Buying green bananas and milking old Betsy

On some cold mornings, I walk in Crabtree Valley Mall. I go early to avoid the madding crowd.

On this particular morning, I was there by 8:30, eager to get in my mile or so walk before the mob arrived for the "Doorbuster Sale" sale advertised in the morning newspaper.

After the walk, on the dot of 9, I dropped by the store that had advertised the doorbuster event. To my surprise, I was the only person in the store, so unlike the past when I would have been trampled by the herd of bargain hunters. And not a salesperson was to be found.

Finally, a fellow pushing a load of stock through the aisles got on his cell phone and rounded up a fellow who, after a long search, located the trousers I sought. When I left, one other customer was on the premises.

"What's going on here?" I wondered, and then thought, "It's the economy, stupid."

Or is it? Was the absence of patrons at a doorbuster sale a sign as reliable as squirrels storing acorns against hard times ahead? I was still afflicted by that unease the next day when my stockbroker called.

"It's not often that something this good comes along. Especially at this time," he said. "Tax-free bonds paying 5 percent. They're going fast!" He was referring to a new issue of Raleigh-Durham International Airport bonds.

"What's the maturity date?"

When he said, "Thirty years," I laughed aloud, and told about a man I once met at a Pinehurst newspaper convention. He, too, had been recently called by a stock salesman pushing long-term bonds.

He had told the fellow, "Look son, I'm 80 years old. At my age I don't even buy green bananas, much less 30-year bonds."

"Besides," I argued to my broker, Chris, "I'm not sure airport bonds are such a smart buy, with gasoline headed for $4 a gallon, airlines canceling flights right and left and being notorious for late arrivals and close calls in the sky.

"To be honest, Chris, I've been thinking that if I ever find any extra money in a pig's track I'm taking it straight to the lockbox at the bank."

"You have to be kidding," he laughed uproariously.

"No, I'm serious. Look at this nervous economy, a collapsing housing industry, a war with no end in Iraq, a national debt that defies comprehension and no Moses on the horizon who looks remotely qualified to lead us out of the wilderness, much less into the Promised Land."

"Man, you're really having a bad hair day," he murmured.

You see, my friendly stockbroker is young and idealistic, with no memory of the Great Depression that left lasting scars on millions of survivors and their children.

A mere tyke at the time, I nevertheless well remember the horror stories my dad and older brothers recounted for the rest of their lives.

"There was just no money," I continued. "People were jumping off the tops of buildings. Millions actually went hungry as jobs disappeared. Banks closed their doors. Lifetime savings vanished into thin air. You see, there was no 'safety net' back then."

"I hear you, I hear you," he said sympathetically. "Sure, the economy has some problems. But don't be such a pessimist. Sometimes, when we feel nothing's safe, that's a sign that the worst is behind us and we're on the way up."

I admitted I had sounded like Chicken Little announcing a celestial cave-in. Then he brought out the cow.

"Now, A.C., just imagine you're living on a farm, and you have a cow. Old Betsy," he said.

Chris grew up in Buffalo, N.Y., the snowfall capital of the world, with the possible exception of Alaska and Siberia. A city kid, I doubt he's ever been close to a cow. But I listened while he talked about Old Betsy.

"These longtime bonds are like Old Betsy. The whole time you own her, she's giving milk, as your bonds will be paying dividends. But if you get hard up for cash, you sell Old Betsy, at a price depending on the going value of beef at the time. If you pass on before the bonds mature, your heirs inherit Old Betsy."

Well, to conclude this parable of a Wall Street cow called Betsy, I ended up buying a modest amount of the RDU bonds. On that very day, I also bought more than a pound of green bananas at the Harris-Teeter. The next day, it rained. The stock market went up. And it was good.

From out of the dark shadows of the dim past come the immortal words of FDR on the old Philco in the living room: "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself."