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Part 1
GATE TIME
an online short story..
Do you airports scare you? Airports scared Josh Geiger...
photo by Joe Jones...
Josh Geiger spent a lot of time in airports. That territory came with a job in software sales. As a sales rep for EntroSoft, Josh was responsible for three dozen corporate accounts in eleven states. Every week it was the same routine: airports and hotel rooms and rental cars. But EntroSoft’s commission structure was decent; and Josh preferred living out of a suitcase to being stuck in an office all day, like so many other working schmucks. It was still work----but work with a certain degree of freedom.
Not that there was no monotony involved. Flying often meant hours stranded in an airport, waiting for a connecting flight. When the flights lined up poorly, a layover could last as long as three hours.
The key to staying sane during a long layover was knowing how to entertain yourself. He had that problem solved. Airports were a great place for people-watching. Josh was in his early thirties and still single, so most of his people-watching involved people of the female persuasion. (And women always dressed to the nines when they flew.) But airports offered human novelties of every gender, age, and creed: foreigners babbling in incomprehensible languages, oddballs peddling flowers and handing out pamphlets, and so many businesspersons like himself.
Josh was not shy about talking to strangers (how could you be, and survive in sales?); and he occasionally struck up a conversation with someone who might prove influential in the next deal, or even the next job. It could never hurt to pad your Rolodex.
So Josh was not particularly taken aback when the man in the navy uniform spoke to him out of the blue. The two of them were sitting across from each other in a little island of seats in the middle of O’Hare’s Concourse B. Josh was just about to stand up and head to his gate when the sailor asked:
“Hey buddy, can I bum a smoke?”
The sailor was wearing a dark blue uniform and he had two chevrons on his sleeve. What did that make him? A sergeant? A corporal? Josh had never been in the military and he had no idea if the navy even had sergeants and corporals. Probably not---but no matter. The navy man must have noticed the half full pack of Marlboros in Josh’s front shirt pocket.
Josh had started smoking in college, and he had continued the habit off and on since then. He was currently in one of his “on” phases; but climbing back onto the nonsmokers’ wagon was an item on his immediate to-do list.
“As a matter of fact,” Josh said, “You can have the whole pack. I’m trying to quit.” The sailor’s eyes lit up. He was a good ten years younger than Josh, maybe twenty-two or twenty-three.
“That’d be swell. Thanks.”
“Well, you’ve got it.” Josh stood up and pulled the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He tossed them to the navy man.
“You’re a--- “ Josh gestured to the chevrons on the navy man’s sleeve.
“Seaman Second Class.” The navy man smiled. He apparently didn’t mind getting questions from a curious civilian.
Josh wasn’t done. “You’ve been in the Persian Gulf? Near Afghanistan? Iraq?”
The sailor shook his head. “Naw. I’ve been to Liverpool, Bristol. And Murmansk. That’s in Russia.”
“Hmm.”
“Say, let me pay you for the smokes.” The sailor began digging in his pockets.
“No. No. That’s not necessary.”
“I insist. There’s the better part of a pack here.”
The sailor withdrew a silvery coin from his pants pocket. Josh could tell from its size that it was a quarter. The sailor made a fist and placed the quarter on his thumbnail. He launched it with his thumb and it came rolling through the air at Josh.
That’s a cool trick, Josh thought, as the quarter spun end over end toward his nose. He would lose face if he failed to catch it, so he shot out his hand and caught the coin in midair. He pocketed the quarter without looking at it, thinking: Cool trick, but a quarter for a nearly full pack of cigarettes? Accepting the pack gratis would have been a bit less tacky.
“Well, you have a good trip.” Josh lifted his briefcase and carry-on bag.
“Same to ya, buddy.”
As he departed, Josh had a final thought: Hopefully the sailor remembered that smoking was illegal in U.S. airports. There were probably no such restrictions in Russia.
By the time Josh arrived at his gate, the cattle call to board the plane had already begun. As Josh stood in line he became aware of the weight of the sailor’s quarter in his pocket.
