When A Nickel Is Worth More Than Five Cents

These days, nickels accumulate in my pocket just long enough to pay taxes on real purchases.

But the lowly nickel faithfully energized my boyhood economy in the mid-1950s. Two nickels became a magic carpet, transporting me spellbound to the Old West at the Saturday afternoon matinee. And a couple more bolstered the experience with a Coke and a Hershey bar.

But the nickel's muscle began to atrophy when the price of a Coke skyrocketed to six cents, sending the vending people scrambling to outfit their machines to handle pennies.

In the early 1960s, the nickel fueled my summertime entrepreneurship. At a nickel apiece, I stocked up on packages of Fizzies (flavored, effervescent soft drink tablets) just before my annual pilgrimage to Camp Logoly . And when double-whammied by temperature and humidity, tight-fisted Scouts begged to exchange cold, hard quarters for packages of five-cent Fizzies for their canteens.

But when is a nickel worth more than a mere five cents? And when does the nickel rise above its apparent destiny in the museum of monetary anachronisms?

Answers to these penetrating questions came in an unexpected email from our friend Patty Wolf. Let me summarize and paraphrase.

Patty was rummaging for state quarters in a coin container in her room because No. 2 son, Trent (age 8), places them on a big coin map. But as she examined the timeworn 1943 nickel in her hand, her mind sifted possibilities. "Just think…. This nickel was around when FDR was president. It could've purchased a loaf of bread for a young housewife at the height of W.W.II, or perhaps five penny candies at the corner store for a freckle-faced, toothless six- year-old boy."

Epitomizing good mothers who constantly seek meaningful object lessons for their children, Patty rushed to share her thrilling insight with No. 1 son. Though an excellent creative writer, Daniel (age 15) isn't easily impressed. The consummate outdoorsman, he finds greater comfort these days in his collection of knives, flashlights and mountain man paraphernalia than in abstract discussions with his mother.

A meaningful roll of the eyes punctuated his conclusion. "Just looks like an old nickel to me." Patty's mind shifted gears. "Why couldn't he see what the nickel represented? I told him James and Mary would understand! I was about to despair in his view when Trent entered the room--and I shared my find with him."

Trent rose to the occasion. 'Wow! Uncle Jim was only one year old! How old was Grandma? Just think of how many places that nickel has been, Mom! Who was president in 1943?"

Patty's heart pitter-pattered once again. "Ahhhh…. Just what I wanted to hear. I feel so much better now!"

So what turns an old nickel into a passport, a ticket, a time machine? And when is something -- whether a nickel or a person or a circumstance -- worth more than its face value? When we recognize that the power of its experience overrules the obvious limitations of its appearance.

Copyright 2003 James McAlister

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