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Date Posted: 17:35:04 03/06/02 Wed
Author: Larsen
Author Host/IP: NoHost / 199.80.13.70
Subject: DIAMOND JIM'S LUCKY NUMBERS

(Posted for your enjoyment. I am not the author. Larsen)

DIAMOND JIM'S LUCKY NUMBERS

Zoltan Kramer certainly didn't look or feel like a millionaire. The wool suit he bought last night was starting to itch. He leaned on his aluminum cane and began fidgeting with his neatly trimmed Van Dyke beard as he waited for the State Police cruiser. The state trooper met the old man outside the front door of the Hebrew Home For The Aged.

"Mr. Kramer, my name is Sergeant Warren D. McEnroe, Jr.", the young, spit-polished New Jersey trooper said. "I've come to drive you to the Lottery Ceremony in Trenton."
Though liberated from the concentration camp for more than fifty years, Zoltan still distrusted policemen, guns and police cars. The trooper helped Kramer slide into the back seat, and started driving toward Trenton.
"You're the third instant millionaire I've chauffeured," McEnroe said. "How does it feel to be an instant millionaire?", McEnroe asked.

"I'll tell you when I get the check," the old man said. "But what happens if I don't take the money?"
The officer glanced back at his passenger in disbelief. "Who doesn't want $27 million?"
"Winning the Lottery is nice," Kramer said, "but to me it's a joke. All I did was play my old lucky number. It didn't require skill or special intelligence. I didn't discover a cure for cancer. I just got lucky. Look, I'm 90 years old and I don't have much time left. I'm not going to buy a home or a car and I have no wife or family to buy presents for. What do I really need? At the assisted living, they feed me, give me my pills, change my sheets, let me play bingo and watch the big color television. Today I will have $27 million." "I remember my years in the concentration camp. I was a limping, wheezing skeleton. I had nothing. I was totally penniless and alone. In my small village in Romany, I saw my parents herded into cattle cars and sent off to the ovens. I saw a police officer draw his pistol and shoot my lame little brother dead -- in front of my eyes -- in the village square. It was a fast, cheap death. I didn't have a penny when I lost my family. Today I'll have $27 million and I cannot buy their lives back. It's a joke -- a sick, tragic joke." "But I, myself, was lucky. The Americans saved me. And I eventually came to the United States. I went to night school, where I met Margaret. She was an American girl who taught me English -- and how to laugh again. I married her in 1950. For a living, I sewed piecework in a dress factory. It was my only job for 35 years. And Margaret was my only love. She died from cancer in 1975. And, I miss her very much."

"I'm sorry," McEnroe said as he changed the subject. "In one hour you're going to get $27 million," the trooper said. "You can still buy lot of happiness and excitement with all that money."
"I found my great happiness with Margaret," Kramer said. "And I found excitement playing the numbers game."
"But that's against the law!" the trooper declared, staring at his passenger through his rear view mirror.

"Yes, it was illegal when I placed my nickel and dime bets at Saltzman's candy store. I'd give Saltzman my spare change and he'd write my numbers on a paper. And we both hoped we wouldn't get caught by the cops. Today you stand and wait in crowded lines by a computer at an official Lottery Agency. It's all high-tech and legal because the state gets its piece of the action. That's life."
"Did you win often?" the sergeant asked.
"Not often, but when I won, I celebrated with Margaret. We'd take the train into the city and I'd hire a taxi cab to take us to a fine restaurant. I'd order two steak dinners and a glass of French wine for Margaret and an ice-cold bottle of beer for me. Once, when I hit on a quarter bet, I also bought her flowers. Margaret loved camellias. She called me 'Diamond Jim Brady' and she called our feast 'our night of opulence'."
"You really miss her, don't you?"
"I miss her very much," Zoltan sighed. "I also miss the youth I could not enjoy. I'd give every nickel of that $27 million if I could spend one more day with my Margaret."
"What would you do?," the young trooper asked.
"First, I would hug and kiss her and watch her smile. She had a warm and beautiful and lovely smile. Then I would apologize for anything I ever
said or did that hurt her. And then we would make love."
"At age 90?"
"Love is more than young bodies and genital contact," the old man lectured. "Love is an ongoing ageless affair of the heart and soul. Are you married?"
McEnroe said he married his Lori eighteen years ago. They have a 15-year-old son, Billy, and a nine-year-old daughter, Nancy.
"But, Sergeant, you still haven't answered my original question: What will they do if I don't take the $27 million?"
"I don't know what they'll do with the money, but they'll probably lock you away in a nuthouse -- an insane asylum. They'll say you're crazy. Turning back $27 million is very un-American."
Kramer smiled. "I guess you're right but I'll tell you what. Later, when they take pictures of me with that great big check, I want you to call Lori. Tell her and the kids that tonight 'Diamond Jim' is going to give them a 'night of opulence'. I'm going to buy us all steak dinners. And a glass of wine for Lori, two bottles of ice-cold beer -- one for you and one for me -- and a Coca-Cola for Billy and a Shirley Temple for Nancy. It's my treat. Believe me, tonight I can afford it."
Sergeant McEnroe changed the subject again. "You never did tell me what your lucky number was."
Zoltan Kramer laid his cane across the back seat, unbuckled his seat belt, slid his arm out of his suit jacket, rolled up his shirt sleeve and placed his arm over the front seat, revealing his concentration camp tattoo.
And both men continued their drive in silence.

-- Ron Gold

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