“Son, I’ve got something for ya,” said the grizzled hunter, poking our late November campfire and sending ember offerings and prayers to the Man Upstairs. I had known my friend ever since I was a tyke, and I always called him Uncle John, even though he was not among my kinfolk. He stood up to reach into the right pocket of his Wranglers, then pulled out a closed hand, clenching something within.
“Been carrying this for lots of years and it’s always brought me good luck,” he said. He extended his closed fist toward me, then lowered it so the campfire’s flames would illuminate his opened hand.
His hands trembled a bit as he opened his fist, revealing a shiny, well-worn coin – a quarter.
“I want you to know this is a very special, if not magic, quarter,” he said. “I was roughnecking with your dad in the oil fields near New Ulm back when I got it. He and I hunted together every chance we got. I liked listening and following ‘coonhounds almost as much as your dad. I swear that man sometimes got to the treed ‘coon before the hounds did. He’d crawl up a tree that looked as slick as a telephone pole and then shake the ‘coon out of the branches.”
I started reaching for the quarter, but Uncle John closed his hand before I could grab it. “Not until you hear the story behind this quarter-of-a-dollar piece.”
I nodded.
“Lester and I had pulled a double shift, sixteen hours straight, me working on the floor and he up in the derrick. We pulled the drill stem, replaced the bit and put it all back into the hole. Took us sixteen hours, but we got it done. Both of us were a lot tougher back then, and we both needed the double-time wages.
“He was married to your mother, and I to my childhood sweetheart. You weren’t born then, but your Mom had just found out she was pregnant. I was thrilled for him and your mother. My wife and I were trying to have a baby as well, but it just wasn’t happening and unfortunately it never did.
“Lester and I were tired to the bone. Even so, I really thought your dad would suggest we get a bite to eat and then go ‘coon-hunting. It was late winter and ‘coon hides were prime.”
Uncle John hesitated, then poked at the fire, sending glowing embers skyward.
He continued: “It surprised me when, on our way home, he suggested we stop for a beer to celebrate. Never one to turn down a free beer, I wholeheartedly agreed.
“Pulling up to the beer joint, I stepped out of car, stepped on a rock, slipped and fell flat on the ground so quickly I didn’t have time to reach out to break my fall. My face hit the ground, nose first. I closed my eyes as I fell. When I opened them, there lay a quarter just inches from my face. Now, back in those days, a quarter was really worth something. I blinked my eyes several times, but sure enough, there lay a shiny new quarter.
“Lester walked around to my side of the car and as he reached down to help me up, I picked up the quarter. When my vision cleared, I saw the year, 1947, a brand new coin, nice and shiny as it could be. In spite of my fall, I knew it was my lucky day. I stuck the quarter in my pocket, wiped the dirt from my pants and shirt and we went in to have a beer.
“Back home that evening, just as we were about to go to bed, there came a knock on the door. I went to do see who it might be. I turned on the porch light and there stood my neighbor with a letter in his hand. He told me the mail carrier had put the letter in his mail box instead of ours. He handed it to me, I thanked him. I noticed the return address came from a lawyer in Houston. Frankly, I was a bit scared about opening it. Setting it on the table, I stared at it for a few minutes. Getting a letter from a lawyer usually brought bad news.
“I considered waiting until the next day to open the letter, but then figured, what the hell; if it’s bad news, I might just as well get it behind me. I laid the new-found quarter on the letter before opening it. I have no idea why, but it’s what I did.
Opening the envelope, I unfolded the letter and started reading. In a way, I guess it was bad news, because it started out about how my great uncle Tom on my mother’s side had passed away a couple of months earlier, which we had not heard about. Then, it went on to state he had willed a quarter of a million dollars to me! All I needed to do was contact the lawyer, prove who I was, and claim it. I headed to our bedroom and told my wife. She didn’t believe me until I showed her the letter.
“I was awake and up really early next morning, waiting for your dad. When he knocked on the door, I opened it and shoved a steaming hot cup of coffee his way and said, ‘Lester, we gotta talk. I’m quitting my job today. You have to tell the driller and superintendent for me. Emma and I need to drive to Houston to meet with a lawyer.’ I showed him the letter.
“Your dad had a huge smile on his face as he handed it back to me, said a few choice congratulatory words, and then ended by saying I might be quitting my job, but no way did it mean he was going let me quit hunting ‘coons with him. I assured him that not only was I not quitting hunting ‘coons with him, I was gonna own the best ‘coon hounds in Texas, Louisiana, Arkansas, Tennessee and Kentucky. And, in time I did.”
Uncle John again poked at the fire, then talked on.
