The rest of the world says that the United States can self-isolate. They are moving forward.

I have inherited treasure. But my father is the one who actually found it.

Back around 1952, both my parents were still fairly fresh immigrants out of Poland, after WWII. In 1948, my mom, the oldest of 9 kids who survived the war, came over with her parents when she was 16 on this ship, the General A.W. Greely:

And my dad came over the same year. The 9 kids and my grandmother worked on a vegetable farm for the farmer who sponsored their immigration. They lived in this shack which physically, wasn’t tremendously different than the Nazi labor camp barracks they’d spent years in. But, of course, they weren’t slaves here! They had food. They could come and go. And nobody was beating or murdering them.

They were part of a Refugee Program for Displaced Persons. They were called DP’s. Right after the war, since they had no homes to go back to in Poland (they were destroyed [not to mention, now under communist control]), they were sponsored by a family of farmers near Buffalo, NY. The deal was, they would all live in this shack with a bunch of other families, and work all year round picking lettuce, strawberries, cucumbers. beans, and other crops, until their debt was paid off. The youngest of the kids was 2-years-old… my aunt. They all worked the fields. Their sponsor was the DeCarlo Family Farm in the town of North Collins. I have everlasting gratitude to the DeCarlos for treating my family well on that farm, as they became Americans.

My Dad and Grandfather both had jobs lined up at the local Ford plant, although they didn’t then know each other. Somehow, through some social function for immigrants, my mom and dad met and were soon married.

So, my dad was the first son-in-law. I don’t know how they did it, but within just three years, with everyone working on the farm or at the Ford plant, and having satisfied the terms of the immigrant sponsorship, both families had saved enough money to buy houses; both my grandfather and his whole family, and my newlywed Mom and Dad. That was crazy fast! But I guess with that large of a family, and everyone working, down to my 2 year-old aunt, saving pennies picking crops for three seasons added up quickly. They all had just survived the horrors of being right in the center of a World War for six years, so living in a safe peaceful place, in a shack, with the opportunity to earn money… they didn’t dawdle.

In 1951, my dad bought a really nice Victorian Era house in the Polish section of Buffalo, NY. And my grandfather bought a bigger one just down the street. So now, everyone worked just as hard cleaning up the houses, to move into. Out of these twelve people, my dad and grandfather were the only two men… the rest being my grandmother and 8 teenage girls (oh… and my 7 year-old uncle). But, of course, my dad was obliged to help out with the bigger house as well (even though he had his own house to work on).

One day, my grandfather wanted him to help clean out the 100 year old basement in the big house. This is the house as it looked in 2010. By this time, the house has gone to ruins, as you can see.

But in 1951… this was a really grand beautiful house! Built sometime in the 1860s or 1870s, or so. It still had the very old, cast iron, wood-burning, kitchen stove down in the basement. My dad wasn’t all that keen on taking several days away from his own chores, but he helped my grandfather in that basement… under one condition. He got my grandfather to promise that if they found any treasure in that old basement, they would split it 50/50. It was kind of a joke actually, and my grumpy grandfather agreed. They got to work.

Well… of course… they DID find something valuable! And it couldn’t have been more cliché. My dad was poking around on top of the basement ceiling beams, and stuffed in one dark cobwebby corner, he found… a bag of money! An old pouch, full of dozens of very old silver coins! He literally found a bag of treasure! Woohoo!

Now… as fathers and son-in-laws are apt to do… they argued. My grandfather was really pissed off that he had made that silly agreement. He had agreed because he thought that actually finding treasure was a ridiculous hope. But, there it was. One bag of treasure. Now, you have to remember how important money was to these guys. It meant everything, as they’d never had it before; and what they did finally have, came from back-breaking double shifts, for years.

Of course, my grandfather had to abide by the agreement, and each of them took possession of a couple dozen coins, mostly 19th century silver dollars. They had no idea, what was what, so it was a simple matter of… “one for you… one for me… one for you… etc.”

Now, we move forward 18 years. My two sisters and I have by this time been born. I was 6 and my sisters were teenagers. The two families had by this time grown to about nine families, as all the kids grew up and got married off. My mom & dad, and my grandparents continued their hard-working, over-time, penny-pinching ways, during that whole time, and by the late 1960s, they both had saved up enough cash to take the next step in the American Dream. Moving out of the city, and getting a place in the country. In fact, building their own homes. By 1969, both my parents, and my grandparents had built their new beautiful modern houses in the small rural town of Eden, NY. Red-brick ranch style houses with an acre of land each. Fields and forest all around.

