As I walked home one freezing day, I stumbled on a wallet someone hadlost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find someidentification so I could call the owner. But the wallet containedonly three dollars and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been inthere for years.
The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was thereturn address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find someclue. Then I saw the dateline, 1924. The letter had been written almostsixty years ago.
It was written in a beautiful feminine handwriting on powder bluestationery with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a"Dear John" letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to beMichael, that the writer could not see him any more because her mother forbadeit.
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 nameMichael, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I calledinformation, the operator could find a phone listing for the address onthe envelope.
"Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm trying to findthe owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me ifthere is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in thewallet?"
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'tgive you the number." She said, as a courtesy, she would call thatnumber, explain my story, and would ask them if they wanted her toconnect 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 bythe name of Hannah. She gasped, "Oh! We bought this house from a familywho 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 someyears ago," the woman said. "Maybe if you got in touch with them theymight be able to track down the daughter."
She gave me the name of the nursing home and I called the number. Theytold me the old lady had passed away some years ago but they did have aphone number for where they thought the daughter might be living.
I thanked them and phoned. The woman who answered explained thatHannah herself was now living in a nursing home.
This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I makingsuch a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only threedollars and a letter that was almost 60 years old? Nevertheless, Icalled the nursing home in which Hannah was supposed to be living andthe man who answered the phone told me, "Yes, Hannah is staying withus."
Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to seeher. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "if you want to take a chance, shemight be in the day room watching television."
I thanked him and drove over to the nursing home. The night nurse andaguard greeted me at the door. We went up to the third floor of thelarge building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to Hannah.
She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm smile and atwinkle in her eye. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her theletter. The second she saw the powder blue envelope with that littleflower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, "Young man, thisletter was the last contact I ever had with Michael."
She looked away for a moment, deep in thought and then said softly, "Iloved him very much. But I was only 16 at the time and my mother feltI was too young. Oh, he was so handsome. He looked like Sean Connery,the actor. Yes," she continued, "Michael Goldstein was a wonderfulperson. 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 stilllove him. You know," she said smiling as tears began to well up in hereyes, "I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Michael..."
I thanked Hannah and said good-bye. I took the elevator to the firstfloor and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, "Was the oldlady able to help you?"
I told him that 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 daytrying to find the owner of this wallet."
I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case withred lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait aminute! That's Mr. Goldstein's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with thatbright red lacing. He's always losing that wallet. I must have foundit in the halls at least three times."
"Who's Mr. Goldstein?" I asked as my hand began to shake.
"He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's Mike Goldstein'swallet 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 toldher 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 theday 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 manreading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had losthis wallet. Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in hisback pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!"
"This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could beyours?" I handed Mr. Goldstein the wallet and the second he saw it, hesmiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It must have dropped outof my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward."
"No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. I readthe 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 mewhere 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 whenthat letter came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guessI've always loved her. "
"Mr. Goldstein," I said, "come with me." We took the elevator down tothe third floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two littlenight-lights lit our way to the day room where Hannah was sitting alonewatching the television.
The nurse walked over to her. "Hannah," she said softly, pointing toMichael, who was waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know thisman?"
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. Doyou remember me?"
She gasped, "Michael! I don't believe it! Michael! It's you! MyMichael!" He walked slowly towards her and they embraced. The nurseand I left with tears streaming down our faces.
"See," I said. "See how the Good Lord works! If it's meant to be, itwill be."
About three weeks later, I got a call at my office from the nursinghome. "Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Michael andHannah are going to tie the knot!"
It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the nursing homedressed up to join in the celebration. Hannah wore a light beige dressand 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 a76-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.