I’m not writing about the great losses in life: the loss of a loved one, the loss of one’s home and everything in it from natural or man-made disaster, the loss of a livelihood that can’t be reclaimed, or the loss of one’s reputation or self-esteem, either by mistake or deliberate action. Fortunately, I have no experience with those.

No, I’m just writing about the little things we lose that are so essential to our daily lives that seem to occur more often as we age and life becomes more complicated. Requiring us to have more things we depend upon. 

Casually, with no statistical facts, I have observed that women seem to lose things more often than men. And, I have noticed that they are very quick to blame some other entity rather than themselves for the loss. Only to find out that the item was simply misplaced and rather easy to find. The reason for this discrepancy between men and women may be because women have multiple purses and their lives tend to be broken up with obligation to their work, their children and domestic activities like shopping.

I’ve been fortunate not to have suffered a catastrophic loss in my life, unless you think that becoming paralyzed at 20 is catastrophic. It tended to divert by course in life, but I was functional enough to even pass for normal among a world that discriminated against any kind of disability. At leash for 30 years or so until I got into an electric wheelchair and was thereby noticed as being drastically different. I was blessed a lot—for what?

Since I had a twin brother, we often shared one thing equally, so we were fastidious about splitting expenses, 50/50 down to the penny and if we were in possession of something we both needed, making sure that it was available to our brother as well. Never leaving it behind, even though we sometimes disagreed who would have it in possession.

We were poor and that made us frugal. A frugality that has carried me throughout my life. Up until I was 30, I carried a few essentials with me in my car and never lost a thing that I can recall except one. A Kodak bellows camera that I put down to dance to a calypso band at Expo 67 in Montreal. When I returned to the place where I had left it in the dark, it was gone along with my pictures that I had taken on our trip from San Francisco.

My essentials included my billfold, my comb, my shaving kit and my watch until I stopped wearing one upon becoming paralyzed and rarely was late for anything. I relied on clocks or what the sun told me the time of day was. I still rely on clocks, mostly electronic, these days. But my internal clock is still pretty good.

When I emptied my billfold of everything I carried in it all those years, including my paper Social Security card that I acquired when I was 16 with a rather primitive, youthful signature, I was amazed. That card had never gotten wet in all those years that my pant legs got wet from dew on tall grass, wading in water up to my knees, and always taking off my pants before going swimming. Soaked often during rainstorms, but my billfold, in my lower left rear pocket, always remained dry. 

There were other cards and credential like my quality assurance certification (1968), a business card I printed from linoleum ink block print in my freshman year at college (1961), and even my entry card to the underground movies in San Francisco (1966). 

Mementoes that made my billfold quite thick and required me to empty them so that my newer, trifold billfold was much lighter and easier to carry in my front shirt pocket. 

From my teenage years, I recall owning only three billfolds, the first two had coin purses and cellophane slots for a few cards; making them rather thick when I had a lot of change. I got a better, fully leather one, replacing the original vinyl one when it fell apart after many years. Likewise with the leather one when it finally wore out and I acquired the trifold leather billfold that I still have in retirement.

The coin purses were essential for me because I never found carrying change in my pockets very efficient, having to move them every time I changed pants. Never lost any change that way. And I needed change to settle with my brother every time we bought something, together… or even with others… which was often down to the very penny.

The coin purses became even more important after I was paralyzed when my hands had some difficulty handling change at first. But I eventually altered my combs leaving the last, thicker, tine alone, by cutting off about a half inch of the smaller tines next to it so that I could use the last one to hook onto my zipper and pull it up when I no longer had the grip to be able to do it with my contracted left hand fingers. Another essential tool that I dared not lose and didn’t. Like my button hook that I acquired from the March of Dimes, free, more than once when one broke or wore out. How I buttoned my shirts.

As time passed and my hands became less able to handle coins, I finally decided to do away with having any coins in my billfold at all. This freed up space, but also freed me, when making dreaded transactions, from fumbling with coins that sometimes ended up on the floor to be picked up by others or me as I held up others waiting in line to buy something. I started saying, “Keep the change,” even though sometimes it was the large part of a dollar. Some clerks were surprised at my generosity out of necessity. It also freed my billfold for more cards. I even cut off the excess leather of the purse for more room.

In all those years, I never misplaced my billfold or lost it to a pick pocket. But when I was in Karachi, Pakistan in January 1978 for a few short days, when we went to the 10th of Ramadan parade of great emotion and sometimes, violent clashes, my host told me to put my billfold in my front pocket on my shirt. The first time I ever did that. On the same trip, while visiting the Ancient City in Thailand, I remember hanging onto my billfold the whole time in my back pocket because we were surrounded by hawkers and pick pockets we had been warned about. One woman from Australia lost her star sapphire she bought in India and had around her neck. She was hysterical when she discovered it missing as we were already on the bus, leaving the site and the bus driver and guide would not go back.