That’s our house in the center, and the surrounding countryside. It’s where I grew up. Those forests are where I became a country boy, forever exploring, for miles & miles in every direction. I am eternally thankful for the hard work and sacrifices my parents undertook to provide me and my sisters an incredibly great place to grow up. My grandparents and us built our houses right across the street from each other.

A few years later… I think I was maybe eleven years old, or so… the story of the buried treasure came out. Of course, I wanted to hear all about it! And my dad was happy to finally tell it, as it was one of his greatest moments of “getting” his father-in-law in a “Gotcha!” They had a constant bitter-sweet relationship, for the last twenty years, always trying to out-do each other. It was often at the level of sit-com absurdity. So… we all heard the story at the dinner table that night. And obviously…. WANTED TO SEE IT!

Dad went to his secret hiding spot, and pulled out a cloth pouch of silver coins, and carefully spread them out on the table. Treasure! My eyes couldn’t get wider. Dad talked about his score, and that my grandparents had the other half. They were always meant to hand down to everyone’s kids. But, you see… my grandfather had to split his share amongst all his kids… who each had a pile of kids. So grandma would give them out at special occasions, to my aunts, uncles, and cousins. My dad, on the other hand, only had my two sisters and I to split them up with, so we clearly had the better situation. I don’t recall if my sisters were as eager as I was at the time, but as far as I was concerned… LET THE SPLITTING UP AND HANDING DOWN BEGIN! It’s TREASURE! Heck, yeah!

It’s clear that my dad was prepared to do so, or he would never have brought them out of hiding in the first place. But… to my dismay… we weren’t then getting our full shares. Just one a piece. My disappointment lasted about three seconds, as I got my first share of inheritance, at 11 years old. We got our own old silver coin, and we each eventually put them in our own secret spots. Apparently, not a single one of us knew a single thing about coin collecting. We just all saw they were old, from the 1800’s.

A couple or three more years went buy, and I eventually started looking into actual coin collecting. I bought a book. Strange that no one else had though to do that yet, but I asked my dad if I could see the remaining coins so I could look them up. He allowed me to do that. This is when I discovered that, for the most part, they were Morgan Silver Dollars. 1878 to 1904. I started to read about and understand what mint marks were all about, and learned that age wasn’t the only thing that mattered. There was mint mark and condition, too. Obvious now, but I knew nothing about this stuff before. Clearly, of most import, was the coin that I had as my own. I checked it out and found out that it was worth some $40 or so. Mine was one of the oldest. I believe it was an 1879 coin. I went through the whole pile, one by one. So I was seeing something like “$18… $20… $8… $75 (ooo!)… $20… $85 (!!!) … $8… $20… $2000 … wait, what?! $2000??!!! WOW!!!

One of the coins had the date of 1889 on the front:

And more importantly… it had a “CC” mint mark, for Carson City, Nevada, on the back! (at the bottom, above the “DO” of Dollar.

Holy crap! Being the burgeoning entrepreneur that I was, I immediately asked my dad if I could trade my coin for one of the others. Why? Well, I told him straight up… because it was worth more. He said fine. So… I swapped mine for the CC coin and gave the rest back. Hey… if my sisters had taken the time to read about coin collecting, they could have made the discovery themselves. But they didn’t. So my conscience was clear. My swapped coin went back to my secret hiding spot.

Life went on. We all grew up. Had our traveling, our colleges, our marriages (my divorce), kids, etc.

Close to thirty years passed and I found myself in Arizona, doing wildlife work. I was still kind of emotionally recovering from my marriage debacle in England less than a couple years earlier. And financially recovering. I was all-in on my field studies for various agencies and wildlife groups, getting a lot of great science done. It was just what I needed, as my head wasn’t yet in the game enough to commit myself back to my Engineering career. Unfortunately, half my work was volunteer work (which would pay off later), and the other half was the piddly amount that was usually available in research budgets, for paid field researchers. Emotionally, mentally, I was doing great.

Financially… not so much.

There was a lot of touch & go during those times, trying to make up enough cash to pay basic rent on my 3-room apartment in the “interesting” part of Tucson. Trying to scrape up enough for basic utilities. I cut back on food and went back to my $1/a day/plan that I had developed when I had gotten out of the Army and took on a beach lifeguard job in Florida, almost 20 years earlier. In case you don’t know… beach lifeguards don’t make a whole lot of money. It’s all about the benefits!

