Skip to main content

Lost Wallet, A Great Love Story

As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find some identification so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.

The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline–1924. The letter had been written almost 60 years ago.

It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder blue stationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a “Dear John” letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Michael, that the writer could not see him anymore because her mother forbade it. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him.

It was signed, Hannah.

It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name Michael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope.

“Operator,” I began, “this is an unusual request. I’m trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?”

She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then said, “Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can’t give you the number.” She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me.

I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the line. “I have a party who will speak with you.”

I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the name of Hannah. She gasped, “Oh! We bought this house from a family who had a daughter named Hannah. But that was 30 years ago!”

“Would you know where that family could be located now?” I asked.

“I remember that Hannah had to place her mother in a nursing home some years ago,” the woman said. “Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be able to track down the daughter.”

She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called the number. They told me the old lady had passed away some years ago but they did have a phone number for where they thought the daughter might be living.

I thanked them and phoned. The woman who answered explained that Hannah herself was now living in a nursing home.

This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only three dollars and a letter that was almost 60 years old?

Nevertheless, I called the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be living and the man who answered the phone told me, “Yes, Hannah is staying with us.”

Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to see her. “Well,” he said hesitatingly, “if you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room watching television.”

I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah.

She was a sweet, silver-haired oldtimer with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the powder blue envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, “Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with Michael.”

She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then said softly, “I loved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother felt I was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery, the actor.”

“Yes,” she continued. “Michael Goldstein was a wonderful person. If you should find him, tell him I think of him often. And,” she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, “tell him I still love him. You know,” she said smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, “I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael…”

I thanked Hannah and said goodbye. I took the elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, “Was the old lady able to help you?”

I told him she had given me a lead. “At least I have a last name. But I think I’ll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet.”

I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, “Hey, wait a minute! That’s Mr. Goldstein’s wallet. I’d know it anywhere with that bright red lacing. He’s always losing that wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least three times.”

“Who’s Mr. Goldstein?” I asked as my hand began to shake.

“He’s one of the oldtimers on the 8th floor. That’s Mike Goldstein’s wallet for sure. He must have lost it on one of his walks.” I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse’s office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr. Goldstein would be up.

On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, “I think he’s still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He’s a darling old man.”

We went to the only room that had any lights on and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, “Oh, it is missing!”

“This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours?”

I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, “Yes, that’s it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward.”

“No, thank you,” I said. “But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet.”

The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. “You read that letter?”

“Not only did I read it, I think I know where Hannah is.”

He suddenly grew pale. “Hannah? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, please tell me,” he begged.

“She’s fine…just as pretty as when you knew her.” I said softly.

The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, “Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow.” He grabbed my hand and said, “You know something, Mister? I was so in love with that girl that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess I’ve always loved her.”

“Mr. Goldstein,” I said, “Come with me.”

We took the elevator down to the third floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two little night-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alone watching the television. The nurse walked over to her.

“Hannah,” she said softly, pointing to Michael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. “Do you know this man?”

She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn’t say a word. Michael said softly, almost in a whisper, “Hannah, it’s Michael. Do you remember me?”

She gasped, “Michael! I don’t believe it! Michael! It’s you! My Michael!” He walked slowly towards her and they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our faces.

“See,” I said. “See how the Good Lord works! If it’s meant to be, it will be.”

About three weeks later I got a call at my office from the nursing home. “Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Michael and Hannah are going to tie the knot!”

It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the nursing home dressed up to join in the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dress and looked beautiful. Michael wore a dark blue suit and stood tall. They made me their best man.

The hospital gave them their own room and if you ever wanted to see a 76-year-old bride and a 79-year-old groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this couple.

A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 60 years.

Comments

What people are reading...

A lesson on parenting: Father and son tread water 15 hours overnight in the Atlantic with help from Buzz Lightyear

Father and son tread water 15 hours overnight in the Atlantic with help from Buzz Lightyear This is an inspiring story about parenting.  Time and time again, as parents we are caught up in the tide of life.  Sometimes the tide gets too overwhelming that we begin to lose faith.  Tides come in different forms, it could be stress of parenting itself or a work/financial problem, and there are those tides of real physical danger much like in the news above. If you were the parent in this news, yourself and your son - two tiny specks in an infinite pool of deep blue and dangerous waters, to see your son slowly drift away while you just stare in utter helplessness would break your spirit faster than you could blink your eye.   Most parents in the same dire situation would swim themselves to death and possibly hold on for as long as humanly possible to provide an anchor or a floater for his/her kid til help arrives.  Even ...

The Last Cab Ride

A true story by Kent Nerburn Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. One time I arrived in the middle of the night for a pick up at a building that was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked. “Just a minute,” answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80′s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it ...

The Sense of Goose

by Dr. Harry Clarke Noyes  ARCS NEWS, Vol. 7, No. 1, January 1992  Next  fall, when  you see Geese  heading South for  the Winter, flying along  in V formation, you might  consider what science has dis‐  covered as to why they fly that way:  as each bird flaps its wings, it creates an  uplift for the bird immediately following. By  flying in V formation the whole flock adds at least  71% greater flying range than if each bird flew on its own.  People who share a common direction and sense of community  can get where they are going more quickly and easily  because they are traveling on the thrust of one another.  When  a goose falls  out of formation,  it suddenly feels the drag  and resistance of trying to go it alone  and quickly gets back into formation to take  advantage of the lifting power of the bird in front....

Freedom of Speech

"DE LIMA: FREEDOM OF SPEECH NOT LICENSE TO RUIN CREDIBILITY" (sic).  I could not agree more!  I would just like to understand though whether this statement is really unadulterated or is it just another attempt at bending “morality” where it is convenient. I seem to remember not long ago the same senator effectively smearing the credibility of some of her colleagues in the government and its institutions, all the while exercising her constitutional right to “Freedom of Speech.”  I have heard claims coming from this Senator about how sure she is that President Duterte is behind DDS and EJK.  In fact, she is so sure that she’s even gone to great lengths of humoring international media with interviews and clamoring for international intervention on our domestic affairs, including imposing sanctions on our nation, all because of the ongoing “government-inspired” EJK.  I have also heard her say, and she is definitely sure about it too, about DOJ fabricating lies...

History: The Battle of Bataan

These are the writings on the wall of the Dambana ng Kagitingan (Shrine of Valor) in Mt. Samat, Pilar, Bataan - a monument built to remember and to celebrate the resilience of the human spirit.  Reading through the inscriptions sent chills to my bones.  It makes me proud to be a Filipino, even more so being a Bataenyo (a native of Bataan).  Let this be a reminder to us all, of the valor and the glory of our roots.  We shall not forget...  "Our mission is to remember."   Photo by Irwin Richard Dizon The Battle of Bataan On this ground gallant men chose to die than surrender. From all corners of the Philippines they came, youthful and brave, to make their last stand in Bataan against an implacable enemy which had marched through Asia. What transpired was a ferocious combat between raw, ill-equipped recruits against seasoned, well-armed troops.

#WeArePhilippines

Recently, we have seen a lot of political disorder in the Philippines that has literally divided, and continue to divide, our nation.  Majority of the government officials, who the Filipino people have chosen to represent their best interests, have misused the trust and the authority that the people have given them to further their individual (and that of their party’s) political interest.  This observation is not only directed at one person or one political party.  Parties and individuals have been hell-bent on criticizing anyone who sits on the other side of the fence.  Privilege speeches and press conferences, under the guise of “at the interest of the Filipino people” have been used to either discredit another official or to defend a “personal attack” directed at them by a member of the opposition.  This has fueled the nation’s divide and has distracted the Filipino people’s sight away from the positive things that currently unfolds right in front of us. O...

Lesson from the Hedgehogs

It was the coldest winter ever. Many animals died because of the cold. The hedgehogs, realizing the situation, decided to group together to keep warm. This way they covered and protected themselves; but the quills of each one wounded their closest companions. After awhile, they decided to distance themselves one from the other and they began to die, alone and frozen. So they had to make a choice: either accept the quills of their companions or disappear from the Earth. Wisely, they decided to go back to being together. They learned to live with the little wounds caused by the close relationship with their companions in order to receive the heat that came from the others. This way they were able to survive.

Welcome to My Standpoint...

I am a Civil/Structural Engineer by education, a Quality Professional by profession, a wannabe-but-chose-not-to-be doctor, a frustrated programmer, a tech enthusiast, an avid sportsman, a hater, a lover, a friend, a son, a brother, a husband and a father. I love music, but music never really liked me -- and so does dancing. I love to write (at least I'd like to think so) but never found the time. I love to draw/paint, but again the busy everyday life took that away from me. The only things that stuck with me throughout the busy-ness of life would be my passion for Tennis, Judo, computers and just about anything that gets plugged in to an electric socket or gets powered by batteries (conventional or solar) -- children's toys included. :) Having said that, I guess I can summarily describe myself as a "Jack of trades, (and hopefully) master of some". I have always believed that knowing a little bit of everything is better than knowing everything about just one thi...

The Problem with Dandelions

A man who took great pride in his lawn found himself with a large crop of dandelions. He tried every method he knew to get rid of them. Still they plagued him. Finally he wrote to the Department of Agriculture. He enumerated all the things he had tried and closed his letter with the question: "What shall I do now?" In due course, the reply came: "We suggest you learn to love them."