Back in 1979, I put on my brand-new white summer jacket and headed out to meet my buddy Aiden at a MUN dance at Prince Philip Hall.
Before leaving my sister Polly’s place, I had a snack of my mother’s homemade partridgeberry jam spread over some freshly baked bread. Just as I was finishing up, a drop of jam landed on my new twenty-dollar jacket. I scrubbed and rubbed, but the stain refused to come out.
Off I went anyway.
The hall was packed like sardines. In those days, there wasn’t a coat rack in sight. Everyone tossed their coats into a heap in the corner, and that was that.
My plan was simple: mingle, dance, and have a good time. This was long before all the senior ailments arrived to slow me down, and I loved to dance. Aiden was introducing me around as a university student majoring in philosophy. Looking back, I don’t think that helped much, because I didn’t exactly have the ladies lining up to meet me.
When the dance ended and it was time to collect our coats, I spotted a fellow out of the corner of my eye wearing my jacket. I recognized it immediately. The partridgeberry jam stain on the zipper was my trademark proof.
I told him it was my jacket and pointed to the stain. Before long, a few of his friends, who looked about ten feet tall, gathered around me and quickly convinced me that he owned the jacket now.
Well, my life was worth more than twenty bucks.
So I let him keep it and went home wearing a jacket about four times too big.
Over the years, I’ve often wondered about that thief. Was stealing jackets his regular routine? Did he go to dances looking for clothing instead of women? Was it the first decent coat he ever owned? Did he ever get the jam stain out? Is he still alive today, or did life eventually catch up with him?
A thief looks at your belongings and thinks, “That should be mine.”
How long did he keep it? Did he trade it away? Sell it? Wear it proudly for years?
If you’re reading this, Mr. Jacket Thief, along with your bully friends, I hope things turned out okay for you. Maybe somewhere along the way you found redemption.
Not all Newfoundlanders will give you the shirt off their back. Some will demand yours instead.
I suppose it takes all kinds to make a world.