The Little Black Notebook & Answered Prayers

Dark foreboding clouds circled the tops of the buildings. It was mid-day, Monday, October 21, 1929. Strolling on the sidewall on Wall Street, a man smashed into Tillman whose concentration was occupied by city sounds and towering buildings. Crash! His suitcase slammed to the ground; its contents scattered all over the sidewalk. Quickly he grabbed his belongings and closed the suitcase. His dated suit screamed tourist, the sheepish look on his youthful face revealed he lacked street smarts.

The man and Tillman’s billfold both disappeared! His soul felt defeated by this mishap. The splendor and enchantment of the city was now replaced by agony, despair, and sheer panic. He had no money, knew no one there, and had no assistance.

All his life he had worked on his family’s Mid-Western farm, now he was ready to leave the organic smells of rural life behind. History and culture awaited at Museums, Central Park, Ellis Island, and the Statue of Liberty. Say goodbye to cow patties, and hello to Vaudeville shows. His family was proud he was actively pursuing his aspirations in the real world; he did not intend to disappoint his family or himself.

Standing in front of the NY Stock Exchange, Tillman could feel the tension from inside the building. The clamor of men barking orders, ticker tape confetti, the furious pace --- this insane chaos piqued his interest. Yet, his focus remained on his dire circumstances, and he had one solution: Prayer.

Concealed behind a concrete column, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and began to silently petition for divine direction to remedy his desperate circumstances. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he opened his eyes and looked down at his feet. In front of his shoe was a little black notebook, the craftsmanship was distinctive. The pages were full of numbers and abbreviations, however, no indication of ownership.

Outside the door stood a man in a pristine uniform, who warmly greeted each person by name as they entered. Tillman watched the man help a lost pedestrian get directions, and give a homeless man change from his pocket.

As Tillman approached the door, “ You seem lost. What brings you here today, sir?” asked the doorman. “Owen” was the name on his uniform.

“ Sir, my name is Tillman, I moved here today, all my money was stolen. I have no job, do not know a soul, and I have no way to get help. I found this little black notebook and need to return it to its owner. ” Owen took the notebook.

Coincidently, another man walked up to Owen and Tillman. “ Good afternoon Art. Please look at this notebook and tell me what you think?” said Owen. Art skimmed the pages.

“This is this is a ledger kept by another Stockbroker tracking many stocks for years. Electric Boat, Truax Traer Coal, Bulova Watch, Douglass Aircraft, Honeywell, Crown Zellerbach... With this information, a wise broker might earn competitive commissions. Whose notebook?” replied Art.

“I found it on the ground after my billfold was stolen off of me, just outside this door. ” replied Tillman.

“Pickpockets know the value of dollar bills but not information. Likely the same Joe that stole your billfold, discarded this notebook thinking it garbage. If you are willing to sell it, I will pay you.” replied Art.

Tillman thought a moment. “ I don’t know what this notebook is worth, but whatever you decide I will accept as fair price. Much appreciated.”

“ Let me do some research on its value, it may take a few days. Where I can I reach you?” asked Art.

“ He can work here as a Heyboy until he collects his money from you.” replied Owen.

“ I didn’t see any hay… Hayboy? ” asked Tillman.

“ I mean ‘Hey, boy can you go get…’ You go get things for the stockbrokers as they work. Pick up laundered suits, packages from the drug store…and the brokers will tip you. Makes about a dollar a day.”

“ Give me directions to places, I can do the job. Thank you, Owen.” replied Tillman.

“ Tillman, I will be in contact with you.” said Art as he headed inside with the little black notebook.

Tillman worked the rest of the day, which earned 25 cents. By end of the workday, the sky was getting dark. “Owen, where can I find shelter? asked Tillman. They stood on the sidewalk, looking down the street.

“I have met the wealthiest people and the humblest folks you can imagine and everything in between in my line work. Street people get by with less than anyone, they are experts at survival. You see the man in the black coat sitting against the building, two blocks down? His name is Harry, go tell him I sent you to him to find shelter and food. Be inside before it gets dark. See you in the morning. ” said Owen and handed him two crumpled one-dollar bills. Tillman shook his hand and headed down the street.

Harry directed Tillman to a 2-bit flophouse and a grocer. “Buy a loaf of bread (5 cents) and can of salmon (10 cents). Get to the flophouse quickly, the beds fill up fast, get a bottom bunk to keep your suitcase underneath your cot, get a cot as close to the door as possible. Good luck!” said Harry.

Tillman hurried to the grocer, then to the flophouse: a giant room of cots stacked two high packed like sardines. The stench of body odor, stale cigarettes, and alcohol breath was an orchestrated assault on his senses. Farm scents seemed less insufferable now. While his cot near the door helped dampen the smell, a cold breeze smacked him each time the door opened and closed, it woke him nearly every 10 minutes. With no blanket, he used his extra clothes to help stay warm. Awake before dawn, he slipped into the bathroom to shave and clean up.

