Fiction logo

Boardwalk Ave

Historical Fiction, A Boardwalk, a Briefcase

By Kitty FermengsPublished 3 years ago 3 min read
Like

The tempered heat of the summer months slowly waned in intensity as autumn drew nearer. The change was notable on the boardwalk, where ladies and gentlemen from all walks of life and stations mingled. The day's fashions changed as slowly as the weather, with not much changing but the colors and whether one wore a light jacket in broad daylight. The conversation, however, always turned to how cold the air was compared to the day before. On a remarkably chilled day in October 1929, a father and son were taking their afternoon constitution along the boardwalk amongst the traveling salesmen.

"It won't be long until I leave for New York, Father." Roydon, nearly twenty-one years in age, led the pair along the Atlantic City Boardwalk.

"I don't know what you see in that place," said his father, shaking his head. "What's wrong with New Jersey?"

"Nothing is wrong with it, pops. They offered me that job on wall street, remember?"

"Roy, the stock market is nothing but a gamble. And you know how your mother feels about gambling."

"Pops, it's not gambling. It's investing. We've been through this already. You'll see when I can buy you and Mama a nice house in the country this time next year."

"I still don't trust it," said his father, curmudgeonly.

"You don't have to."

"Well," said his father, putting an arm around his shoulders, "just don't bring home a new yorker to your mother."

"Pops," exclaimed Roydon with a half chuckle.

"What? You know as well as I do that New Jersey girls are worth more. Take that to the stock and see how much you can get with it," his father said with a glint in his eye.

"Pops! That's not how it works," He said, laughing off his embarrassment.

"Look, you need a spiffy new briefcase. That guy seems to have a bunch for sale."

"And you call my work on wall street a gamble?" Roydon laughed, following behind his father to a booth on the boardwalk.

The man sold all kinds of briefcases. They varied from simple, sleek black to a more robust maroon for the everyday lawyer. Roydon took his time examining each case.

"You have good taste, young man," said the salesman. Roydon nodded, not wanting to give away that he found the briefcases to be high quality despite the discounted price.

I'll take this one," he said, handing it to the salesman.

"Excellent choice Roy. Black will fit right in with the suits on wall street," his father exclaimed proudly.

"You work on wall street?" The salesman spoke with perplexity in his voice. It wasn't condescending, mainly curious that the son and not the father worked for such a

"I will, after the new year," said Roydon with pride.

"Right after the holidays then," the salesman said, nodding. "Here, have this, on the house."

"Thank you, sir."

The salesman put a current newspaper inside Roydon's new briefcase. "Come on, Roy, we still need to get you a suit," Roydon's father urged him along to the shops past the boardwalk. Before they left the boardwalk for the busy shopping district of Atlantic City, a radio broadcast stopped both men in their tracks.

"We interrupt your current listening to bring you breaking news. The New York stock exchange has closed its doors today after yet another day of record-breaking lows. We have estimated the losses to be in the billions…."

Roydon turned to his father, tears in his eyes, smiling as he held up his new briefcase. "Well, pops," he said, holding back tears, "I won't be needing this anymore."

"Keep it. You can be my numbers guy at the shop. The family business needs someone like you to manage the books. You'll need that briefcase to keep important documents."

"Thanks, pops."

The two men turned around and walked down the boardwalk towards the other end of the street. Arm in arm, they walked as a father silently consoled his son.

Short Story
Like

About the Creator

Kitty Fermengs

I try to write a little bit of everything, from a small poem to an epic prose. I live in A constant state of denial that I am any good at what I have chosen as a profession. Give my works a read. Judge for yourself.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.