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Here’s A Dime, Have Fun!

Roughly two thirds of parents give their children an allowance, according to a survey by the American Institute of Certified Public Accountants of more than 1,000 parents.

You’re not going to believe the average amount – $30 a week. A lot of parents pay their children for doing chores, helping out around the house.  Most folks probably disagree with me but I’ve never thought that was a good idea — children ought to do chores because they’re members of the family.

But that’s not what this post is about.

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The last line...
Here’s  your spending money, a quarter for you and a dime for your sister.  Have a good time!

Brother Dave was going through some of his papers and discovered an early record of his daughters’ allowances: Paige got 50 cents and Jenni, who is younger, got 20 cents – a week.

That’s not all. Of those amounts, they were required to tithe 10 percent and save 40 percent. That left Paige with a quarter a week and Jenni with a dime a week to spend any way their hearts desired “except for candy or gum.”

How long ago was that, you asked?

Dave doesn’t remember, probably 40 years ago, maybe a little more, but what difference does it make? What if it was 80 years ago? Ten cents a week spending money?

The money they saved could also be spent but “only after 3 months of planning” and the item they bought had to be paid for in full at the time of purchase. Jenni could have saved for three months, planning every day about what to buy, and still only had 24 cents in her piggy bank when the big day arrived.

Jenni
Jenni

Oh, it’s way worse than that. :),” Jenni told me.  “In fact, I use that as a story in my classes now. My memory of this must have been later because my memory is that there was a total amount that changed weekly and I had to figure out percentages for each. Like tithe 10% of $3.27 and savings 15% of $3.27….. totally traumatizing and I still can’t do math today.”

We had to report to the kitchen table on Saturday at night after dinner for this exercise. I arrived promptly with my ceramic orange (savings bank) and ceramic banana (spending bank) and my box of offering envelopes.”

Paige
Paige

Also there were rules around the spending of savings. I had to write out a description of my planned purchase along with the price and then give the note to dad and wait… can’t remember how long. Probably 1 month but it felt like 3 months.  If I still wanted it after the waiting period then I was free to purchase. I remember Paige wanted to buy sandals once and summer ended before the waiting period … funny now, not so much then.”

I AM a great saver now… I owe it all to dad and these crazy rules of his.”

Coming Monday: My Free Pass

Jimmy Hoffa’s Grave

One night in the fall of 1975 a guy called The New & Observer’s Metro Desk and an editor over there transferred him to me.  Maybe he sounded crazy.  I was an investigative reporter and in those days Metro gave me all the crazies.

Anyway, this guy had a red hot tip: he knew where Jimmy Hoffa was buried, at least, that’s what he said.

Caesars Palace Opening, 8/5/ 1966 -Jimmy Hoffa (bowtie). Las Vegas News Bureau
Jimmy Hoffa in 1966, at the opening of Caesars Palace. Las Vegas News Bureau

For those of you who were born late, Jimmy Hoffa, president of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters, was the most infamous labor leader of his era. I’m not going into a long who-shot-john about Hoffa.  Just consider these two facts: he served time for jury tampering and mail and wire fraud and conspiracy while he was president of the union; he got out early after he was pardoned by the President of the United States.

Hoffa, they say, was “involved” with the Mafia. Maybe the Mafia murdered him. Maybe not. All that was known for sure is that he went to the Machus Red Fox, a restaurant in a suburb of Detroit, on July 31, 1975, and no one had seen him since. The FBI was looking everywhere for his body.

So you see now why this was such a fabulous tip.

The man on the phone, who turned out to be a 49-year-old escaped convict named Chuck Medlin, was offering me the story of a lifetime.  A cellmate had told him where Hoffa was buried and now he wanted to tell me.

There were two problems with the tip, both fatal:  One, he wanted me to drive to Greensboro, N.C., to interview him without giving me anything to establish his bona fides.  I had a rule against that.  And, two, I didn’t believe him.   So I passed.  So did reporters from at least two other North Carolina newspapers, I learned later.

So imagine my surprise when I read in the paper a few weeks later that Medlin had conned 60 Minutes out of $9,000 with his song and dance about Jimmy Hoffa.

Medlin told 60 Minutes that Hoffa was buried in a cement coffin off the coast of Key West. On the way down there to show a 60 Minutes film crew and reporter the exact location, Medlin disappeared with 60 Minutes’ money.

Did I take any pleasure in having made the right call while the Big Boys in New York stubbed their toes?

Does a bear live in the woods?

Postscript: Jimmy Hoffa’s body has never been found.

Coming Friday: Here’s A Dime, Have Fun