I believe that when I was young, I was the only kid for several blocks around who knew that Salmon P. Chase was on the $10,000 bill. I discovered that fact in the World Book Encyclopedia and have held it close to my heart ever since.
For some reason I liked to say Salmon P. Chase, both aloud and in my youthful imaginings. I still do, I guess. Admittedly, the name of Abraham Lincoln’s Secretary of the Treasury doesn’t come up often in conversation. As far as I know, there is no Salmon P. Chase Society or Salmon P. Chase Museum. I might regret that we didn’t name our first-born son Salmon P., but I think that turned out OK.
But wait, there’s more. In doing slapdash research for this column I was surprised to learn that Salmon P. Chase — the P. is for Portland — was born in 1808 in our own Cornish, N.H. No trendy names like Jayden or Kaiden for the Chases. His father was named Ithamar.
Ithamar Chase died when Salmon P. Chase was still a boy. He was sent to Ohio, where he was raised by his uncle, Philander. Now that’s a name for ya.
But why does Salmon P. Chase look back at us from the 10K note? He was no nobody. A famed anti-slavery lawyer, he was governor of Ohio, served in the U.S. Senate, kept the government solvent during the Civil War and later became chief justice of the Supreme Court.
Pretty good for a Cornish kid! I don’t know why the town’s children don’t get a school holiday on his birthday, Jan. 13. At the very least they should write competitive essays about 19th century fiscal policy. I’d love to have third-graders weigh in.
The $10,000 note was the highest U.S. denomination in public circulation. They are no longer made, but are still legal tender. Reportedly, 336 were still around in 2009. Business Insider said a bill issued in 1934 sold at auction a couple of years ago for $480,000. Which is why you won’t ever get one in change at the Circle K.
It’s ironic that Salmon P. Chase is atop the money heap. Lincoln, with whom he squabbled and hoped to eventually replace as president, is on the penny. According to Google, it takes a million pennies to equal $10,000. Take that, Abe!
You probably heard that the U.S. Mint recently stopped making pennies, since they cost nearly 4 cents to produce, making them a losing proposition.
I missed the penny’s golden age, but when I was a boy the coin was well respected. Older people said things like: Find a penny, pick it up, and all day you’ll have good luck. A penny saved is a penny earned. A penny for your thoughts.
Penny candy was on the way out, but if you scrounged up five you could buy a Hershey Bar, a value proposition. I dimly remember once buying a nickel Coke, but that was from an old machine. Most cost a dime. Then a quarter. And on and on.
Pay phones were once a nickel. When he was in a merry mood my father-in-law sometimes answered the home phone, “Your nickel, shoot.’’ My high school track coach said, when we had a stupid idea, “That and ten cents will buy you a cup of coffee.”
I don’t think people coin phrases like that anymore. Debit cards just aren’t the same.
Looking back on this, I find that my whole life has been one of inflation. I was a freeloader in my baby and boyhood years, living off my parents, but consumer shock hit when I developed a side hustle of returning bottles for deposits. Cruelly, comic books shot up from 12 cents to a quarter. Highway robbery, I thought; the boys of America will not stand for it.
But they — and I — did.
Economic analysts make a mystery out of inflation but I think it’s fairly simple. Corporations raise prices because they can. So they do. Like ants, they never stop anting.
One answer is to resist, to buy less, but that’s hard when you’re at the supermarket and your stomach is growling.
Joe Biden tried to ignore inflation and that helped do him in. Donald Trump claims victory over it, but he claims victory over everything.
Things change, and so does currency. The way our economy is going — we’ve stalled out while the rich get richer — maybe Salmon P. Chase could be called back into service. The big buck might be handy in Aspen, the Hamptons, and even for certain “contributions” to the White House.
I know it sounds kind of dopey, but who can say our president wouldn’t love this big beautiful bill?
Dan Mackie lives in West Lebanon. He can be reached at dan.mackie@yahoo.com.