The Cupertino Courier A new library? 'Pennies' can't do it By Jon Hoornstra In the summer of 1947 I had yet to see the inside of a kindergarten classroom. I was 4 years old, my brother was 6, and neither of us could see over the top of a candy counter. Nevertheless, brother David and I were financially wise beyond our combined 10 years. We knew then how a little bit of money could leverage "the big deal." Were we kids in today's Cupertino, I bet the two of us could broker a deal in money circles to finance the planned multimillion dollar new library, a process now under active discussion. The connection between a new library and my youthful wheeling and dealing in the summer of '47 was made when I first saw the huge penny donation jugs at the library checkout counter. It reminded me how David and I walked two blocks from our Michigan home nearly every Saturday into downtown Lowell's business district. All the store managers and clerks in that village of 1,500 knew us by name and knew where we were going--Henry's Drug Store. There we would drop our weekly allowance of a nickel each on the counter and order ice cream cones. Sometimes we'd go for just candy, other times we'd opt to split our nickels for both ice cream and some penny candy to take home. This was where we learned the power of a nickel, if not its value. Henry's Drug Store was much like today's drugstores. The pharmacy was its core value to the community, and the broad inventory of stuff on the shelves, just like a drugstore today, generated the daily business traffic. But there were differences, as well. Henry's was family-owned and operated. Miney and Beulah Henry worked behind the counters every day. And Henry's had a real soda fountain. Milk shake machines whirred as customers sat and talked from their red-cushioned, spinning stools. Henry's was a vital cog in the little town's wheel. On a particular Saturday in 1947, my brother and I were set to make the usual ice cream run when we spotted two brand-new Mickey Mouse watches. We just had to have those watches, but with just 10 cents between us, the price tag was out of reach. Or was it? "Mrs. Henry," I said, "we'd like to lay away two Mickey Mouse watches with 2 cents apiece and use three pennies for some candy or ice cream. Okay?" Mr. Henry, always busy in the pharmacy area, overheard the sounds of deal-making and stopped to listen. We promised to make payments every Saturday until the watches were paid off. Given our record, the Henrys had no doubt they'd see us every Saturday. So the terms were set and the watches would be ours. We'd used our pennies to leverage a deal, even if it was just a layaway deal. The money had spoken. As adults, of course, we know the rest of the story. One of the Henrys telephoned our parents to make the deal behind the deal. The adults knew we'd be grown up before our pennies paid off those watches. Likewise, we all know today that the $7,000 dollars donated into the library's penny jugs mean we'll have to dip into much deeper pockets to finance a new library. Today the hills of Cupertino are alive with the sound of money, or at least the sound of money talking. Ever since the city captured a windfall $8 million by leasing the water system last year, the new-found money has driven spenders to talk of bigger and grander spending. A year ago, for example, the estimated cost of expanding the senior center stood at $1 million. Now it's about $3 million. The earliest estimates for a new library were $7 million and grew to $18 million this past July. But architectural renderings presented last Friday totaled at least $23 million. A $23 million library will require borrowed money. The exact amount can't be known yet--there are too many variables. A debt, however, is a decision the council should take to the voters. Let's recall the wisdom of the late syndicated columnist, Earl Wilson, who once said it's too bad future generations can't see how much fun we're having with their money. [ Back to Contents Page | Cupertino Courier Home Page | Archives ] This article appeared in the Cupertino Courier, December 16, 1998. ©1998 Metro Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved.