicely in the living room, and I walked past it all into the kitchen. Full of glass dishes, silverware, and cookery, the countertops were nearly invisible. I walked through and into the breakfast nook, where I saw the prize. I reached out and gently picked up the new-vintage clock, about two and a half inches in depth, fifteen inches tall and 8 inches wide. While I wanted true-vintage, this was nearly perfect in robin-egg blue and a timer below the clock to boot. I looked at all the edges, screw holes for the backing, and detail. There was a crack in the back where you have to unscrew it to replace the battery, but not a huge dealbreaker. It still a battery in it and the tick-tick-tick was quieter than I’d expect. I was gleaming with pride but would need to hold it in until after I paid and was walking away.

I perused the remainder of the house with no additional finds and walked up to the estate seller.

“Find something good?” she asked.

“Yeah, this clock and notebook.” I replied, “How much?”

She reached for the items, which I had seen the yellow sticker on the clock, but no coded sticker on the book.

“30 buck for the two,” she stated with a shark-like grin. I had seen the coded sheet, which showed the yellow sticker at $15. No way was I going to pay $15 for a notebook.

“Would you be willing,” as I paused for a moment, “to take $20.”

She looked at the notebook one more time, and nodded her head, “Alright, 20 is good. Sad situation here, only 55, no heirs or descendants.”

I reached into my jean jacket’s pocket and pulled out the $20 I keep stashed in there. “Oh, sorry to hear that. Thank you.”

I turned around, then walked away with the biggest smile on my face. I couldn't wait to put the clock up! I skipped the other sale and headed home.

∞∞∞

A few months went by and the clock looked great in my kitchen and worked perfectly. One gloomy Saturday morning I decided to start reading through the small black book. I made a huge cup of coffee. Black, of course, as midnight on a moonless night... then sat down on my comfy chair, feet up.

Inside the front cover was “Jay Smyth, 1989.” As I started thumbing through pages, many of them were just notes like a diary but undated. A few pages in, there were a few newsclips from the local paper about the Anniversary edition of the Ford Mustang in 1991.

Then entries became a little more interesting, every third or fourth entry simply had “MTD” and a number. I’m guessing MTD is month to date related money. The number typically went up, and occasionally went down. There did not seem to be anything relating to the numbers other than “MTD.”

Some of the entries included “Bev’s 18th birthday was boring,” "I took Susie to the fair and we held hands,” “All I got this year was a new dress shirt and tie,” and “I’m getting a safe box tomorrow.” Now the last one was a bit more interesting because the MTD number was now 981. As I continued through the book, the MTD entries were every few pages. A clipping of a school calendar noted the beginning of a new school year. Notes ranged from party reports, a parking ticket, and a list of classes.

It was still early in the day, so I continued reading. More classes, more parties, dating Beth and then Melissa, along with ‘safe-20. For retirement.’ Clippings of Mustangs and Challengers, Seinfeld and Jurassic Park. Still no additional clues about the safe or number. A few pages of OJ Simpson indicated I was now in 1995, and only a few pages remaining. I turned the page, and a doodle caught my attention. It looked very much like the clock in my kitchen. Next to it, “Key-158.” surrounded by other notes, almost lost in the chaos of the page.

I read through the remaining pages, the final line being “hidden treasures.” My overactive imagination immediately went into overdrive. Was there a an old safe-box in a bank somewhere waiting to be found? What would be the chance of that? Not likely, I’m sure. I chuckled and put the small black book on my bookshelf.

∞∞∞

Later that year it wasn’t a surprise that I needed to change the battery in the clock. I took it off the wall, laid it face down on a folded towel so I wouldn’t scratch the face. Grabbed a jewelry screwdriver and started removing the screws in the back. Four were slightly inset and two were further inset, a bit of a challenge to remove. I pulled off the cracked backplate and carefully set it aside. I replaced the battery then noticed a little piece of tape, very yellowed, slightly loose from just above the battery pack.

I slowly turned the clock around and discovered a key had been carefully taped there. I pulled on the tape, which essentially crumbled away. I picked up the key and didn’t have any particular marking, except ‘DO NOT DUPLICATE’ and the number 158. Wait, wasn’t that the number in that book? I left the clock and grabbed the small black book off the bookshelf. My jaw dropped. Maybe there was something to my imagination after all. I went and put the key in my jean jacket pocket.

I’d have to wait until tomorrow for banks to open. I went back into the kitchen, placed the backplate on the clock and re-screwed the screws. After putting the clock on the wall, I went back into the living room and sat down with the black book. Grasping at straws I looked for the page that first noted the safe box. Looking for any bank names or similar. A few pages after noting the safe box mentioned “Wells are now 1st.” At some time in the 90s Wells Fargo bank was acquired by First Interstate. I looked for a few more minutes, then put the book aside again.

After breakfast I grabbed my jacket and headed to the nearest First Interstate. It’s worth a shot, even if it’s a longshot. I was greeted by a nice clerk in the current garb for the bank and he walked me over to a desk.

“Can I see the key.” He asked.

“Oh, yes...” as I reached inside my jacket pocket, “here it is.”

“You may have the right place. Let’s look up the key and verify the name.” Simultaneously logging into his computer, he asked, “What is the name on the account?”

“Jay Smyth, S-M-Y-T-H.”

“Here we go. It is under the Smyth name. Do you have a minute to wait here. I need a supervisor on this.”

“Sure, I have time. Thank you.” I managed to get out with a straight face. I was also trying not to get too excited.

After about fifteen minutes, the clerk approached with an older woman in the same bank garb, greeting by name.

“This is quite unusual,” she stated. “Mr. Smyth paid for his box five years at a time and had specific instructions. I have to ask you a few questions, starting with how you found the key.”

I started from the beginning stating I went to an estate sale and purchased a small black book and the clock. I described how I read through the book and put it aside, though my overactive imagination almost got the best of me. Then when I changed the battery and found the key, I remembered the book had the same key number, so I started looking for more clues about which bank it could be and found that odd sentence.

The supervisor smiled, “Are you ready to claim the safety deposit box?” She put the papers on the desk and pointed out a few places to sign, then said, “Follow me.”

We walked through the empty lobby and through a key-coded door, then into a vault of safety deposit boxes. She took the key and placed it in the lock, then pulled it from the shelving unit and placed it on the counter.

“When you’re done, simply leave the box locked and come out through the doors.”

“Thank you.” I said with anticipation. I reached out and turned the key, then opened the lid of the box.

On top was a note, handwritten. No date.

“To whom it may concern: If you are claiming this safe-box you must have a curious soul. There were specific instructions I left with the bank and you cannot claim it otherwise. Congratulations, you are being gifted $20,000. Please use it for whatever makes you happy in life. I started saving money from leftover change when I was 16, then eventually would do extra odd jobs and built this stash over the years. If I died before I retired, I wanted someone to be gifted the money. I hope you enjoy this gift. Sincerely, Jay Smyth.”