A scarey, horrid story: The true PKOK coin tale.
truthteller
Posts: 1,240 ✭✭
Gather children around the campfire, and I will tell you a story, so frightful, so horrid, that you will never leave this place without fear, never enter a coinshow without misgivings, never stay in a dark, lonely room without seeing moving coin shadows on the wall.
It was a dark and dreary night. The year was 1992. The sun had set many hours ago, and the pitter pat of raindrops began to hit the house windows of a forlorn man's basement. He was a gentle figure of middle years, dark long brown hair, a face that had been aged by time. He had a interesting but uneventful life, constantly in search of a new adventure, something to pass the time. He was an avid coin collector, but rarely had enough money to buy anything of true value. In years past, the collector had come to love color on coins. It brought him great pleasure to see the rainbows on the surface of a half dollar, a quarter, a nickel. But that color always came with a price, something that kept those coins out of reach. This night would be different from all others.
As the raindrops became torrents, he closed the window, sat down on his workstool, placed his arms on the workbench and began to ponder. He glanced around the basement, viewing old cans of paint, chemicals, brushes, boxes of sandpaper, tools, everything one would need to fix things, repair things, make things look better. The slight smell of turpentine filled the air, almost a pungent gas to remind him that more work had to be done. His thoughts turned to those lovely color coins.
As a lad of 10, he would always ask his father to bring him to the local coin show every month. His father always agreed. In his mind, the show was a wonder. A large room filled with people, trading, selling, always bargaining. The lad was facinated. He stood by his father, clasping his hand for encouragement. "Mr Coin Dealer, how much for that pretty colored dollar?" the boy questioned in a sheepish voice. The dealer retored, "You mean that Eisenhower dollar, with the funny color?" The boy's eyes grew large, "Yes, that's the one". "Well, they are still in circulation, but this one was unusual. I'll make you a deal. Howabout $1.10?", the dealer proclaimed. The lad of 10 replied, "deal" and brought out all the change in his pocket, nickels, pennies and dimes. A dollar and ten cents worth. The boy was filled with joy, smiling at his father. The two drove home, none saying a word. The boy clutching his new purchase. He was very happy.
Part two tomorrow.
It was a dark and dreary night. The year was 1992. The sun had set many hours ago, and the pitter pat of raindrops began to hit the house windows of a forlorn man's basement. He was a gentle figure of middle years, dark long brown hair, a face that had been aged by time. He had a interesting but uneventful life, constantly in search of a new adventure, something to pass the time. He was an avid coin collector, but rarely had enough money to buy anything of true value. In years past, the collector had come to love color on coins. It brought him great pleasure to see the rainbows on the surface of a half dollar, a quarter, a nickel. But that color always came with a price, something that kept those coins out of reach. This night would be different from all others.
As the raindrops became torrents, he closed the window, sat down on his workstool, placed his arms on the workbench and began to ponder. He glanced around the basement, viewing old cans of paint, chemicals, brushes, boxes of sandpaper, tools, everything one would need to fix things, repair things, make things look better. The slight smell of turpentine filled the air, almost a pungent gas to remind him that more work had to be done. His thoughts turned to those lovely color coins.
As a lad of 10, he would always ask his father to bring him to the local coin show every month. His father always agreed. In his mind, the show was a wonder. A large room filled with people, trading, selling, always bargaining. The lad was facinated. He stood by his father, clasping his hand for encouragement. "Mr Coin Dealer, how much for that pretty colored dollar?" the boy questioned in a sheepish voice. The dealer retored, "You mean that Eisenhower dollar, with the funny color?" The boy's eyes grew large, "Yes, that's the one". "Well, they are still in circulation, but this one was unusual. I'll make you a deal. Howabout $1.10?", the dealer proclaimed. The lad of 10 replied, "deal" and brought out all the change in his pocket, nickels, pennies and dimes. A dollar and ten cents worth. The boy was filled with joy, smiling at his father. The two drove home, none saying a word. The boy clutching his new purchase. He was very happy.
Part two tomorrow.
