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Everybody Has a Story: Valiant effort a ringing success

An unlikely drive to the beach somehow resulted in free jewelry.

By Joyce “JB” Fahnestock, Ridgefield
Published: November 23, 2019, 6:03am

It was the first in a lifetime accumulation of peculiar experiences. This one was on a glorious 1967 November weekend, perfect for a late-season weekend trip to my favorite Carolinas beach. The only problems were that I didn’t have a car and had been unable on Friday to persuade anyone with wheels to make the drive from Charlotte, N.C., to the coast.

“Hmm,” I said to myself, “perhaps it’s time for your own wheels.” A quick search through the Yellow Pages located a Chrysler-Plymouth dealership on an easy bus line that opened early on Saturdays. If I hurried and was successful, I might get to the beach by midafternoon.

I was greeted by a salesman who seemed surprised to see me. “So, what can I do for you, young lady?” he greeted me.

“I need to go to the beach today. Show me the cheapest car on your lot. If I like it and can afford it, I’ll buy it — if I can get it this morning.”

He chuckled, then asked: “Sporty? Or something more practical?”

“Just show me the cheapest one,” I reminded.

And so he did. A Plymouth Valiant. OK, it wasn’t exciting, but the white was acceptable and I loved the sky-blue interior. Nice, clean lines; the earlier funky, froggy rear end had been streamlined. Roomy trunk, comfy seat, automatic transmission and a reputation for reliability. We spent about 45 minutes going over finances and in short order the deal was done. Another 20 minutes or so while “she” was checked and spiffed. Shortly after 10 a.m., I drove that Valiant off the lot, stopped by home for an overnight bag, and set off for Cherry Grove Beach. Got there about 3:30 p.m.

Driving my new Valiant was liberating, but not the peculiar experience first referenced. That came later in the day and evening. By late afternoon, chill air prompted me to abandon sunbathing in favor of window shopping, and eventually I found myself in a jewelry store. Commenting that I had just bought my first car and couldn’t possibly buy anything else, I asked if I might “just look” at rings.

I meant in the showcase, but the salesman brought out tray after tray of beautiful rings. He would look them over and select first one, then another, for me to try on. I could have been happy with any of them, but it was a gold-mesh stupa-shaped ring, topped with a gleaming white pearl, that stole my heart. There was the usual “we can make a deal” approach, but the ring really was beyond my now-committed budget. I thanked the gentleman, then headed on to my little hotel and dinner.

When there came a knock at my door around 9 p.m., I assumed it was a hotel attendant. With security chain in place, I opened the five inches or so and was astonished to see the jeweler standing there. “I am sorry to disturb you,” he apologized, “but this belongs with you.”

Baffled, I took the box and opened it. Inside gleamed the stupa ring with the pearl top. Still baffled, I handed the box back, protesting that I really couldn’t afford to buy it.

“No, no,” he protested in return. “It is now yours. You have the hands for it. It belongs to you. I hope it gives you pleasure.” He bowed, then turned and walked away.

Sunday morning, before hotel checkout, I drove by the jewelry store with intent to return the ring, but it was closed. As I checked out, I related the experience to the person at the front desk, who said: “Oh, I know him. He is a good man. He comes from Iran, and they have different customs. If he wants you to have the ring, you should keep it and enjoy it. That would make him happy.”

And so I kept it and enjoyed it on special “dressy” occasions. Then lifestyle changes left the ring unattended for a few years. When I thought to wear it again, it was nowhere to be found. Its disappearance remains a mystery, but it is my hope that it found another hand to adorn beautifully.

And the car? Known simply as “Valiant Girl,” she gave me 14 years of trouble-free adventures. A valiant girl, indeed.

Everybody Has a Story welcomes nonfiction contributions, 1,000 words maximum, and relevant photographs. Send to: neighbors@columbian.com or P.O. Box 180, Vancouver WA, 98666. Call “Everybody Has an Editor” Scott Hewitt, 360-735-4525, with questions.

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