Auld Lang Syne

Auld Lang Syne

December 25, 2019. Susan was very quiet. I wasn’t good at reading her emotions despite having been with her for over two years. That was one of my faults she occasionally threw in my face. But I knew she wasn’t happy.

“Susan, what’s wrong. Don’t you like the jewelry I bought you?” She didn’t answer. I persisted. “Susan, please talk to me.”

“If you can’t figure it out, then we have deeper problems.”

“What do you mean?”

“Do you really not realize I was expecting an engagement ring?”

I answered, “We have more than enough time to go there.”

She shot back, “I’m not going to play the biological clock card. I honestly thought you were committed to building a life, a future with me.”

I knew I was on shaky ground, but I had to respond. I wanted to end the conversation. “Can we talk about this later?”

“Later, later. Are we going to be talking about this Christmas next year? In 2025? In 2040? 2050? Michael, I need to make some decision about my future. Whether they include you are not.”

I was bothered by what she was saying, but I wasn’t stunned. “Are we still going to Sheila and Jerry’s party New Year’s Eve?”

“Yes, of course. I made a commitment to you to go and one person in this relationship needs to know how to make and keep a commitment.”

Technically, Susan and I weren’t living together; she still maintained her own apartment. But she stayed here last night, and I assume she would stay here tonight.

“Michael, I’m going to be going back to my place now.” How cold “Michael” sounded. Not “sweetheart”, not “dear”. I kissed her goodnight. It was a very perfunctory kiss.

December 31, 2019. Sheila and Jerry’s party was nice, but Susan said she was feeling ill and didn’t even want to see the new year in. We left at 11:00 and she immediately went to bed. We watched the ball drop and went to bed. She fell asleep before I did.

January 1, 2020. When I woke up, Susan wasn’t in bed with me. I went into the living room and she wasn’t there. I wasn’t alarmed, at least not yet. Maybe she was feeling better and went for a short run. As ill as she was last night, I didn’t imagine her taking her customary long run, but maybe she wanted the exercise. I prepared breakfast but didn’t cook it. I didn’t want it to get cold. When she hadn’t returned by 10:00, I started to worry and went out to look for her. But I had no idea in which direction she may have run.

When I got outside, I saw two vintage automobiles. They were quaint, but I didn’t think anything of them. Perhaps some of my neighbors wanted to create a festive nostalgic mood and had rented the cars for the night. Then I saw something quite anomalous, a newsboy, dressed in knickers and a newsboy’s cap, was selling newspapers! I approached him and saw the date on the newspaper, January 1,1920. I reached into my pocket and pulled a couple of dollars from my bill fold. When I handed them to the boy, he asked what was this? “A couple of dollars for a paper.”

“They’re still only 2 cents, sir.”

I reached into my pocket for a couple of pennies. The oldest coin I found was a Washington quarter dated 1947. The boy gave me a quizzical look. “I’m sorry, but this is the smallest coin I have,” I told him.

“Is this counterfeit, sir? What is this date, 1947?”

“What’s your name, son?”

“Charles, sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles. I’m Michael. I’ve just, uh, I’m a stranger here. I’m going to need someone to give me guidance in this strange land. Can I count on you to do that for me?”

“Uh, I’ll do what I can, sir.”

“I don’t have any money. Do you know where I can find a, uh, a pawn shop?”

“Yes, sir. Sorley’s on the next block. But they won’t be open until tomorrow.”

“Are you always her selling your papers?”

“Yes, sir. I have a regular group of customers and they expect to see me here each morning.”

“Good, good. Charles, I know that you don’t know me. I’ve already told you I don’t have any money. But can you trust me with a newspaper that I can’t pay you for until tomorrow?”

The boy was reluctant, but finally said, “Why, yes, sir. My mother always told me to be kind to those less fortunate than me.”

I went to bed last night a highly compensated executive with a business degree and now I was dependent on a waif of a newspaper boy. He handed me the newspaper and I was able to confirm what I was beginning to suspect. January 1, 1920. There was a front-page story about the beginning of Prohibition in 16 days. Another story told of the 1^st air mail service between Seattle and Vancouver. On the sports section, there was a story of the Tournament East-West football game featuring Harvard and Oregon. The story casually mentioned that Oregon was expected to win the game. “Fat chance of that,” I said aloud.

“What’s that, sir?”

“Oregon doesn’t have a chance of beating Harvard,” I muttered.

“I beg your pardon, sir. But the Webfoots are going to mop up the boys from Cambridge.”

“Are you a football fan?” I asked.

“Not really a fan, but I make an occasional bit of spare change running bets for a bookie that lives down the street from my mother and me.”

