he’d better take an interest in it himself and so he’d come with Rafael to this meeting. After all, Rafael had taken up needlepoint, right? But Rafael hadn’t taken more than a passing interest in knitting, so Godwin hadn’t bought any coins except for a pair of shiny dimes minted the year he was born.
Before the meeting got started, a few of the members showed off their newest acquisitions. One started a discussion about whether or not to keep the size and value, even the fact, of their collections secret so as not to attract thieves. This set off a sidebar in which several members shared indignant anecdotes of burglars who stole collections and spent valuable coins in vending machines.
Godwin could have told a tale or two about priceless handmade lace or heirloom needlework selling for a dollar apiece at garage and estate sales, but he decided that wasn’t the point, especially with this crowd.
The meeting was called to order right on time.
Acronyms like ANA and PCGS were thrown around carelessly during the meeting. Godwin guessed the
n
in ANA stood for “numismatist,” a twelve-dollar word that meant “coin collector.” PCGS had something to do with coin grading, a subject of intense interest among collectors. Any sign of wear diminished the value of a coin dramatically, Rafael had told Godwin, and there were at least sixty-five grade levels.
A big topic was the coming March Regional Coin Show. Club members who were coin dealers were offered a low rate for space in the coin show catalog. Buying an ad also entitled them to be mentioned on one of the billboards that would be strategically placed along freeways I-35W and E and I-94, crossing Minneapolis and St. Paul—one of the members owned a billboard company.
Godwin had once attended a coin show with Rafael at which Rafael had purchased two coins that turned out to be phony—that was the main reason Rafael had decided to be more loyal in attending meetings like this, and Godwin had decided to support this decision.
The speaker at this meeting was one of the members of Northwest Coin Club, an IT expert with a strong Mexican accent. He talked about the five-hundred-year post-Aztec history of Mexico as seen through its coinage. The mint in Mexico City was established in 1635, the speaker noted, and had operated continuously since then, despite numerous revolutions. It was in fact the oldest mint in the Americas. He handed around examples of Mexican coins. Godwin was amused at how many members casually hauled out pocket-size lighted magnifiers to examine them. He’d thought only Rafael habitually carried one. As he watched Rafael closely examine a big silver coin minted during Mexico’s First Empire period, Godwin wondered if Rafael was going to expand his collection into this new arena.
When the meeting ended, they came out to find the predicted snow had instead fallen as freezing rain. The first two members of the club to exit the building whooped as their feet slid dangerously on the sidewalk leading to the parking lot, and their cries alerted those who followed to tread carefully.
“Madre de Dio!”
muttered Rafael as he nearly fell.
Godwin clutched Rafael’s arm to steady himself, and slid around until they were facing each other. They embraced, and Godwin started to giggle.
“Don’t, don’t,” warned Rafael, teetering on the very edge of his balance, but he began to laugh as well, and the two stood awhile, holding each other at the elbows, snorting and choking with badly repressed laughter.
“Get a room!” advised someone from behind them, his voice loud and cheerful.
Rafael, prepared to take offense, turned to glare, and his feet went in two or three directions. The man—it was the club’s president—was grinning even as he was whirling his arms like a double windmill and sliding toward them on the ice.
“Whoa!” he shouted and involuntarily joined their embrace. They all three laughed and, still joined, began edging down the
Before the meeting got started, a few of the members showed off their newest acquisitions. One started a discussion about whether or not to keep the size and value, even the fact, of their collections secret so as not to attract thieves. This set off a sidebar in which several members shared indignant anecdotes of burglars who stole collections and spent valuable coins in vending machines.
Godwin could have told a tale or two about priceless handmade lace or heirloom needlework selling for a dollar apiece at garage and estate sales, but he decided that wasn’t the point, especially with this crowd.
The meeting was called to order right on time.
Acronyms like ANA and PCGS were thrown around carelessly during the meeting. Godwin guessed the
n
in ANA stood for “numismatist,” a twelve-dollar word that meant “coin collector.” PCGS had something to do with coin grading, a subject of intense interest among collectors. Any sign of wear diminished the value of a coin dramatically, Rafael had told Godwin, and there were at least sixty-five grade levels.
A big topic was the coming March Regional Coin Show. Club members who were coin dealers were offered a low rate for space in the coin show catalog. Buying an ad also entitled them to be mentioned on one of the billboards that would be strategically placed along freeways I-35W and E and I-94, crossing Minneapolis and St. Paul—one of the members owned a billboard company.
Godwin had once attended a coin show with Rafael at which Rafael had purchased two coins that turned out to be phony—that was the main reason Rafael had decided to be more loyal in attending meetings like this, and Godwin had decided to support this decision.
The speaker at this meeting was one of the members of Northwest Coin Club, an IT expert with a strong Mexican accent. He talked about the five-hundred-year post-Aztec history of Mexico as seen through its coinage. The mint in Mexico City was established in 1635, the speaker noted, and had operated continuously since then, despite numerous revolutions. It was in fact the oldest mint in the Americas. He handed around examples of Mexican coins. Godwin was amused at how many members casually hauled out pocket-size lighted magnifiers to examine them. He’d thought only Rafael habitually carried one. As he watched Rafael closely examine a big silver coin minted during Mexico’s First Empire period, Godwin wondered if Rafael was going to expand his collection into this new arena.
When the meeting ended, they came out to find the predicted snow had instead fallen as freezing rain. The first two members of the club to exit the building whooped as their feet slid dangerously on the sidewalk leading to the parking lot, and their cries alerted those who followed to tread carefully.
“Madre de Dio!”
muttered Rafael as he nearly fell.
Godwin clutched Rafael’s arm to steady himself, and slid around until they were facing each other. They embraced, and Godwin started to giggle.
“Don’t, don’t,” warned Rafael, teetering on the very edge of his balance, but he began to laugh as well, and the two stood awhile, holding each other at the elbows, snorting and choking with badly repressed laughter.
“Get a room!” advised someone from behind them, his voice loud and cheerful.
Rafael, prepared to take offense, turned to glare, and his feet went in two or three directions. The man—it was the club’s president—was grinning even as he was whirling his arms like a double windmill and sliding toward them on the ice.
“Whoa!” he shouted and involuntarily joined their embrace. They all three laughed and, still joined, began edging down the
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