We have been doing this for a few months. It's all fine I guess. Not much change, except that the cops get cases handed to them and eventually more stuff will get fenced through organized crime.

The old man died today.

We knew it was probably coming. When he was hospitalized it really did not look good, but he fought for a while, and there were moments of hope. That became a cruel roller coaster ride. In the end he was just too weak to fight his illness.

He was a colorful guy and it seems amazing to think he started the shop in 1968. Not too many retail outlets ever last that long.

He was a deeply beloved man. I had hoped to learn his secret for that.

I also saw that at age 71, he was far too infirm than he should have been. I don't know how that came to be, but if I were to blame anything I would blame the ghetto and its terrible food and lack of hygiene. It's like anything, spend too much time someplace and you become it in little ways. I believe the ghetto sucked the life force right out of this man.

He still had a soul after all that life in the pawn business. Something had to give.

That unsung hero got a song here, you did good, thx.

Oh that's so sad.

Remarkable really. Thinking in terms of the Eightfold Path, could the shop have been his right livelihood? I guess so.

Probably not many others in the ghetto will notice or miss him, but I am so glad you did, UT.

Sorry, UT. I'm glad you got a chance to know him.

I'm sorry, UT. :(

Stranger things have happened.


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I went to the old man's service yesterday and was presented with a compliment that I couldn't deal with.

Before services began, there was the line of mourners which everyone met with, and shook hands with and kissed and hugged. During this time, I met his widow. At first I was introduced by a family member who didn't know me very much, but a second after I'd moved just past her, someone mentioned something about me to her, and she lit up.

Oh, Tony! You're the eBay person!
Ah yes, that's me.
You know he talked about you a lot. He really liked you.

A compliment from the dead man lying in a coffin ten feet behind me. I'm not saying this to brag, repeating a compliment about myself. I'm saying it because it's part of the story.

I was instantly frozen by this. I've learned to accept compliments with a variation of "That's nice of you to say!" It both accepts the compliment, and turns it around to compliment the person saying it. It is nice of them to say.

In this case, it was nice of him to say... except that he wasn't saying it. It was twice as nice for his widow to say it. It was a moment of flattery, confusion, and grief all at the same time. A feeling I've never experienced before. I think I managed a stumbled thank you of some sort.

And then I began to cry.

By attending his service, you also showed his widow that you cared equally about him. You're a good egg, Tony.

You are a shining light in in that widow's life. Enjoy that you made her smile during her grief.

There's beauty in a moment like that.

I mean, it sucks, because you have the grief, and because he's gone. But all of you coming together to honor him and to be there for one another. And you're meeting lots of people for the first time, but you all share this common link. You're connected.

It's like some weird blend of grief and sorrow and community and warmth.

What's going to happen with the pawn shop? Will the widow run it?

He's been preparing his boys to take over the family business for a long time. There are two sons and there are two shops.