A Man' search for the writer of a 60 year old message leads
him on an extraordinary journey
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 sixty 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 any more 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 old timer 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 good-bye. 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 old timers 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, "This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it
could be yours?" Mr. Goldstein looked up with surprise, put his hand in
his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!" 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.
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.
~By Arnold Fine,
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