Wednesday, April 08, 2020

"All That Glisters Is Not Gold"



Stephen King's new novel is a numismatist's delight, to coin a phrase, but it's not from that Stephen King; it's from ourStephen King, "a thirty-three year resident of Chico and a retired dean from CSU, Chico." 

What's true: In 1907 the U.S. Mint began producing a stunning gold coin, designed by famed sculptor Augustus Saint-Gaudens. Versions were distributed through 1933 (almost a half million were produced in that year). The "double eagle," showing lady Liberty on one side, could be had for $20. 

But then, early in 1933, in the midst of the Depression, everything changed. In order to stop the bank crisis by taking the country off the gold standard, FDR issued an Executive Order requiring those who held gold to return it to the banks. Most of the 1933 double eagles found their way back home, but some did not. Their value rose to astronomical heights, yet possessing a 1933 double eagle became a federal crime and remains so today.

Enter the novelist. "All That Glisters Is Not Gold" ($18.99 in paperback from FriesenPress, friesenpress.com; also for Amazon Kindle), by Stephen W. King, takes the reader to modern-day San Francisco and Lucas Bitterman, an accounting major and aspiring lawyer. At the death of his kindly grandfather, coin collector extraordinaire, Luke finds he has inherited a 1933 Saint-Gaudens Double Eagle.

"The coin needs legal help," Gramps had written to Luke, quoting the Shakespearean original "all that glisters" from The Merchant of Venice. Luke's coin is worth millions, coveted by international collectors and street thugs alike. And when word leaks out, Luke and his family are no longer safe.

Along the way the reader is plunged into the legal intricacies of "asset seizure" and the work of the Secret Service (it's not just to protect the President). King brings the Bitterman family to life as they try to figure out what to do with "the most beautiful coin ever minted in the United States or anywhere else." Keep it? Sell it? Donate it? How?

The ingenious resolution makes for a fun and satisfying read--unless you actually have a 1933 Double Eagle, which, dear collector, puts the "bitter" in Bitterman.

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