Sad Little Numismatic Story

I posted this on another forum earlier qnd wanted to share it with you guys too...
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When I was a boy growing up in rural east Texas the days could get pretty boring at times and collecting coins was one of the simple enjoyments which was available to my brother and I. Many evenings you'd find my little brother and I looking thru the change my oldman brought home from his hardware store.

In the springtime of 1972 an out of town family (The Mills) bought a little place (house and 10 acres) just up the road and they'd would come in to visit/live there during the weekends. Chuckle, the locals called them 'the weekenders' because come Sunday afternoon they would pack-up and head back to Houston. They were very nice likable folks and I guess they planned to retire there in a couple of years after Mr. Mills retired from the Southern Pacific Railroad where he'd worked for many years.

Anyway, they had a son, Gary, he was 11 years old exactly splitting the age difference between my little brother and I. It only took a few weekends and a month or two during the summer before we had a regular trail thru the woods and their hay pasture seperating our two houses. Fast friends for life it had turned into, and to top it off Gary liked to collect coins too. His Buffalo nickel collection was pretty good for an 11 year old and he had some loose silver quarters too. However, he always loved my two Morgan dollars an 1887-O and a uncirculated 1878-S. These two coins my dad had given me a few years before and they were the center pieces of my little collection. Heck, we even had a coin collecting/whatever club. We called it "The Armadillo Club" and our hideout was way down in the woods at some sandstone cliffs the indians had called Red Hollow.

His folks and ours really enjoyed each others company and there were many many BBQs on Saturday afternoons. Unfortunately, the weekends just flew by and the weekdays took forever knowing that Gary and his family would be arriving on Friday evenings.

Time just flew by minute-by-minute... In the summer of 1973 my little brother and I went over to my Uncle Johnny's in Big Sandy, Tx for two weeks while our folks went down to Monterey Mexico on an anniversary vacation. It quickly turned out to be one of the worst 'vacations?' ever we thought. That man (my uncle) had us picking and shelling purple hull peas until my fingers bled. But then, out of the blue he took us cat-fishing for two days on the Nechus River and that made up for all the pea picking.

When we got back home I sensed something was the matter, the first thing my dad did was to sit us down on the couch. Man. I'll tell you I thought we were in serious trouble (we always were...) for some reason again. It was then we were told that Gary had bone cancer and had to have his arm amputated, also that he'd lost all of his hair due to the chemo-therapy he was receiving. All of this had happened in such a short time. Sure enough that next weekend we rode our bikes thru the woods to Gary's house. His mom was very concerned that we'd disturb him while he was resting but finally let us in see him. Sure enough Gary was in bad shape. That was the last time I would ever see him alive...

Two months later there were six young boys who were selected to be the pallbearers at Gary's funeral. My little brother and I were part of the sad procession. It was a rainey humid afternoon in Centerville at the funeral home. He (Gary) was wearing his Houston Astro baseball cap, blue jeans, tennis shoes, and a long-sleeve shirt with the sleeve pinned up. It was then I slipped a beautiful 1878 Morgan dollar into his coffin. I don't think anyone saw me do it. If they did nobody stopped me...

Take Care
Ben