SIXTY-SEVEN CENTS

With exactly 67¢ in his pocket, Dr. George Powers made his daily trek to McDonald’s for a morning cup of coffee. He would walk from his rent-controlled Greenwich Village apartment, buy his coffee and sip it while flipping though his dogeared copy of “The Complete Organ Method”. 

On this particular morning, George trudged through the slush in his beat up boots, 67¢ jingling in his pocket. Placing the coins on the counter, he ordered his usual.

“Sorry” said the girl taking orders. “The price is now 69¢.” 

Befuddled, George exclaimed “I’ve been a patron here for years. The price is always 67¢!” 

Apologizing, the girl explained that she didn’t set the prices. George scooped up his 67¢  muttering “oughta be a law” and trudged back home. 

George was, to put it nicely, frugal. He saw how difficult the Great Depression had been on his parent’s life and livelihood. His father was always saying “Never trust banks!” Fortunately George was an excellent student, earning a scholarship to college and a grant to continue his studies for a Doctorate in Music. 

Upon graduating high school, George was drafted to serve during WWII; he was never deployed and spent every day of his four years in the army at Fort Benning, Georgia. One day he noticed a baby grand piano in the corner of a lounge area and asked if it would be okay for him to practice. He was granted permission and in exchange would sometimes play for officer’s dinners. George’s self-imposed rigorous study habits in school carried over to his time in the army, waking at 3AM every day and practicing the piano for almost two hours before 5AM wake up call.

After the army, George enrolled in college, working weekends as assistant organist at Trinity Church in Greenwich Village. He was lucky; the church was close enough to his apartment and school so he didn’t have to pay for public transportation. The following year the organist retired; George replaced him and began teaching organ lessons. At the same time he attended graduate school, earning his Doctorate in Music. He made a decent salary yet continued his frugal lifestyle of eating cheese sandwiches, wearing the same clothes and drinking water from the tap. His only splurge was a morning cup of McDonald’s coffee. 

George’s favorite student was Brad Ridgeway; he reminded George of a young version of himself. Brad worked in the mailroom at Dun & Bradstreet; his salary was so meager he could only afford to live at the YMCA. He was determined to become a great organist one day but music school was not in his budget. Brad’s parents worked for Walmart in his hometown of Columbus, Ohio and he wouldn’t dream of asking them for money. Times were tough but he just kept on pushing through one day at a time.

Despite their considerable age difference, Brad thought of George as his best friend; he didn’t realize it at the time but George felt the same way about him. When a very affordable furnished apartment not far from George became available, Brad was able to move out of the Y and settle into a place of his own. He wasn’t crazy about the furnishings but beggars can’t be choosers.

Occasionally on lesson days Brad would walk to George’s apartment building straight from work and the two of them would continue to Trinity Church. They looked like the cartoon characters Mutt and Jeff. At 6’3, Brad towered over the 5’8″ George. The duo was oblivious to the stares of people on the street and sometimes got so caught up in talking about music, they’d walk right by the church and have to backtrack half a city block or more.

One day at his lesson, Brad noticed that George had really let himself go. The soles of his shoes were falling apart, his sweater was threadbare in places, his eyeglasses were taped together in the center and he needed a haircut. In addition, his coat wasn’t warm enough and Brad was concerned about George’s deep persistent cough; he really did not look well at all. Brad asked George if everything was alright, if there was anything he could do. George just shrugged it off, mumbling something about “this damn weather” and the long-term effects of a case of childhood tuberculosis.

At the end of the lesson George handed Brad a tiny sealed manila envelope and earnestly said “Son, hold on to this. Open it only if something should happen to me. Keep it safe and don’t tell anyone. It’s for your eyes only.” Brad slipped the mysterious enveloped into his pocket; that was the first time George ever called him “son” and that made him think of his parents, now gone. Brad knew better than to ask any questions; if George wanted him to know more, he’d tell him.

About a month later, George uncharacteristically missed one of Brad’s lessons. Brad waited at the church for about twenty minutes, then went to George’s apartment to check on him. The landlord informed him that “the old guy” had passed away in his sleep three days earlier. Shattered, Brad slowly walked home; hours later he remembered the envelope. Grabbing the plant in his kitchen where he had hidden the envelope, Brad stuck his fingers in the dirt and pulled out a small plastic bag containing the envelope. He opened it and found a scrap of paper and a key; written on the paper was “G.C.T. 520”.