0
Comments
and they're cold.
I don't want nobody to shoot me in the foxhole."
Mary
Best Franklin Website
Lincoln set Colorless Set
The fear has me in a fetal position next to my computer.
Cheers, RickO
In honor of the memory of Cpl. Michael E. Thompson
<< <i>He shouldn't have been a "gentle figure of middle years" in 1992 if he was buying Ike dollars when he was 10-years old. >>
I've been told I tolerate fools poorly...that may explain things if I have a problem with you. Current ebay items - Nothing at the moment
<< <i>
<< <i>He shouldn't have been a "gentle figure of middle years" in 1992 if he was buying Ike dollars when he was 10-years old. >>
Other than that, everything that follows will be the truth! Alt IDs who nobody knows always tell the truth.
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
<< <i>...a gentle figure of middle years, dark long brown hair, a face that had been aged by time. >>
So it was Russ, huh?
and they're cold.
I don't want nobody to shoot me in the foxhole."
Mary
Best Franklin Website
<< <i>He shouldn't have been a "gentle figure of middle years" in 1992 if he was buying Ike dollars when he was 10-years old. >>
I think the trip to the show was a flashback.
Russ, NCNE
It was Pharmer!
(edit for spelling)
and they're cold.
I don't want nobody to shoot me in the foxhole."
Mary
Best Franklin Website
I think the trip to the show was a flashback.
if he bought an Ike Dollar in 1971 when he was 10 years old, he would be 32 years old in 1992. that's the extreme time range, but since the "tale" also contains the line about that Eisenhower dollar, with the funny color it's a loser either way. i doubt a coin in it's first year of existence could tone nicely without help and a young man of 32 is hardly in what most would consider middle years.
just my take on what i see as tallness to the tale.
Camelot
roadrunner
"Everything is on its way to somewhere. Everything." - George Malley, Phenomenon
http://www.american-legacy-coins.com
That is, of course, if it is the truth...Shouldn't we EXPECT the truth from someone with the handle TRUTHTELLER?
Collector of Early 20th Century U.S. Coinage.
ANA Member R-3147111
Experience the World through Numismatics...it's more than you can imagine.
<< <i>Welcome home Truthteller. We missed you.
We? You got a mouse in your pocket?
Just kidding. If I'd ever heard of this great person I'd probably be as excited as you. Fantasy is my favorite genre.
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
That's because you're a wimpy idiot who isn't old enough to change his own diapers. Wait till part two.
TRUTH
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
TRUTH
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
might be a good movie plot here somewhere.
Hell if they can do National Treasure they can do a coinmake of gunsmoke.
TRUTH
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
TRUTH
<< <i>So, you got the guts to say who you are? Or you gonna hide behind an alt ID? >>
I have met Truthteller. He's no alt ID, nor is he Greg.
New collectors, please educate yourself before spending money on coins; there are people who believe that using numismatic knowledge to rip the naïve is what this hobby is all about.
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
TRUTH
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
TRUTH
<< <i>
<< <i>So, you got the guts to say who you are? Or you gonna hide behind an alt ID? >>
I have met Truthteller. He's no alt ID, nor is he Greg. >>
I've meet him also, on several occasions. And, unlike Michael Jackson and Diana Ross, I've seen him in the same room with Greg.
Now, Truth...
Is it chapter two or chapter three where we get more info. on shoe boxes; insects; reptiles a certain Salt Lake City paint store, and utah desert large satellite dishes?
peacockcoins
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
TRUTH
TRUTH
You are henceforth to be known as LIES. But you knew that what with everyone dissing you already in this thread
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
Yoo hoo, LIES!
Ask your mommy if you can come out and play, LIES.
So Pat, this is gonna be about you, is that right?
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."
I must admit, you were queen cesspool of the open forum.
TRUTH
"Seu cabra da peste,
"Sou Mangueira......."
And by the way, LIES, I was promoted to Village Idiot way back, moron.
Apropos of the coin posse/aka caca: "The longer he spoke of his honor, the tighter I held to my purse."