This is an idiosyncrasy of mine. The most seemingly insignificant object or experience can send me into full-on Charlie Brown/Pig-Pen mode. I’m referring to a scene in A Charlie Brown Christmas, in which Frieda is complaining about the dust coming off of Pig-Pen and ruining her naturally curly hair. Charlie Brown responds to her complaint with an alternate, more romantic bent, suggesting that she look at Pig-Pen’s filth more subjectively. He proffers, “It staggers the imagination. He may be carrying soil that was trod upon by Solomon…”
That’s what happened to me this week when I was counting my change and discovered that I had received a well-worn and decidedly filthy quarter minted with the year 1974. In 2010, one almost never receives a coin of such vintage! My mind immediately began to race with the possibilities. Oh I would that I had the extra-sensory ability depicted in science fiction and paranormal dramas in which the hero can see the history of an object merely by touching it. What turns of happenstance led this aged coin into my possession?
1974…
The year of Todd Rundgren’s Todd album and the first Kiss album. I measure my whole damn life by records. No. To consider the circulation life of a quarter, one must concentrate on more mundane things. How many pockets has it been in? On how many dressers and nightstands? How many diner tables? In how many toll baskets? Public phones? Vending machines? Sofas? Piggy banks? Guitar cases? How many times has it been dropped from the roof of a skyscraper?
I received this coin in New York City. Had it ever left Manhattan? How many New Yorkers have been in possession of it? What were they doing? Where was it during the blackout in the summer of 1977? Who was holding it the day John Lennon died? How many times has it been some kid’s last quarter? (I mean, who cares how many people have held a $20? If you have a $20, you’re OK.) How many important calls have been made with it? How many times has it fallen to the sound of an operator asking for more money, long before the girl on the other end has forgiven the caller? How many winning tickets have been scratched off with it? How many losers? How long has it lain dormant in the muck under subway tracks or in a storm drain? Who found it and how? Who got it moving again?
How the world has transformed around this little piece of metal. Hell, I’m not even using the same teeth as when this coin was stamped. I got it as change when I bought my coffee, a large half-caff with milk. When this quarter was new, I doubt you could even buy coffee in more than one size. The closest you could get to decaf was Sanka. Still, it’s the same quarter from 1974 and it survives.
Coins are seldom considered this way, but they can have a value that nearly invalidates the monetary one. In the sound of them when they fall, in their lustre or dullness, in their durability, they are a freely floating symbol of undocumented human history and experience. When you hold one, you are instantly connected to all of those people and events. You become part of the continuum in a such an authentic way, yet it’s so easy to miss it.
Historical sites and monuments are the bold statements we make to ennoble and commemorate ourselves, but everyday life, simply surviving and learning what we are here to learn, is no less noble and no less worthy of commemoration. Goals and milestones are the stuff of $20s, $50s and $100s. Real life is a quarter.
