A CARD FOR YOU

A CARD FOR YOU

     Among our many interesting island traditions is one in particular, that is wonderfully functional. Before one of our favorite institutions, The Paper Store, closed, whenever an islander died, or someone with an island connection—a seasonal resident for example or even the mainland relative of one or the other, a little basket appeared on the counter there at Carlene Michael’s Main Street newsstand, stationer and gift shop emporium. I assume it was provided with ‘seed money’ when first placed on the counter because the basket, at least whenever I first encountered it, was already full of cash, mostly singles, some fives or tens. A generous slip of paper—an 8x11 sheet folded twice to provide eight 4.25x5.5” surfaces—invited me and others, having made a contribution, to sign our names. The discovery of a basket on the counter was—more often than not—how most of us discovered that one of our fellow islanders or an acquaintance had passed away and it certainly seemed to many of us that the Paper Store had celestial foreknowledge. I can’t remember ever having heard of one of our own passing without finding that the Paper Store knew already, or, in fact, I found out myself by discovering ‘the basket’. In fact, though, we all knew, upon learning someone had passed on, that we had an obligation to let Carlene know right away. She and earlier Paper Store proprietors, however, had learned, over the years, to ‘trust but verify’ and that rule had resulted in there having been very few instances of death wrongfully reported, only one I can think of. Often, we knew that the deceased had been ill, or simply elderly and failing and so the passing came as no surprise. More often than not, of course, there was no basket on the counter because days when there is a death among our few thousand are far less frequent than the alternative. There were rarely more than two baskets on the counter at a time; days when there are two deaths were and are rare but one day, back in the 90’s, there were four baskets on the counter. An elderly lady, not exactly an island native but one of those rare and stalwart persons who could easily convince one otherwise, passed away at ninety-three having given us three sons and one of those to the Vietnam conflict, he having suffered way too long. Two others died way too soon of cancer, each having fought long and hard and another elderly lady, an indefatigable island institution, fondly hoped we who remained would celebrate her ninetieth birthday this spring. The tradition continues, thankfully, at the Island Closet.