A STRING OF PEARLS

One day in the future, a few of my heirs will inherit priceless pieces of jewelry from my estate. This vignette describes how these items came into my possession. 04/21/2016

A STRING OF PEARLS

   People who like to adorn themselves with gems and gaudy metallic objects do not make me jealous. Jewelry never appealed to me. My meager collection consists of an odd assortment of cuff links, tie clips, rings, lapel pins, and wrist watches (all in need of new batteries). They live together in one cramped box atop my dresser, rarely worn under any circumstance. Missing from this treasure trove is something that meant a lot to me: My dad’s pearl tie clip which I lost when it fell off my shirt the one and only time I wore it.

He wore it only on Monday’s when he sauntered down our main drag on his way to the bank, attired in his white shirt, black shoes, and one and only suit.

I still have his straight edged razor, stored in a dresser drawer. I can see him still, standing before the bathroom mirror, wielding it deftly while scraping away his tough whiskers. When he finished, his clean shaven face looked like a baby’s bottom.

I wish I'd known how my father acquired his razor and the pearl tie clip. I never asked, and he never said. No one lives who can answer these nagging questions.

Not wishing to leave my heirs in a quandary about such matters, this essay will describe how I acquired my priceless personal effects they will inherit.

   The first item I pull out of its resting place is my Sts. Peter and Paul parochial grade school graduation pin. The letters, SSPP, appear on its face, above a quill and inkpot. Engraved on the back is History 1940. After the graduation ceremony, my teacher and school principal, Sister Edwardine, took me aside and said, “Joseph, you could have won every scholastic award had you applied yourself.” She probably made the same remark to each of the award recipients as a way of encouraging us to try harder in high school. Her comment flattered me, but nothing made me happier than winning the History pin, my favorite subject.

   The next item is a lapel pin that bears the words Honor Roll inscribed above the name of my public senior high school, A.J. Demarest that I attended for three years. It is undated but could have been from any of the six semesters I spent there. I can’t say my good grades happened because of Sister Edwardine’s admonition to try harder. I skimmed my way through those classes, almost effortlessly. My poor study habits came back to haunt me in college. A kick in the pants instead of an honor roll pin might have been more beneficial.

   Next is my June 1944 high school graduation ring, a beautiful symbol of achievement. A few of my classmates gave their rings to their girlfriends. That thought never crossed my mind. One ring would not satisfy my harem.

I began attending college seeking a mechanical engineering degree one week after graduating from high school. I found this transition monumentally difficult. All freshmen had to take thirty one credit hours per semester, spread over six days. In this setting, my high school ring lost its significance, and it went into storage, never worn once.

   Next in line is the Victory pin given to all veterans of WW II. At age 18, one year after graduation from high school, selective service drafted me into military service. Twenty months later, the Army Air Force discharged me with the rank of Sergeant. This brief stint earned me the status of an official veteran of WW II, eligible for all the G.I. benefits. This pin symbolizes my good fortune in acquiring the benefits without facing the dangers of war.

   I then pick up my Greek letter fraternity pin, named Chi Phi. Fate decreed I would join this fraternity. I grew up in the shadow of the chapter house located two blocks from my Hoboken apartment residence. During summers, while the students were on vacation, my boyhood chums and I used the fraternity’s yard as a playground. You may well imagine how it pleased me when offered a chance to join. My association with the fraternity continues to this day. In college, I helped create a fraternity publication in which I wrote: We join, not for four years, but forty.  

   After military service, I returned to Stevens and graduated. The proof is there, a large ring with the inscription that bears my name and the year, 1950. Its size makes my high school ring look rather insignificant, but I treasure them both.

I had much more aptitude for journalism than engineering while at college, as evidenced by two awards given me. One is a small gold pin emblazoned with the letters, Pi Delta Epsilon, a symbol of the National Journalistic Society which selected me in recognition of my years of writing for various school publications. The other is a gold letter S that displays a quill. These doodads are attached to a tie bar clip, never worn.

   There in a corner of the box is my Elks membership lapel pin. The head of an elk protrudes from under the initials B.P.O.E, the Benevolent Protective Order of Elks. Two friends, whose fathers were prominent local businessmen, invited me to join the Hoboken Lodge in 1951. I joined because the lodge had a two lane duckpins bowling alley in its basement. The pin reminds me of these two close friends. One married the other’s sister. They remained Elks for life whereas my participation ended after moving to California in 1954. I “ducked” out.

   The Foster Wheeler Corporation awarded me a lapel pin shaped with the letters “FW”in 1961, in recognition of my ten years of service that began in their downtown Manhattan office. There I met Angelina Sammarco, an Executive Secretary. We were on the cusp of marriage when the company asked me to transfer to California in 1954. We deferred our wedding while I cased out the Golden State. Finding it to my liking, we married on October 8, 1955.

In 1963, FWC closed down its west coast operations and offered to transfer me back to New Jersey. I did not find that to my liking, so I resigned. The pin reminds me of my good fortune, as it “Fostered” my romance and subsequent marriage to Angie.

   Two of my remaining four objects are tokens of my association with Toastmasters International. One is my membership badge that dates back to 1957 while the other indicates my position as the club’s past president. My Toastmasters club met in Belmont, California, every Monday evening at a local church. The women's auxiliary served dessert and coffee. The club’s thirty members included a few professional people, some small business owners, and many corporate management individuals. Toastmasters provided speech training that served me very well in my business life. The bonds of friendship formed in that club were similar to those of my fraternity. It ended when the church could no longer provide us with a meeting place.           

   There, in another corner of the jewelry case, is my Kiwanis pin. It reminds me that even a free lunch has a price. My employer, Salt River Project, sponsored my membership in the Downtown Scottsdale chapter that convened its meetings at noontime at a local restaurant. All the members owned small local businesses. I did not fit in. After attending just three meetings, I resigned.  SRP never again offered to sponsor me for membership in any other civic service clubs, much to my relief.

   SRP gave me a pin in recognition of my tenth anniversary of employment. I never wore it. The face of the pin displays Roosevelt Dam underneath two tiny blue stones. An old timer told me that in its early days SRP recycled such pins. Employees returned their five-year pins in exchange for a ten-year pin. My pin might have belonged to him before it came to me.

   My working days with SRP ended in 1989 with me running out the door, feet flying. The company provided me with a severance package as a part of a company-wide “reduction in force” program. I found this recognition far better than a pin.

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