Growing up, I used to think a dime was a big coin, despite its diminutive size. For a dime, I could get into a movie and see two feature films. I could buy a pocketful of candy and still get change back.
For 10 cents, I could ride the trolley, purchase my favorite comic book, enjoy an ice cream cone with two scoops, and make a telephone call.
I always carried a dime around in my pocket for such emergencies and pleasantries. Back then, a thin dime went a long way.
It still goes far enough today, provided you look closely enough. The other day, I was inside a thrift shop and got the bargain of a lifetime. There before me was a rack of cassette tapes with a sign: “Ten for $1. Help yourself.”
Only one interested me—a composite of favorite songs sung by Charlotte Church. I took it to the counter. The cashier said, “That’ll be 10 cents.” When was the last time you heard that?
I gave her my dime and she wished me a good day. Last of the big-time spenders, that’s me.
Life’s a bargain if you can find it. Right next to the tapes was hundreds of CDs marked down to virtually nothing. They were selling for a buck each. Buy one and get two free. Now, we have three for a dollar. For $5, you can build up a treasury of music.
The other day, a knob became detached from the desk where I am seated. It was fastened to an inside screw and must have loosened in time.
With no screwdriver at hand, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a nickel. Too big! I tried a penny. Still too big.
The dime worked perfectly. I sent the coin into the groove and rescrewed the knob, more than retaining its value. Never mind a 5-cent cigar. What this country needs more is a good 5-cent dime.
Had you been inside my bedroom the day a dime rolled under my bed, you would have received 10 cents worth of entertainment as I went to fetch it.
Of course, it was beyond my grasp which necessitated a mop and a flashlight. The batteries were dead so that meant an immediate replacement. With the light in one hand and the mop in another, I eventually fished out the coin, bringing with it an M&M candy, a copper penny, all kinds of lint and dust particles, a rubber ball and old remote device that somehow disappeared many moons ago.
You might say I hit the jackpot while retrieving my runaway dime.
Being a numismatist – a fancy name for a coin-collector – I started saving dimes as a kid, as well as pennies and nickels. My dad bought me a coin book and introduced me to a wonderful hobby.
He ran a coffee shop and owned one of those old-fashioned cash registers where you pressed the keys. At the end of a working day, I’d scoop up the dimes and check over the dates, beginning with the Mercury and later the Roosevelt.
Some of those dimes I collected are worth a tidy sum today in the coin market. Hopefully, my children and grandchildren will make some use of them.
According to an urban dictionary, are you aware that a dime is a very beautiful and flawless woman?
As an act of rebuke, my wife’s favorite expression says it all. “Not on my dime, you won’t.”
Penny loafers enjoyed their popularity, but for my money, it was the dime loafer that carried its value. You always knew where you could go to make that phone call. If you had a dime in your shoe, you would not be broke. It also meant good luck, especially the shine it evoked of a sunny day.
Speaking of shines, I earned my first dimes as a bootblack. I stood on a corner and offered a shoe shine to people all gussied up on a Saturday night. The price for a shine was a dime, same as a cigar. If I did a good job, they’d give me a nickel tip. The “tipsy” ones flipped me a quarter. A good night would pool a couple bucks.
My, how times have changed? I was shopping around a tourist outlet in New Hampshire and came across a shop that sold old-time mementos. Just the nostalgia alone drew me inside.
Had I not known better, it was like revisiting the 1940s. I came to a section marked “Penny Candy.” The merchandize hadn’t changed, only the prices.
A “Mary Jane” that used to cost me one cent was now a dime.
Tom Vartabedian
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