The salmon and half the bread were dinner the prior night and he consumed the rest of the bread for breakfast, then made his way to work. His meals were not like delicious meals on the farm: bacon, eggs, sausage, and fresh biscuits… but in pinch it was enough. The suitcase he left at the flophouse as there was nowhere to store it at work.

Tillman, Art, and Owen worked through Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. Tillman was busy fetching items for brokers. When he got lost, he looked for a street person to get accurate directions who seemed pleased to provide aid and he gave copper or nickels when he could to show his appreciation. He felt blessed to have a job, even a meager one provided for his necessities.

Each night after work, when Tillman returned to the flophouse with about a dollar in tips, he noticed more and more of his belongings were missing. Each night cost 25 cents at the flophouse, his food was 15 cents if he only ate a loaf of bread and salmon, which rendered his savings insufficient to improve his circumstances. He prayed more earnestly that Owen and Art’s help and God’s relief would come at the time he needed it most.

Saturday, he spied from the outside a theater and a museum, wondering what he was missing. Window shopped at famous departments stores he had seen in catalogs and newspapers. He had no suitcase to carry as it had been stolen Friday while he was at work. Sunday, he watched boats go to Ellis Island, studied the Statue of Liberty, visited Central Park, and attended mass at an ornate Catholic Cathedral--- where he felt comfort, even hope. He prayed wholeheartedly for God’s guidance.

Monday, at work, Tillman was very busy, as he was sent on many errands. The Stock Market seemed to be busier than ever even though trading was stagnated, the tension weighed down on everyone in the building. Tillman noticed the brokers were under tremendous stress, like a heavy millstone hanging over their heads ready to fall at any moment. Tillman decided he would find Art on Tuesday to ask about the value of the little black notebook.

Tuesday, October 29, 1929, the ominous sky was full of black clouds. Electricity in the air was like a concentrated lightning storm, poised to inflict collateral damage in a flash. By lunch time, Tillman noticed many of the brokers had gone to lunch but had not returned. Something was amiss, he ventured to find Art.

Art had just finished sending out one last telegram, one was sent to each his clients. The rest of the brokers were sobbing or sitting motionless with stunned expressions of disbelief on their faces. He worried Art would be distraught, but to his surprise found Art in good spirits.

“ Perfect timing, I was leaving to find you. Last Thursday, I moved all monies into the stocks from your black notebook, the rest of the market took a nosedive. Twelve million transactions completed that day, fortunately, the black notebook stocks held their value. Thursday was a preemptive warning. Even though Friday the Market recovered a bit my instincts told me one more catastrophic drop was eminent. I liquidated all stocks starting Monday morning, sold everything before values plummeted today. I had my clients’ monies placed in safe deposit boxes for their protection. Most investors lost their shirts today, but you and rest of my clients are among the few survivors. The value of your little black notebook is twenty thousand dollars. I took the liberty of purchasing a new wallet for you to safely carry your money.” Art handed him a thick wallet stuffed full of bills.

Astonished at this news, a wide range of emotions flashed across his face. Once his mind processed Art’s words, Tillman began to cry overcome with joy. “ How? But… I will forever be grateful for your help. How can I repay you?” asked Tillman, wiping tears from his face.

“You already have. Even with many years of trading experience, without the little, black notebook it would have been impossible to make money this last couple of weeks, my clients would have lost everything. The stock market may take years to recover. I am moving upstate to start my own business and I have money to do it thanks to you.” The two men shook hands and hugged.

“ Come by for a visit if you travel upstate. Promise?” asked Art.

“ Will do. I am heading home. City life is more cut-throat than I imagined, I realize now there is no shame in being a farmer and it is work I do well. My family will be proud. And the money will help during years of poor harvest. I can’t thank you enough. ” said Tillman.

As they left the building Art and Tillman stopped at the door to see Owen.

“ All my years working here I never thought the Market would drop to the floor. But with Art’s help selling my stocks, I have enough money I can retire today and can live comfortably. I always hoped for but never thought this day would come. Thank you, dear friend.” said Owen as he hugged Art. “Come visit anytime, kid. Don’t be a stranger.” Owen smiled as he hugged Tillman.

All three men went their separate ways. Tillman went to bus depot to get a one-way ticket home, ready to return to the farm. The miraculous adventure he had in New York City he would share with his family; it was one that would not be forgotten any time soon. He had no regrets from his struggles which gained unique and valuable life experience. On the bus Tillman offered a silent prayer, grateful for unexpected outcome, far better than he thought possible; he felt confident that he was on the right path for this life.