“I took some of the money, bought a few oil leases in East and West Texas that continued to pay handsomely and put a pile of it in the bank. I had been reading Outdoor Life magazine for years. A guy named Jack O’Connor had been writing for them for a while and every month answered readers’ questions. I sent him a couple of letters asking what guns to buy for hunting elk, moose, bear, bighorn sheep and, a rifle to take to Africa.
“O’Connor wrote back, suggesting a Model 70 Winchester chambered in .270 Winchester, and bigger round, also in a Model 70, chambered in .375 H&H Mag, should I actually decide to hunt buffalo, rhino and elephant. I did just as he suggested. Not only did I buy those two rifles, for the next several years I also booked hunts throughout the North Country from New Mexico to Alaska and the Yukon during the late summer and fall. During our summers, I headed to Africa.
“I did well on those hunts and took some truly impressive animals. There was one constant in my hunting! I always carried that lucky 1947 quarter I found that day with your dad. It truly became my good luck piece. As long as I had that quarter in my pocket, I knew I was going to do well. And I did! The few times I did not have it with me, which was very seldom, I was skunked.”
He added, “Wish Lester had been with me on some of those hunts, but all he cared about was hunting ‘coons with his hounds and his horses.”
I nodded in agreement; that indeed was my dad.
“Been following your writing and television shows all the years you’ve been doing ‘em,” said Uncle John. “You’ve had some great hunts and experiences, but I also know you worked really hard at what you’ve done.”
I nodded and appreciated his comment.
“Wanna try to make things a bit easier for you,” he said, pushing his now opened hand toward me and exposing the quarter. “You were born in 1947, same year I found this lucky quarter. I’ve come to look at that as an omen . . . that you should have it and carry it with you on your hunts.” He hesitated, then warned me: “Now don’t go, spending it or giving your lucky quarter to someone else. I want it to go to you and you only.”
I graciously accepted it with honor, great thanks and appreciation, knowing he could always trust me with his lucky quarter. I knew that Uncle John, then in his mid-80s, was likely nearing the end of his run, even though he still actively hunted both whitetails and mule deer.
The very next morning, with the lucky quarter in my pocket, I rattled in and shot a really nice buck.
I continued to carry that quarter on a daily basis for years. It always served me well. I can recall two hunts when I did not have it in my pocket, because I had changed jeans right before heading out. On one of those occasions, I was hunting desert bighorn sheep in Sonora, Mexico. After crawling and clawing my way high onto a rugged and steep ridge, I shot at and missed a record-book desert ram. A couple of days later, with my lucky quarter in pocket, I shot my desert bighorn.
Another time, while hunting in Alberta for whitetails, I ventured afield without it. That morning I shot at and missed the biggest whitetail I have ever had a chance at taking. Again, lesson learned the hard way. It was in my pocket when I shot a record-book Coues whitetail and Canadian whitetail, as well as my many other hunts.
Does that 1947 quarter actually hold special magic? It might, but I think it has much more to do with me believing in the quarter, for when I have it with me, I hunt better because I think something good is going to happen. When it does I am ready. Does that mean I will quit carrying Uncle John’s lucky quarter while hunting? No way!
A few years ago, while speaking at an outdoor show in Pennsylvania, I addressed the power of positive thinking and the importance of being continually aware of one’s surroundings when hunting. Toward the end of my talk, I reached into my pocket and pulled out a quarter, albeit not my lucky quarter. I told the crowd as I held the quarter for all to see, this truly was a magical quarter. I then told those attending I was going to pitch that particular quarter into the crowd. Whoever ended up with it would have great luck hunting, and if he were a good shot, he would shoot their best deer of his life.
I pitched the coin into the crowd and watched a man, in his mid-50s, catch it. A huge smile came upon his face. I assured him if he carried that quarter and truly paid attention while hunting, he would shoot a big buck.
Years later, I was again speaking at that same outdoor show. I thought I recognized one of the men in the crowd as the person who had caught the “lucky quarter” three years earlier. He smiled throughout my conversation with the crowd. As I stepped off the stage, I was immediately greeted by the smiling face. It was indeed the person who had previously caught the “lucky quarter.”
He extended his right hand to shake mine, while displaying the lucky quarter in his other hand.
“Got to give this lucky quarter back to you. Time for you to share its luck with someone else,” he told me. “The two hunting seasons I carried it, I shot a ten-point, 167 buck and another that netted more than 170 and will make the Boone and Crockett Record Book.
“Yes, Sir, it’s time you give your “lucky quarter” to someone else who can enjoy the same kind of good luck that I had. I shot both of those bucks in an area where I’d been told that big bucks did not exist!”
Another lucky quarter? I’ll let you decide!