I don’t know why I had remembered, but I had watched a documentary on the history of the bowl games, and I remember them talking about how much of an upset it was that Harvard had beaten Oregon. “Charles, could you place a bet for me with your bookie?”

“Yes, sir. But you’ve just told me you don’t have any money.”

“How much money could you put your hand on? QUICKLY!”

Again, he hesitated. I think he knew what I was leading up to. “I’ve been putting away my earnings from selling newspapers. I probably have $5 put aside.”

“Can you take that $5 and bet it on Harvard for me? I’ll pay you back double when they win.”

“I might as well kiss my money goodbye, sir. Harvard is going to lose. I don’t know why I’ll do it, sir. But just for you I’ll make that bet.”

We parted and agreed to meet tomorrow morning.

When I walked into my apartment, I started paying attention. Some things were the same, others were quite different. Others were the subject of subtle differences. The refrigerator was the same, but there was no television nor computer. There was no cell phone. The phone was a black candlestick phone with a rotary dial in the base. My clothes were as I had left them last night. The few items of clothing Susan left in my apartment were also the same. I went to the pantry. There were cans of Campbell soup, vegetable, tomato and chicken noodle. There was a box of Kellogg’s Toasted Corn Flakes. There were uneeda biscuits from the National Biscuit Company.

I had a stash of 1 oz. American gold eagle coins, but they were all stamped with dates of 1985 or later. Fortunately, I did have a few $1, $5 and $10 gold coins dated before 1920. It was going to break my heart to have to sell then for a fraction of what I knew they were worth, but I needed to raise some quick cash.

January 2, 1920. When I saw Charles the next morning, he looked like he had just won a fortune. He was excitedly flashing two $5 bills. “I can’t believe we won, sir. You really had a lot of faith in your Harvard squad.”

“Yes, faith,” I said with a sense of irony. “Charles, I want you to remember this moment. If you have the same amount of faith in me as I had in Harvard, I can make you a wealthy lad. Here, keep the $10 as a symbol of our trust.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I then showed him a saxophone that I had brought from my apartment. It was the only thing I could think of that I could sell to raise some case. I had bought it new 10 years ago – if that phrase means anything now – but I trusted that saxophone design had not evolved so much that it would arouse suspicion. “Show me that pawn shop so that I can raise some quick cash.”

When we came from the pawn shop, I told Charles I needed to get a job so I could start earning some money, quickly.

“Do you know how to cook, sir?”

“Yes, actually I’m a pretty good cook. Why?”

“Mr. O’Rourke’s short order cook got drunk New Year’s Eve and didn’t come in to work yesterday. Mr. O’Rourke said he had had enough with him and fired him on the spot.” Charles and I went to O’Rourke’s and an hour later I was the new short order cook. I didn’t imagine this was going to be a permanent career move, but it would give me some spending money until I could develop a longer-term plan of action. Mr. O’Rourke was quite glad to see me, and he was impressed with the quick demonstration of cooking skills I showed him on the spot. I told him I was really a responsible person, but due to breaking up with my girlfriend I really would appreciate it if he could pay me at the end of the day for my 1^st 3 days. Mr. O’Rourke smiled knowingly, winked and said, “I think I’m going to like you, Michael. I’ll do this for you, but don’t make it a habit.”

January 5, 1920. It was Monday and I had two days’ pay in my pocket with the promise of one more day at the end of my shift. I was working the late shift at the diner and spend the morning buying a new outfit suitable for business. I could get used to this Gatsby look. I went to the Industrial Bank of New York to open an account. I remembered one of the abuses of the banking system that led to the great depression was the integration of commercial and investment banking which led to an inherent conflict where commercial banks were selling their customers stocks that they were underwriting. The house of cards collapsed in October of 1929, but I figured that I could be nimble enough to go along for the ride for 9-3/4 years.

Within a month, I had built a little portfolio of Coca Cola, Radio Corporation of America, Standard Oil of New Jersey, American Tobacco and American Machinery Foundry, all bought on margin. I just needed to remember to liquidate everything by October 1929.

January 16, 1920. Charles wanted me to meet his mother. “What about your father, Charles?”

“I don’t have a father, sir. I’m a bastard.” I had told Charles’s mother, Colleen, that with Prohibition beginning the next day, we needed to go out and get a drink and some supper. She was a delightful Irish woman with flaming red hair. I had learned Charles was twelve and his mother had been 16 when he was born. I figured that she was 28, but her 12 hour shifts, 6 days a week, in a garment factory sweat shop did not completely destroy her natural beauty. The 3 of us had a delightful evening until we came to the end of the night. When I escorted Colleen and Charles back to their tenement apartment, I felt it would not be inappropriate to give her a friendly little kiss. She slapped my face, “What do you think you are doing? Just because some cad defiled me in the past, that doesn’t mean that I’m some floozy that you can have your way with.” I apologized, but she was clearly upset. I had to learn a lot about social protocol in 1920.