He removed it and noticed that it did feel heavier than the typical quarter. He rubbed the coin between his thumb and forefinger. The heads side of the quarter bore the usual bust of George Washington. Turning it over, there was the standard eagle design on the tails side.
Then he noticed the date on the quarter: This coin was minted in 1939. Josh had dabbled in coin collecting as a kid, and he remembered that quarters minted before 1964 were 90% silver. It would be therefore be worth a heck of a lot more than its face value of twenty-five cents. Not a fortune, mind you: but at least three to five bucks.
So the sailor had more than paid for his pack of cigarettes. Did he pass the antique coin on purpose? That would be an odd bit of irony for a kid in the navy. But how else could you explain it? How could a silver quarter from 1939 be in circulation after so many years?
Josh let the airline employee take his boarding pass and wish him a pleasant flight. His mind was churning. There was more to this than met the eye. He stowed his bags in the overhead compartment aboard the plane and took his seat at the aisle.
The sailor had claimed to have visited Bristol, Liverpool, and Murmansk, Russia. The U.S. Navy didn’t send many vessels to Russia. Not after the Cold War and all that. And what would a navy man be doing in England? All the action was in the Middle East. There was no war in England or Russia.
Josh smiled. But there had been, about sixty years ago. The sailor had described a typical tour of duty in the European Theater during the Second World War. And then he handed over a silver quarter minted in 1939.
The “sailor” had no doubt been an actor of some sort. Josh had once seen a CNN segment about a historical society somewhere that sent its members out into public clad in various period dress. The faux navy man with a hankering for cigarettes had been part of a similar skit.
Josh leaned back in his seat as the plane lifted off the runway. That guy had me going, he thought. He was pretty good----played his routine straight all the way.
Josh respected the actor’s technique. (Now that guy ought to be in sales.) There was no harm done. In fact, it had been a rather profitable exchange for Josh. He was back on the nonsmoking bandwagon again, and he could hawk the silver quarter on Ebay over the upcoming weekend.
The plane took Josh to Pittsburg, where one of the big banks that he called on had its headquarters. That evening he had dinner with his contact at the bank: a thin, pallid accountant type named Gordon Frye. They ate at one of the best steakhouses in Pittsburg. Frye wasn’t exactly loaded with interesting topics of conversation, and Josh soon grew tired of talking about banking.
“Gordon, do you know anything about old coins?” Josh asked.
Self-satisfied pleasure spread across Gordon’s face, and Josh knew that he had hit pay dirt.
“I’ve been collecting coins for thirty years,” Gordon said. “Ever since I was a kid.”
“Awesome.” Josh told Gordon about the sailor he had met at O’Hare. Then he removed the quarter from his pocket and handed it to the banker.
Gordon held the coin by its edges between his thumb and forefinger. He whistled as he appraised it against the overhead light. “Holy smokes, Josh. Some guy just gave you this for a pack of cigarettes?”
“Yep. The navy guy. And it wasn’t even a full pack. What’s up, Gordon, is this quarter really worth something? Based on the amount of silver here, I was thinking like three or four bucks.”
Gordon shook his head. “It’s more than just the silver, Josh. Look at the condition. This coin is practically uncirculated.”
Josh took a bite of his dinner roll. “Well, how about that? What do you think its worth?”
Gordon frowned. “Difficult to say for sure without a numismatic guide. The prices of historical coins fluctuate all the time. I mean: don’t get me wrong—you’re not going to retire on this thing. But you might get a hundred bucks or so from the right buyer”
“A hundred bucks? Wow!”
Gordon laid the quarter on a clean linen napkin and scooted it back across the table to Josh. “You’d better wrap this up in a non-abrasive fabric of some sort until you get it home. Then take it to a coin dealer for an appraisal. You’ve definitely got something here.”
Josh finished off his dinner roll. “I can’t believe this.”
“Neither can I. Remind me to always take a pack of cigarettes with me when I fly.”
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