Little Black Book

“What are you writing?” The guy, the random dude sitting across from me quietly asked. I noticed him. I pegged him for a salesman. After our first casual nod of hey, I see you there, I had no reason to return a glance. But now that he felt the need to know what I’m writing in my little black book, I had to lift up my head to acknowledge that I heard him. Quickly scanning the room to see why he was talking to me, I saw at least 10 people interacting with their phones. They could do so much more on their devices than what I could do with this pen and paper.

Maybe I looked easier to interrupt? “ Writing”, I mumbled. “Working on a book” My thoughts were now jumbled in my head but as I tried to realign to my thoughts for the page, once again I was called upon to give an answer. “What are you writing about? Doesn’t seem like a big enough notebook for a whole book.” Feeling disturbed and a little annoyed I gave a quick “ give me a second” I said as I continued to write my final thoughts.

Writing can be a lonely process. It’s what takes me out of my home office to the coffee shop. Looking at people and exchanging pleasantries is something I do enjoy in the process of my work. However, today I am in hospital waiting room. It was two years ago when I found the pea size lump in my breast and today I got the amazing news I was ready for reconstruction. I had been sitting here writing my thoughts and letting the realization that I didn’t have the $18,000 dollars for the surgery sink in.

So, NO I will not engage random guy in the quick version of my book. I’ve learned that given a chance most people want to talk about themselves. “I’m just laying out my ideas today” I said and to redirect the conversation I continued “What brings you here?”

“Have I got a story for you” he starts. Was that a sigh, or did I just suck all the air out of the space around me? Knowing I won’t get anymore writing done, I braced myself for someone else’s story. I closed my notebook and put down my pen. It was then, I noticed his black notebook. “Oh! Are you a writer too?” I inquired. “No, but I wish someone would write my story” he said with a slight nod in my direction.

‘I’m here today because of my uncle, everyone called him Big Henry, but he was uncle Hank to me. At 6’3’ tall and looking like a movie star, I didn’t think anything could take him down. But cancer.” He paused and quickly bought the story back to the animated telling of this remarkable man. “He did have a role once in one of the James Bond movies as a body guard. He was always meeting famous and interesting people, probably because he spent a lot of time in Las Vegas. When I was a kid he’d pull up in his powder blue Cadillac Eldorado, Steppenwolf would be playing on the 8 track and he’d be smoking a huge cigar. It was always a feel good to see him coming. He’d always find a way to give me money, “ hey want to wash my car?” he’d say as he pulled out a crisp new hundred dollar bill and hand it to me. Or, he would send me on my bike to the newsstand to pick up the racing forms. He loved the racetrack and spent many days at the races. As I got older, I realized he loved many things and one of those was my mother. Turns out that was what made him my uncle. He had a wife and kids, but we didn’t talk much about them.”

“He was good to me, he bought me my first car, attended all my special days and helped my wife and I with our wedding and our first house. We stayed close even after my mom found religion and the two of them became just friends. I ran a few of his businesses and we formed a genuine friendship. He was truly my kid’s uncle. His family knew about me and my role in his life and I eventually became close to them as well.

One day he started asking me if I knew anything about Bitcoin and computers. I really didn’t but I searched the internet and learned everything I could. Turns out he wanted to place a bet that could only happen with Bitcoin. So, together we learned how to open a Bitcoin wallet. “Did you know you can place odd’s on anything?” he interjected. We went to a betting site, I set up his username, email password and Bitcoin address and placed a hundred -dollar bet. He asked me to place his bets at first. But after a while I’d just ask him “how are you doing with your online betting? Winning? I’d ask.” ”Always!” he’d reply. I’d always hear about the wins, but never the losses and I think he dialed down the amounts he was winning, I’m sure of that now.”

“One day while sitting here with my uncle waiting for his chemotherapy appointment he asked me if I knew why he liked to gamble?” “Winning” I replied. “You like to WIN!” He said, “Yeah, that is the most exciting part but it’s the feeling of hope I live for. I’m always thinking about the bet I placed and if that horse is going to come in or that football team is going to win. I’ve been blessed with a good life I’ve had much love and very little hardships. Being here going through this final gamble of my life as to whether or not the chemo is going to work, I realize so many people face things I have never faced. “Now get this”. He was beaming as he started in the next part.

“My uncle asked me to help him fulfill his final wish. He handed me this little black notebook, he reminded me how he had started placing bets with Bitcoin back in 2011.” Then he said, “I never took any of my winnings, I just let them accumulate. Turns out placing bets with Bitcoin was my best ever pay out.” He had me open the notebook to find his passwords and everything I needed to access his cryptocurrency. Then my eyes saw where he wrote the balance. Blinking to lose a few zeros, I asked.’Is this written in US currency or is this a special way cryptocurrency is written?” “No, that is the exchange amount.”

“He asked me to give it all away. He wanted others to feel what he felt even against odds there could be hope for a win. I met so many people and heard their stories, one lady was waiting to hear her husband needed surgery but had no insurance. I met a family who lost their home in a fire and the dad was being treated for burns. My uncle was able to pay the down payment on their new home. There was a young dad who learned they could not have children but with my uncle’s help they adopted. I have hundreds of these stories.

"How?” I asked. “Where did you meet these people?” I questioned. “Oh, I didn’t tell you exactly what he said to me.” He said “What I’m asking you to do is come here, every Monday and sit in the chair you are sitting in right now and meet the person sitting in mine. Meet them, tell them about me and my story then give them $20,000 dollars. Do this until it is all gone.” He paused, he was smiling, he waited for what seemed to be an eternity as I caught on. I began slowly, “today is Monday, your uncle is not really in the hospital and I’m sitting in the chair? I repeated the last line “I’m sitting in the chair.”

Dumbfounded, I just sat as he pulled out a check and continued to talk, “Yes, but you are not the first and asked for my name. This is the story I’d like to be told. The legacy of my uncle who lived his life hoping and how he continued to give after he was gone.”

Tears fell down my cheek as I told him, I would love to write the story of his precious uncle if I could start with what he did for me.