The Mystery of the Old Suitcase

During this painstaking 11-month process of cleaning out Mom's home, I've unearthed hidden treasures boxed away in every single closet.

From childhood Halloween costumes, my beloved Raggedy Andy doll and Barbie's Dreamhouse to family photo albums and a bottle of Mercury stored alongside my stack of old Mad magazines from 1970, each excavation has been a revelation. I even found a list dated 1978 spelling out what I hoped I might get for Christmas that year.

Did I really want the 45 rpm of "Macho Man" by the Village People?

But the one discovery that tugged at my heart was the suitcase stuffed with my Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys mystery books. Such a labor of love, those dusty, faded books.

That's because as an eight-year old, my allowance each week was just 25 cents. Not bad when you remember that in those days, a candy bar was a dime and comic books were 15 cents. In pre-Wii days, isn't that really all a kid needed to survive week to week?

Ah, but Nancy Drew and Hardy Boy books were $1.25. That meant five arduous weeks of saving my meager 25 cents to purchase a coveted book; not to mention forsaking any other weekly treats, like a new Richie Rich comic book or a refill for my Batman Pez dispenser.

But the sacrifice was well worth it because on that fifth week, I would be giddy with excitement as I accompanied Mom on her weekly trip to Gemco. And while she shopped for groceries, I would plant myself in front of the Nancy Drew and Hardy Boy section and belabor which book to buy.

Such a decision. Did I want "The Secret of the Old Clock" or "The House on the Cliff?" Was I due for a Nancy Drew or was it time for a Hardy Boy? Back and forth, back and forth. An hour later, Mom would swing by to collect me, her shopping cart overflowing with grocery bags.

"Hurry," she'd urge, "before the ice-cream melts!"

MOM! Jeeeez.

And only under the duress of such pressure would I finally make my agonizing decision...plus, I needed her to pay the tax. I'd return home with my treasure, finish the book in one day, and then begin the process all over again.

A labor of love, indeed. And 40 years later, a suitcase of memories.