So, there I was… starting to love life again, but seriously strained for cash. I kept up selling things and found various ways to get a little here or a little there. But… the time finally came when I simply ran out of resources.

Of course… my coin had already been in the back of my mind for a few months. I really couldn’t consider it, though. I just couldn’t. …. Until I just had to. Okay… my most treasured family heirloom just had to be sacrificed. I was committed. I checked out values again, and noticed it hadn’t changed much. With a liberal estimate of “condition”… I still thought I might be able to get $2000 for it. So… not having internet… I started out to locate every coin buyer, numismatist, collector, and pawn shop I could find. I started making my rounds.

It didn’t start out very well, as I continued to get low-balled on my 1889 CC Morgan Silver Dollar. I was getting offers in the several hundreds, and not even near the $2000 I was holding fast to. I simply could not allow myself to take a desperate price for something that was so valuable to me in every other way.

After a couple of days of this, I found myself having just walked out of another collector’s shop, having been offered $800. Things were looking bleak. I was sitting in my Jeep, clueless, when my phone rang. It was one of the shops I visited the day before.

I guess he thought I would come back for his low-ball. Who knows… in another couple minutes, I may have! But, he said to come on back, and he would give me my $2000 for this coin that we both knew was pretty damn rare! HOLY COW!!! I tried not to act too excited, but I was back there within 15 minutes, and we made the exchange. Wow! I wasn’t going to be homeless after-all! I can’t express how difficult it was to hand over that coin, but I just was at a point of zero options.

So… with the economical way I was living, that was giving me a good three months of breathing room. I could certainly improve my position within three months. And I did.

However… that’s not the end of the story. At that point, Morgans were relatively rare, all over. And that was certainly the case for the really special ones. But fate took a very strange turn just a few weeks after i sold that coin. Turns out that the coin collecting world… at least the Morgan Silver Dollar collecting world… was turned upside down on its head, when an enormous stash of these very coins was found, someplace in America! Like … thousands of them suddenly turned up in the market, and their value steeply plummeted! My $2000 coin took a huge hit and lost well over $1000 in value. If I had waited just another couple weeks, things would have turned out far differently for me that summer in Tucson. Far differently.

I do feel for the unfortunate turn of events for that coin shop that took such a massive loss on his investment. But… what can I say? Collecting is always associated with risk. I got lucky. The coin shop didn’t.

In retrospect, I still see that I had no other options.

Still not the end. Years later, my dad was nearing the end and I was his 24/7 hospice keeper for his final few months. Those coins that he still had, had been given out here and there over the years. But there were still quite a few left. None were ever as valuable as my CC. But, they weren’t worthless, even after the Morgan Crash. So, he gave me the rest of them. I still have heirlooms. Not nearly as valuable, in one sense. But incredibly valuable in another. They are now in my secret hiding spot. And when the time comes… they will be handed down.

They are after all… real and true, found hidden treasure.

There were only two things that shocked me when I came to the US.

• the complete lack of maintenance for the infrastructure. I thought Americans loved to drive? So why not spend some money on maintenance. I’ve seen more potholes in 6 days in the USA, than in my entire life in the Netherlands
• the way police officers and other other uniformed people behaved. It already started on the airport at border security, all of the guys in uniform acted like they were the most important person in the world and we were just measly worms. Come on, I know you have a job to do, but why can’t you just try to be pollite? If Dutch police officers would behave like that, they would be considered unfit for the job.

Answer 2

In a little known factory hidden in the South-West of the UK there is a team of food scientists who have perfected the ideal one-handed meal. Years of research have gone into this, extensive testing has been done by locals and this product is now available.

It can be held in one hand, in fact it has a specially designed grip for ease of use. It contains all the nourishment needed for a meal, has meat, vegetables and potatoes included, and leaves no waste. It has no packaging and can be frozen. Truly a miracle of convenience.

What is this culinary masterpiece? – I give you the Cornish Pasty !

Note how it sits in the hand, look at the wonder of the crimped edging to offer a firm grip. A masterpiece indeed.

It looks good on the inside too,

A complete meal you can hold in one hand and eat while driving a tractor.

Cornwall’s gift to hungry tractor drivers.