JOE'S PIPE

"...I searched their house late at night, hoping to find the secret stash."

This is Grandpa Joe’s pipe. I never knew Joe. He was my mother’s father and he died before I was born and I’m named for him. He was by most accounts a colorful man. A ladies man, despite being married. Fond of expensive clothes, despite being a relatively poor “cutter” in the garment district. Apparently not a very good husband or attentive father. But my mom was his favorite. And she idolized him. 

I idolized my other grandfather. Herman was smart, loyal, and successful in every way I can think of. He, too, was a sharp dresser, and he always finished his outfit with his favorite 1960s solid gold, pie-pan face Omega Constellation watch. I coveted that watch. We talked about it endlessly and whenever he came to visit he’d let me wear it.

When Herman passed away, my father put the watch in his and my mom’s safe, for safekeeping. He didn’t wear it; he had his own ultra-thin late ’60s rose gold Omega that he loved. He often asked if I wanted to take Herman’s watch, and I’d say, “No, it’s safer here.” I was young, living with roommates, moving a lot.

Then, in the 1990s, when my parents’ fortunes soured along with the economy, they were victims of a home invasion. Held at gunpoint, my father unlocked the safe. In less than ten minutes, gone were generations of spectacular jewelry, pounds of gold coins, and the watch. 

I found the story very hard to believe. My parents were struggling to stay afloat, and I thought surely this must be some elaborate insurance scam. No one had been the slightest bit injured. My dad still had his watch, my mom had her wedding ring. And it was not unlike my parents to bend the rules for a payday. Many times in the years that followed, I searched their house late at night, hoping to find the secret stash. 

After my mom expired and my dad was in hospice on his way to join her, we dutifully wound his rose gold Omega that he still wore every day. And then one day it wasn’t there. Someone had stolen it off my failing father’s wrist. Another 1960s Omega, gone. 

When my siblings and I cleaned out my parents’ house after my dad’s death, I was still looking for the treasure. Instead, we found Joe’s pipe, in a shoebox full of my mother’s keepsakes. It hit me then: all the times she’d talked about Joe, all the reasons she’d had for naming me after him, her sheer love for the man. It was the exact same love I had for Herman. 

The pipe is the first thing I asked for when we were dividing my parents’ estate. With apologies to Magritte, this is not a pipe. This is a 1960s solid gold pie-pan face Omega Constellation watch.

—J.W.