By Gerald Hausman
Bokeelia, FL, USA

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One late, rainy night about 40 years ago, we sat before a smoky campfire in plastic ponchos while several of us told stories. A man named Hillel who worked in a bookstore told us about his visit to a junk shop. This is his story...

I had befriended this lonely old lady who owned the store, and she always asked me to visit it with her. I never seemed to have the time to do this, but one day I said, "Sure I'll walk you over there. The store was like a million others - lots of dust-covered junk. But then something caught my eye. It was a vintage photograph of Abraham Lincoln sitting in a chair on a porch somewhere during the Civil War.

As I studied it the old lady said, "Young man, you've been so good to me, eating your lunch on the park bench beside me, and walking all this way to see my treasure-and-trash. Well, now I want to do something for you. Is there anything you see that you like?"

"That isn't necessary," I said.

"I insist," the old lady said. "Pick something, it's yours."

"Well, if you…"

"…Yes?"

"Anything?"

"Well, not that little owl clock over by the window. My husband gave that to me for a wedding gift, but anything else, and it's yours."

I looked at a bunch of things close up. A miniature birch bark canoe, a stuffed alligator, a red velvet fez, a wooden chimp with eyes on slinky springs.

Finally, I stopped in front of Lincoln. "I kind of like this old picture."

"Which old picture?"

"That one there."

"Oh, that! Excellent choice! That's an oil painting of the composer Gustav Mahler done by my garbage man. What a talent!"

"Uh...not that one...the photograph, just to the left."

"Oh, that," the old lady said. She took a couple steps, looked more deeply at the photograph.

Then she turned to me. "Worthless, if you ask me. The Mahler portrait is so much better."

"I know you're right about that, but the truth is, I collect pictures of bearded men in front of white-pillared houses. It's a hobby of mine."

The old lady sighed. "Well, OK. If that's what you want. I'll clean it up and have it ready for you ... how about tomorrow at this same time?"

"I could take it now just as is."

The old lady glanced at me. "Nothing unclean leaves my store. Besides, I want to wrap it nice for you. So - tomorrow, then?"

I left the store but as soon as I was a little ways away, I sprinted to my apartment. I took every Lincoln book I had off the shelves, and carefully examined each one. Then I jogged to the Paperback Booksmith and looked at the newly published Lincoln collection. There was no doubt. The old lady's photograph was one of a kind. Unpublished, unknown, lost in time.

That night I couldn't sleep. In the morning, I examined my Lincoln books all over again. I was sure of it: the old lady's Lincoln was a priceless, unknown photograph.

That afternoon when I got to the store, I found the door locked. I peered into the unwashed, bluish windows. My eye crept along the rows of dusty things and rested at the place where the Lincoln photograph was - but it wasn't there.

Of course it wasn't there. She was wrapping it for me.

I waited for hours, but the shop stayed closed.

I returned to the store the next afternoon. This time the place was empty. Cleaned out.

Some old lady, wouldn't you say?

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Gerald Hausman - Author & Storyteller

 

All opinions expressed by Gerald Hausman are solely his own and do not reflect the opinions of Stay Thirsty Media, Inc.