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"Man is his own star, and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man Commands all light, all influence, all fate…"
---John Fletcher, The Honest Man's Fortune (1647).
My heart pulsed with its own wild beat when I spotted a thick white envelope lying behind a red Camry in the parking lot of the Wells Fargo Bank on Old Cheney and 40th Street in Lincoln, Nebraska.
It took no effort at all to reach down and pick it up. I looked around. I was alone. Lifting the envelope flap, I counted forty crisp $20 bills stuffed inside. A thrill coursed through my body. Free money. A total of $800 on a silver platter. How lucky is that?
It was probably dropped by some rich guy who wouldn't miss it much, I figured.
Shimmering waves of summer heat rose from the sun-scorched concrete as I surveyed my find. Being in the right spot at the right time has its benefits.
I sat in my Hyundai in the heat and humidity to see if anyone would be backtracking for the misplaced cash. After a sweaty stakeout of thirty minutes, I made my decision. This anonymous gift would be used to get our landlord off my back for another month and provide my wife with an anniversary present that I wouldn't have been able to afford before this extraordinary discovery.
Married life had thrown our financial situation continuous curves from doctor bills for my wife's many health challenges and other misfortunes. They'd been sharp breaking balls that sometimes pierced our existence with extremes difficult to imagine or describe.
Our credit cards were maxed-out. I was a month behind on our apartment rent. A seventh wedding anniversary was a week away and I hadn't been able to save any money for her present. We'd both talked about the possibility of one day being able to attend a musical stage event at the Quest Center in Omaha. Now this "finder-keeper-loser-weeper" bonanza could make that dream come true.
For nearly a year I'd watched our bank balance deflate like a tire with a slow leak.
We weren't exactly broke…but we were a financial train wreck waiting to happen. And I was driving a 12-year-old car whose value doubled whenever the gas tank was filled.
I'd worked at a food processing plant since we'd been married. We worked 10-hour shifts six days a week. My life, to this point, had been like being a Cadillac with bad spark plugs. It looks good on the outside but there's a problem that keeps if from running properly. Namely, a lack of money.
My wife was ecstatic that night when I displayed the "bonus" my company had given me.
"This will be the most exciting anniversary ever," she said, giving me a passionate kiss.
A late-evening telephone call interrupted my sleep a week after an unforgettable stage show in Omaha for our anniversary.
"Is this Daniel Evans?"
"Bingo," I said, still half-asleep.
"You don't know me, but I'm aware that you picked up a, uh, special envelope from the Wells Fargo Bank parking lot a few weeks ago."
His words shocked me awake.
"The entire episode was captured by security cameras."
"And how will this affect me?" I replied, my voice too high by an octave.
"No one will know about this but the two of us," the anonymous caller replied.
"I'm…well…modestly, let's say…wealthy. And I'm a little like Diogenes of Sinope.
Have you ever heard of him?"
"Not lately."
"He was a man in ancient times that carried a lantern through the streets of Athens during the day. When asked what he was seeking, he answered, 'I am looking for an honest man.'"
"So what now?"
"Your secret's safe with me. You can keep the $800. No strings attached. But if you'd returned it to the bank or police…I was prepared to provide the honest finder with a tax-free cashier's check for $150,000."
A long agonizing pause ensued on both ends of the line.
"How you live your life is your responsibility, not mine. And how I distribute my fortune is my decision alone, too," the voice said. "Good-bye, Mr. Evans. Have a nice life."
Guilt and regret immediately began to bubble up inside as soon as I hung up. I could have finished college on my own terms. All of our bills would have been paid.
"Who was that, honey?" my sleepy wife asked.
"Just someone asking about a guy named Diogenes."
In the end, I have no specific words of wisdom for anyone else except, perhaps, to admit that temptation has a way of introducing you to yourself. My only choice, now, is to grudgingly accept this outcome like a patient forced to swallow foul-tasting medicine.
Okay, I'd done the easy wrong rather than the hard right. And in seven more hours, my
alarm would be giving me a wake-up call for another 10-hour shift at the processing plant.
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