“You find any gold yet?” the old man shouted to the lady picking up small bits of shell from the beach. “I wish” she replied back. There were sticks and shells all over Baldwin Beach today. The winter waves are starting, and were pretty big, which means they push water high upon the sand. Of course, we all know he was just kidding, the old man that is. Just making old man conversation. I have seen him walk with his son on many occasions. I assume it’s his son. The old man looks about 85, and the son pushing 60. I also assume they own one of the million dollar plus homes hidden behind the beach, golf course too, because they look like they have money. Ok, I said I am not going to judge so we can call this speculation. As long as we are speculating, I suspect the son is looking for a little gold himself, like his Dad’s bank account. He looks like he might indulge in a few drinks too many too. There’s a really nice gin blossom growing on his face. (If you don’t know what that is, think W.C. Fields. Big nose, big drinker). I guess I’m not speculating. I’m judging.
What if I did find gold? That might be a problem. It’s not like winning the lottery, where they steal your tax money and give you the rest in a check. With gold, you have to worry about someone stealing it from you. I’m not sure I would want to say anything about it unless someone sees me find it. I might end up in a battle for rights to it from maybe someone who says they lost it, or the state claiming rights to it. I might get nothing. I wonder how much I could carry. That might be a problem if I had to leave some behind and make a few trips. I would certainly draw attention that way. And I don’t know where I would hide it. I have looked around this house to hide my passport and still can’t find a good spot. Maybe I could cover it back up when I find it, and go back later in the dark. That might be risky too because we all know what kind of people poke around at night.
I think I better watch a few old westerns. I loved them as a kid. My favorites are John Wayne, the Rifleman, and Steve Mcqueen. Roy Rogers and Tonto weren’t bad either. Yul Brenner made a good bad guy, and I was sure I could beat him in a draw. Someone was always finding gold in those old movies. Maybe they panned for it, or dug it out of an old mine, someone was always striking paydirt. The first thing they did was head down to the saloon, get roaring drunk, and get a girl or two. Then if they had any left, they would get shot when they left the saloon by Yul Brenner. Too bad I wasn’t there.
Some of the smarter ones carted their gold in sacks down to the bank, if Bandidos didn’t rob them first. They would put the money in the bank. The banker would always put it on a scale to weigh it, and stick his thumb under the scale to lighten the weight. Then the bank would get robbed the next day by bank robbers and they would make off with all the loot. Eventually, the posse would catch them, but not before they spent all the gold on whiskey and women. Sometimes they would bury some of it, but they always forgot where. Come to think of it, they didn’t have a lot of luck finding gold back then either.
Let’s get back to me finding gold. If it was just a few coins, I would probably head down to the bar, get drunk, and find a girl. That would be the end of it and then I would write a blog about it. But let’s say I found the sunken treasure of Blackbeard. Hopefully, on land, I would be out of luck trying to dive for it. Ten thousand Gold Dubloons. Worth maybe a zillion dollars. Now let’s say I got it home. No place to hide it. Now how do I cash it in? I could take a few down to the local coin shop, but they would wise up and figure I had more. Probably send a hit man over to bump me off and get the gold. I could put it on eBay, same problem. Maybe start a big fire and melt the whole thing into a big brick. Now what? Haul it to Fort Knox? Just my luck Goldfinger is about to hit the place, and I lose it all again.
I guess I could call the TV station. They would send someone out to do a story about me and then wait for the FBI to show up wondering where I got it. They would probably confiscate the gold and throw me in jail until they straighten out my story, and make sure some government official and the IRS get involved. They would finally figure out where it came from, figure out it wasn’t mine to take, take my gold, sentence me to some time in jail, give me a big fine, and the IRS would send me a tax bill anyway.
I’m going to go down to the beach tomorrow and poke around in the sand. (It’s gold-colored if that counts). Then if that old man and his kid walk by and ask me if I found any gold yet, I know just what to say. “I hope not!”