When I was a kid my grandfather gifted me with a couple of coin-collecting albums, one well-stocked with pre-1959 “wheat” Lincoln pennies, the other brimming with pre-1964 Washington quarters, the 90% silver variety. Yours truly truly treasured the albums of old coins. As an aside, I loved the special sound made by a stray silver quarter jingling amid my pocket change. Remember when thoze daze were commonplace? Oh, but I do digress. Back to my books of coins.

As a pre-teen Navy brat, er, Navy junior circa the late 1960s, I’d spend my allowance on vinyl record albums purchased uptown at Perkin’s Bookworm, or better yet, out at the Navy Exchange where the going rate was a more economical $3.75 per pop. Well, one fine day when I had a hankering for the latest Beatles LP, but happened to be short on cash, I figured it’d be a bright idea (uh-oh) to raid my treasured treasure trove of silver quarters, fifteen of which would pay the freight. I’m certain the lady at the Exchange “exchanged” my jingly-jangly payment with money of her own, pocketing for herself a boon of silver quarters. Cha-ching!

Go ahead folks, feel free to call me a mental giant. It wouldn’t be the first time! Therefore, file this missive under the heading: “Penny-wise, Pound-foolish.” [sigh]

VOL. 112, NO. 46 - Nov. 16, 2022

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