You will find short stories on this site. Most are autobiographical. Some are fiction.

INVESTMENT IN LIFE

My dad died in the Winter of 1965. It was the same year that I completed my Architecture degree at The University of Oregon. Before leaving Eugene, I told my friend, Brad, that I was going to hitchhike across the country and settle in one of its largest cities. He suggested that if I had a chance, I should look up his friend, a stockbroker in New York. I made a note of his name.

I spent the summer hitchhiking, sleeping on the Greyhound bus, and in cheap hotels during my stays in San Francisco, Los Angeles, Albuquerque*, Denver, Chicago, Philadelphia, New York City, and Boston. I decided to settle in NYC. It was, after all, the center of the American urban culture.

I stayed with a friend while looking for an apartment in Manhattan. I found that the only apartments I could afford were in the Lower East Side. However, I was advised that the Lower East Side was too dangerous and that I should not go there. To test this warning I spent one night walking the East Side between 3rd and Canal streets. It was an uneventful night.

That November, an invoice found its way to me in my Fifth Street tenement in Manhattan’s Lower East Side. The invoice was for the annual premium on a life insurance policy that my father had on my life. I did not like the idea of spending my hard-earned money on life insurance so that someone could have it when I died. I paid it the first year out of a sense of obligation to my dad. Then I liquidated the policy. For it, I received a check for thirty-five hundred dollars. This was the most money I had ever had at one time. I took the check to my bank to deposit it. At the end of the transaction the teller, a young woman, gave me my receipt for the deposit. And then she became flustered. She had failed to record my identification, something the bank required for a large deposit. She asked for my driver’s license. There was no need to carry a driver’s license while living in New York City. I told her that I had to go to my apartment to get it. She returned my check, and I left to go for my driver’s license.

As I walked home, I realized that the teller had given me the receipt for a deposit of $3,500 and I still had my check. I returned to the bank with my check and ID and waited for the same teller to be free. When I reached her window I told her of her mistake. She was greatly relieved that I had returned. “That error could have cost me my job”. She said.

So I had $3,500 sitting in the bank and earning 3% interest. I decided to invest it in the stock market. Remembering that Brad had given me the name of his friend, I combed through my scraps of paper and found his name and phone number. I called him. He agreed to help me find a stock in which to invest. He suggested I come to his house for dinner so we could talk about it.

A few nights later I went to his Gramercy Park townhouse. We made small talk over wine followed by a nice meal that he had prepared. After dinner, he said he had decided on a stock for me. It was Texas Gulf Sulfur. He proceeded to tell me how well it had performed over the past year, that he held it and liked the company very much. He then asked, “What do you think?” I hesitated and then asked “Isn’t sulfur used in napalm and other munitions in Vietnam? He looked surprised at my question and didn’t answer. I then, told him that I did not want to invest in a stock that benefited from the war. He fell silent. He was dealing with an attitude that was antithetical to his own. He probably saw me as an anti-war hippy.

We spoke of other things, life in the city, and my work on the Lower Manhattan Plan. He told me what it was like being a broker on the floor of the American Stock Exchange, Nothing more was said of a stock suggestion for me. When the meal was over, the atmosphere was still a little strained. It was clear that the time had come for me to leave. I thanked him for the delicious meal and pleasant evening and moved toward his door. Before opening the door for me he said, “I have been thinking about a stock which would be good for you. There is a little company called Sternco. They make pet products, such as goldfish food. It is well-run and certainly has nothing to do with the war.” We spoke a little about it. I agreed that it was a good choice. The following day invested my entire $3,500 in Sternco.

A couple of weeks later, President Johnson announced the unilateral cessation of bombing of North Vietnam. This was an indication that the US was ready to pull out of the war, an eventuality that the nation had anticipated. The stock market reacted with similar drama. Immediately war stocks plummeted and peacetime stocks rose. Over the following months, I watched the value of my pet food stock rise. On many days, when I would look at the stock market report, I would find, to my delight, that I had made more, that day, on my Sternco stock than I had earned working. By the end of that Winter, Texas Gulf Sulfur had lost half its value and Sternco had doubled. I sold half of the Sternco stock and ordered a VW bug to be picked up in Wolfsberg, Germany.

* FOOTNOTE

You may wonder why I stopped in Albuquerque. It is certainly not one of the great American cities which I set out to visit. While it was not planned, the night spent there was more memorable than the time I spent in any of the other cities. The events that led to that experience started as the Greyhound bus departed Los Angeles. On that bus, sitting by herself, was a young woman, approximately my age. I was 27. She may have been five years younger. As the bus was getting underway, I asked if I could sit in the empty seat next to her. She said nothing but smiled and nodded. I introduced myself. She replied, “My name is Samantha Erickson.” We talked, non-stop, as the bus rumbled across the afternoon deserts of California, and Arizona. She was going on to Cincinnati. I was going to Denver. Through our long conversation, we developed an interest in one another. It was more like a fondness. I lamented that when we arrived in Albuquerque, we would be getting onto separate buses and never meet again. After thinking about that for a few minutes I suggested that “We could interrupt our trips and spend the night together.” She smiled, as if to say “That is an interesting idea.” but said nothing. We continued to talk of other things. As the bus was pulling into the station in Albuquerque, I leaned over and said, almost in a whisper, “We could spend the night together.” I was surprised and delighted to hear her say “OK”.

This prospect was amazing, it was something I had never done and while she didn’t say as much, I am sure that the same was true for her. She suggested that I would need to buy condoms. “Wow!” I thought, “This is going to be a great night.” We got off the bus and went to the first drugstore we could find. We then located an old hotel near the bus station and booked a room as Mr. and Mrs. Lundy. After dropping our things in the room, we walked to a restaurant for a late dinner. After dinner, we returned to the hotel room. We decided that after a long day on the bus, it would be good to take a shower together. The shower, in the hotel, was a tiled room. It easily accommodated both of us with space to spare. While washing each other I tried to convince her to have intercourse in the shower. She was not willing. I had thought that after her wanting me to buy condoms this kind of thing would be part of the evenings’ pleasurable experiences. She expressed concern that if I were to “become excited and too active, she could become pregnant.” I offered to sit on the shower floor and she could squat down on me. That way I could not become “too active” and she would be in control. She agreed to try it.

I sat on the warm wet tile floor and leaned back against the wall. She knelt’ straddling me with a knee on each side of my waist. Then Samantha slowly sat back. We slid together smoothly until she was sitting upright on me. We fit so beautifully. It was wonderful. She paused there for a moment as we each savored our union. Then, slowly, she rose into a kneeling position and stood. Saying nothing, she walked into the bedroom while toweling off. I got up and pursued her but to no avail. It is as if that brief experience was all that she wanted. She got into bed and turned away from me. Though I snuggled against her back she was unresponsive. She said “I’m tired. I want to go to sleep.” This was the death knell for any additional pleasure. I gave up, rolled over to face the other direction, and fell asleep. It was after midnight when I was jolted awake by pulsing pain in my penis. As I awakened I found the cause of my pain was Samantha. She had a tight grip on it and was jerking it. I loudly protested saying “What are you doing?” She recoiled at my reaction and turned away. We both went back to sleep.

In the morning we got up and dressed with minimal conversation. Neither of us mentioned the night before. We walked to her bus, which was leaving before mine. She boarded and sat in a seat near where I was standing. As it pulled out of the station, through the darkened window she waived goodbye, forever.