Last year I was looking for some adhesive tape to wrap my granddaughter’s birthday present, so I opened the junk drawer in my kitchen. The drawer was packed with odds and ends, but the oddest item was an antique pocket watch I’d never seen before.
Before I could call my husband in to ask what he knew about it, a stocky, bespectacled man with a walrus mustache appeared in a shower of rainbow glitter. He wore a vest, a watch chain with no watch, and a frock coat. I knew he was our 26th president, Theodore Roosevelt, and he’d been dead for over one hundred years.
“Bully! You’ve found my watch! Someone stole it from the Wilcox Mansion in 1987. We should let Tweed know you’ve recovered it.”
I could hardly believe TR’s ghost was talking to me. I didn’t know how to respond, so I settled for this: “Who’s Tweed?”
“My great-grandson. A fine lad, and only 82.”
One of my trivia strengths is the years the presidents lived. “A lad at 82? You were only 60 in 1919 when you—“
Irritated, he cut me off. “I know what happened in 1919! Harry Frazee sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees.”
“That didn’t happen until after—”
Still miffed. “Until after the Black Sox scandal, yes. ‘Shoeless’ Joe Jackson told me all about it in 1951.”
“I suppose that’s the year he—”
“Yes, yes, yes. You seem to be fixated on the subject of—”
“Baseball. I suppose I am.” We could both feint. (I do follow the Yankees. Although I know about the Black Sox scandal primarily from watching Field of Dreams.)
TR sat down at my kitchen table. “1919 was a bad year. I heard from somebody up there that Congress passed the eighteenth amendment in 1919.” He looked sad. “Prohibition was a mistake. Organized crime shot up after that, but I understand the twentieth century profited from having a Roosevelt in the White House when the second Great War broke out. I just wish I could have been that Roosevelt.”
“You ran for a third term.” He lost to Woodrow Wilson.
“I loved my time as President. Afterward, I was so disappointed by Taft. Above all, though, how I cherished life.”
I looked at the watch in my hand. “Was this a gift?”
He smiled wistfully. “From my sister. I carried it everywhere. Up San Juan Hill. Down the Amazon. Across Africa. No point in wearing it now. It stopped in 1919, like me.”
“I’ll let Tweed know I have the watch. I’m sure he’ll arrange for it to go to your home at Sagamore Hill.”
“Thank you. That would be bully.” Then Roosevelt disappeared in another shower of rainbow confetti.
I laid the watch back in the drawer. I’d deal with it later. Just then I felt the need to join my husband in the den to watch the Yankees. It’s the little things in life that keep our watches ticking.
Before I could call my husband in to ask what he knew about it, a stocky, bespectacled man with a walrus mustache appeared in a shower of rainbow glitter. He wore a vest, a watch chain with no watch, and a frock coat. I knew he was our 26th president, Theodore Roosevelt, and he’d been dead for over one hundred years.
“Bully! You’ve found my watch! Someone stole it from the Wilcox Mansion in 1987. We should let Tweed know you’ve recovered it.”
I could hardly believe TR’s ghost was talking to me. I didn’t know how to respond, so I settled for this: “Who’s Tweed?”
“My great-grandson. A fine lad, and only 82.”
One of my trivia strengths is the years the presidents lived. “A lad at 82? You were only 60 in 1919 when you—“
Irritated, he cut me off. “I know what happened in 1919! Harry Frazee sold Babe Ruth to the New York Yankees.”
“That didn’t happen until after—”
Still miffed. “Until after the Black Sox scandal, yes. ‘Shoeless’ Joe Jackson told me all about it in 1951.”
“I suppose that’s the year he—”
“Yes, yes, yes. You seem to be fixated on the subject of—”
“Baseball. I suppose I am.” We could both feint. (I do follow the Yankees. Although I know about the Black Sox scandal primarily from watching Field of Dreams.)
TR sat down at my kitchen table. “1919 was a bad year. I heard from somebody up there that Congress passed the eighteenth amendment in 1919.” He looked sad. “Prohibition was a mistake. Organized crime shot up after that, but I understand the twentieth century profited from having a Roosevelt in the White House when the second Great War broke out. I just wish I could have been that Roosevelt.”
“You ran for a third term.” He lost to Woodrow Wilson.
“I loved my time as President. Afterward, I was so disappointed by Taft. Above all, though, how I cherished life.”
I looked at the watch in my hand. “Was this a gift?”
He smiled wistfully. “From my sister. I carried it everywhere. Up San Juan Hill. Down the Amazon. Across Africa. No point in wearing it now. It stopped in 1919, like me.”
“I’ll let Tweed know I have the watch. I’m sure he’ll arrange for it to go to your home at Sagamore Hill.”
“Thank you. That would be bully.” Then Roosevelt disappeared in another shower of rainbow confetti.
I laid the watch back in the drawer. I’d deal with it later. Just then I felt the need to join my husband in the den to watch the Yankees. It’s the little things in life that keep our watches ticking.