January 17, 1920. Charles was back selling his papers. “Charles, I’m so sorry that your mother misinterpreted my intentions. I hope that she will let me make it up to her.”

“She’ll be alright, sir. In fact, between you and me, I think she enjoyed the attention you paid to her. She just didn’t want to give you the wrong impression as to what type of woman she is. That evening was to become the first of many evenings I was to spend “wooing” Colleen. In fact, I proposed to her in April and we were to be married June 5. I was becoming so absorbed by life in 1920, I felt that I needed to ask someone for permission to marry Colleen. But there was no one to ask except Charles.

“Charles, how would you feel if I were to ask your mother to marry me?

The grin on his face gave me his answer. “I would be so happy, sir.”

I still didn’t have many friends so I asked Charles what seemed to me a natural if strange question “Charles, would you be my best man?”

Charles appeared to be upset. “Sir, I know that you mean to be paying me a great honor, but I was expecting to give her away. I don’t think I can do both.”

I laughed aloud. “Of course, you should give your mother away. I’ll figure out something else for the best man.”

We were married on June 5, 1920. Charles had never enrolled in school since he was too busy working to support his mother. I told him and Colleen I would have him enrolled in the Chapin School, a newly opened preparatory school in town. His mother had tried to educate him as best she could. He was good at grammar and arithmetic, but he was a little weak on History, unless you counted the history of Ireland. Geography was remarkably strong due to both of them loving America.

I had been hired as a trainee at the Industrial Bank and made rapid career advancement when it was acquired by Manufacturer’s Trust.

Colleen and I began our family in March 1921 with the birth of Charles’s half-sister Amelia. I made sure Charles had a position at what was then Manufacturer’s Hanover when he graduated from Columbia in 1932. As tough as times were for his four years of college and his subsequent job search, my considerable wealth that I had accumulated helped pave his way. His natural intelligence, diligence and drive did not hurt him.

The next 40 years were characterized by growth in our family and wealth. Amelia married well in 1946 after we had made sure that she was educated at Bernard College. When I realized that I would soon be coming to the end of my life, it was with an immense sense of satisfaction. Charles had given me my first “step”-grandson, but I never thought of him in terms of being a step-relative. Similarly, Amelia gave us a granddaughter that she named Rose. I did occasionally allow myself to wonder what would have happened if I had not been transported by that rip in the curtain of time back in 2020/1920. But all in all, I passed away in peace.

April 15, 2019. “Come on, Michael. I don’t want to be the last ones to my grandmother’s 70^th birthday.” 

“You owe me big time for this one, Susan.”

“Don’t be such a spoil sport. Grandmother Rose is my oldest living relative. Her grandparents amassed considerable wealth in the 20’s and later. And they managed to safeguard and even increase their wealth during the Depression. It has afforded me and my family a very luxurious lifestyle.

I couldn’t believe how charming and delightful the old gal was. I really was glad that I had been dragged to her party. Her stories of Susan’s great-great grandfather and grandmother, Michael and Colleen captivate me. She said she naturally liked me because her grandfather was named Michael, but I attributed that to the doddering ramblings of an old woman. We both marveled at the coincidence that her grandfather, Susan’s great-great grandfather, and I were both named Michael Stevens. But we laughed it off remarking that is wasn’t that uncommon a name.

January 1, 2021. Grandmother Rose had called Susan and asked her to take her to the cemetery to pay tribute to Michael and Colleen. Susan indulger her because of her age and she wanting to continue to curry favor with her when she considers passing on her vast wealth.

They got out of the car and Rose led her to the graves. She had been there often although this was the first time Susan had paid her respects. “Susan, Grandfather Michael told me a fantastic story when I was a little girl. I thought it was just a wild story that he had made up to entertain his first-born grandchild. But then when I met your gentleman friend at my 70^th birthday party, and last year when I was told about how your young friend had just disappeared, vanished in thin air as it were, I realized I needed to show you something. She showed her the tombstone. “Colleen McGillicuddy Stevens, Loving Wife, B: September 15, 1891 D March 23, 1950” “Michael Stevens, Devoted Husband and Father B: January 30, 1993 D August 8, 1961.

The anomaly was unavoidable. So much became clear. Michael, her lover, who mysteriously disappeared last year, was her great-great grandfather.

“What does it mean, grandma?”