Funny how events keep buzzing around the brain, there but
not quite rising to the forefront of my thoughts. Not an irritant, more an
awareness. Something to be spoken to later, maybe.
Last October, Paul Newman’s Daytona Rolex—a gift from his
wife Joanne Woodward—sold for $17.8 million at a 12-minute auction, trouncing
the previous record for a watch.
The story piqued my interest, not because I am or ever
was a watch guy. Somewhere along the way I started wearing a self-winding Timex
flexband, perhaps junior high. I wore it just about all the time. Had it torn
off my wrist playing basketball and football and even tennis. I had a watch of
that type stolen off my wrist while inside—yes, inside—the living heart exhibit
at the Chicago Museum of Science & Technology.
But I persevered wearing that style of Timex until my
first year teaching high school. Once I sized up the reality of the clock
ticking on the wall, bells ringing, and students shuffling about in their desks
at the end of class, I never wore a watch again in my life. The year was 1980.
So, timepiece envy isn’t the issue.
No, it’s all that money—for a watch worn by Paul Newman.
I immediately go there, the scholarships that could be awarded, or the homes
that could be built, or the medical care that might be provided.
A watch? Maybe the buyer liquidated everything he owned
and is now rambling about homeless, but by gawd he has Paul Newman’s watch.
I just can’t imagine having that kind of money and that’s
the best I could do with it.
Ah, the sucker punch.
You see what I did there, fell right into the ol’ rich vs
not rich trap. I am thinking from the perspective of a lifetime of earnings
that is 1/10th the amount paid for that watch. I got it all wrong.
The buyer is not down and out roaming the hills with his
bauble. Nope, much more likely to have multiple homes, multiple cars, boat or
boats, a plane maybe, and to expense $600 meals with nary a blink of an eye.
Maybe the watch is displayed right next to the, well
whatever millions and millions buy and get displayed. Does anyone in the
buyer’s tribe oooo and aaaah over the watch? Perhaps someone drily observes,
“Nice watch”.
Or maybe no one is around when it comes out of its lock box.
“Mine, mine, all mine” and then that laugh—you know which one.
Okay, imagine this scenario. I’m sitting on a bench in
Manhattan. (I said imagine.) The Newman
watch guy sits next to me and has to ask, “Got the time?” Oh, yes, yes I do. The trusty Timex. Still
ticking.