Which brings me to the first time I lost my billfold. When I lived in West Virginia and Atlanta, since I was in higher education, I had long periods off from work and teaching during the Christmas and New Year holidays every year. In December of 1980, I rented my home in Atlanta and drove off with all the essentials in my car that I needed to teach the spring semester at the University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire. My eventual destination was my parent’s home in North Central Wisconsin, a trip that usually took two days.

Fortunately, an old friend who was my roommate at the University of Wisconsin during our master’s degree studies had a home he built just across the Ohio River from Louisville where I often stopped for the night during trips like this. I must’ve started late and the weather wasn’t cooperating, because, by the time I reached Louisville it had turned dark and was snowing heavily.

When I turned north on Interstate 65 there was a single track in the deepening snow that ranged from 6 to 8 inches all the way to Louisville. I don’t recall seeing any cars along that long stretch. It was the kind of night when no one was venturing out like I was. Fortunately, with all my needed belongings in my car and my furniture and papers all stored in a locked room in the basement of my home in Atlanta, the car was quite heavy and held to the road well. It wasn’t slippery, just snow. It must’ve been 10 o’clock by the time I reached my friend’s house. There wasn’t the usual time to have dinner and talk. Both of them had to go to work in the morning and I had to leave early, so they just showed me the spare bedroom.

It must’ve been the stress of packing, leaving my home, and then, the long trip and driving through deep snow that had me exhausted. Because I fell into a deep sleep and woke up much later than I had planned. I grabbed my things and left the house that was empty, already late to reach my parent’s home before dark. After driving about two hours just before I reached Indianapolis, I stopped for gasoline. It was then that I discovered I didn’t have my billfold. The attendant had already filled my tank.

I explained to the attendant what my situation was, and he graciously agreed to let me go back and get my billfold without me having to give him anything for collateral. A very nice gesture. I drove back to a technical college where my friend’s wife was working, and she told me how to get into the house. When I got to the house my billfold was right there on the dresser where I had forgotten to put it in my pocket in my haste to leave. When I got back to that station, I paid for my first fill up and had him fill up the tank again so I wouldn’t have to get gasoline until past Chicago. I arrived at my destination very late that night.

Many years passed. My paralysis growing, causing trips and falls, forced me off my feet and using scooters at work to get around. Still carrying my briefcase with a shoulder strap. But by 1995, I quit driving and started using Metrolift to go to work in the morning and then bring me back home at night. I quit getting around the house on an office chair with wheels and started using my Invacare electric wheelchair both at home and at work.

I couldn’t carry the briefcase anymore, so I put my lunch, my hand splint, papers and other sundry items in a plastic grocery store bag every day that I could hang on my wheelchair. Since I carried my lunch in the bag and my Metrolift tickets in my shirt pocket, I didn’t have to take them out of my billfold. There also was little need for money at work or to show my credentials unless there was a birthday or collection for someone at work. I basically forgot about my billfold although I carried it in my back pocket by habit.

But one evening when I arrived home, my caregiver discovered that my billfold was missing from my pants! We immediately called Metrolift and told them to search the van that I had ridden home in that night. They did and found nothing. 

I remembered that on the way home we had to go to a familiar apartment complex where many disabled people lived in a rather rundown part of town. A guy I had never seen before pulled up with his manual wheelchair and got tied down next to me.

As my thoughts ran over that ride home, he became the prime suspect. He could have easily reached behind where I was sitting and pickpocketed my billfold without me even knowing it. Even though I was literally sitting on it. But I didn’t dare accuse him without even knowing who he was.

When I got to work, I checked with police dispatch at the entry to our building that also served as a lost and found. They told me they had not had anything turned in and they would be on the lookout for me. Of course, I didn’t find it in my office and began to think I wouldn’t find it again.

I guess we put some money in my bag every day in case I needed it, but I had completely thought that I had lost my billfold forever with all those mementos in it as well as valuable credit cards that I got changed.

About three weeks went by. On a Saturday, I rolled into my bathroom to empty my urine bucket. When I turned around to come out, I was surprised to see my billfold lying there on the floor! What had happened was that my billfold had worked its way out of my pants pocket and then between the gap of the sling seat with a foam cushion and the sling leather back. Just to deposit itself under my wheelchair bag, on top of my battery case, where it rode around with me all that time before deciding to reveal where it was.

After that I put my trifold billfold in my front pocket where I good more easily reach it and not worry about it slipping out of my pants anymore. So, I can truthfully say that I never lost anything of real importance to me other than that camera and its pictures. How many of you can say that?

Copyright 2025 © Ronald W. Hull

3/26/25