Brad was stumped by the initials G.C.T. For days he tried to decipher the note, with no luck. One morning while reading the newspaper, Brad’s eyes landed on a short article on the bottom of the page. As he read the headline, Brad couldn’t believe what he saw: “Construction Work to Begin at G.C.T.” As he read on, Brad discovered the three letters stood for Grand Central Terminal – the largest commuter train terminal in New York.

Brad raced to the bus stop and boarded a bus for Grand Central. On the way there he figured out “520” could only be a locker number. Running through the terminal, he finally came upon row after row of lockers. He located #520 and with trembling fingers unlocked it to discover it was crammed with small brown paper bags.

Loosening the tape and peeking inside one bag, Brad’s eyes nearly popped out when he saw it was stuffed with money! Scrawled on the bags in George’s handwriting was “NEVER TRUST BANKS!” Shocked, Brad slammed the locker door and locked it. He scrambled around the area hoping to find a discarded shopping bag or cardboard box. He eyed a big bag tossed on top of a garbage can, swiped it and went back to the locker. Methodically he filled the large bag with all the small bags, tossed his sweater on top to conceal the contents of the bag and returned home as quickly as possible.

Safely back in his apartment, Brad emptied the shopping bag onto his bed and began counting the money bags; there were 75 bags and each one contained 50 $100 bills. George, in his frugality had stashed away $375,000 and put it all aside for Brad. Dumbstruck, Brad slowly sat on the edge of his bed, disbelief washing over him.

Little did Brad know that was just the beginning of his shocking news.

A couple of days after finding the money at Grand Central, Brad received a call from a man who identified himself as a lawyer and the executor of George’s will. “George’s will? What more could George possibly have to leave anyone?” Brad wondered. The lawyer asked Brad to come by his office which he did the following day. When Brad arrived at the office, he was handed an old battered suitcase; the lawyer told Brad the suitcase was left to him by George and its contents were now his. Brad was given the key for the suitcase and left the lawyer’s office.

Once back in his apartment, Brad placed the suitcase on the kitchen table and unlocked it. There was a note resting atop a layer of newspapers. The note read:

“Dear Brad. For all the years as my student, you were the only
person I felt I could count on. I know you struggled financially
and life was rough for you so it seemed only fitting that I leave
you what I could. In this suitcase are my cherished organ books;
I want you to have them. Whatever else is in this case
I can no longer use. It is yours. Bless you and don’t forget –
NEVER TRUST BANKS!
Fondly, George”

I’m asking myself at this point, dear readers, if you have figured out that in addition to his beloved organ books, George had placed the remainder of his money in the suitcase and had given it to the lawyer for safekeeping?

If you are wondering if this story is fact or fiction, I can tell you without a shred of doubt that it is true; I have not changed the facts, only embellished them for your reading pleasure. You see, in early 2000 I began organ lessons with Dr. George Powers at Trinity Church. Eighteen months later, 911 happened and all lower Manhattan was closed off: I wasn’t able to get down to Greenwich Village for lessons. Shortly after that, knee surgery sidelined me and I was forced to give up the organ all together.

During those 18 months I got to know Brad and a couple of George’s other students casually in passing. On Easter Sunday 2010, I received a call from the secretary at Trinity Church; she was informing all George’s students of his death. Brad had been George’s student for quite a few years and I believe George did the right thing leaving his money to Brad; neither one had any relatives, only each other.

By the time all the money had been counted, Brad had inherited an astonishing $2.5 million in cold cash! This information was revealed to me by another of George’s students while we were attending a memorial service for George at Trinity Church. As it turns out, the student I was talking to was the wife of George’s lawyer.

After the memorial service, I never spoke to any of George’s students again and I never found out what became of Brad Ridgeway. Despite George’s opinion of banks, I hope Brad made some wise investments and is enjoying a very comfortable life!

Dedicated to the memory of Dr. George Powers.

NAR © 2023

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of Dr. George Powers and Brad Ridgeway.
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