I come from the ghetto, you know, the place where people are born poor, live poor and die poor.  A place where old ladies stuff their wrinkled bosoms with money.  Then, when they're at the counter in the drug store, they reach in and feel around for a couple of dollars to spend on aspirin and carbolated vaseline.

     My neighborhood has a drug dealer on every corner, a drunk in every alley-way, a lottery ticket in every pocket.  Yeah, there are quite a few colorful characters around where I come from.  And then, there's crazy Eric.  This guy, he was a young guy and he used to stand on the street corners and beg for quarters.  And he was mighty strange.

     From the day he was born, his momma knew there was something wrong with Eric.

     "He didn't cry like a regular baby," she said.  "He whined and whimpered like a whipped dog but it wasn't normal sounding.  He was always different."

     At first, his teachers called him 'slow'.  Then they started calling him 'mildly retarded' and after that, it was only a small step to 'retarded.'  But what would you expect 'em to think?  I mean, here's this kid, dropped off by his momma for kindergarten, and he's just standin' in the corner, shakin'.  Twitchin'.  Bobbin' his head back and forth, stealin' quick glances at his teacher and classmates with sneaky dark eyes. 

     A kid don't make a lot of friends, that way.  Kid gets sent to a special school that way.  A school for the 'mentally disadvantaged.'  And a kid gets noticed in a lot a bad ways.  A kid becomes a target for the bigger, smarter kids.  That's the way it was with Eric.  When he got to the teasin' age of seven, eight and nine-years-old, he got more than his share of teasin'.

     "Hey Eric, you a retard?"  asked one of the other kids. 

     "Eric, I'm talkin' to you.  Are you a retard or what?" 

     "No!"  Eric said in a loud but scared little voice.

     "Well, I think you're a retard."

     It got worse when he turned thirteen and fourteen.  Then, the other boys started pushin' and shovin' and hurtin' Eric.

     "Hey twitchy-boy, wanna fight me?" 

     "No!"

     "Sure you do, retard," the bully would say, giving Eric a little shove.  And Eric would try to run away or, if left with no other choice, he'd just cower in a corner and cry.

     Then one day, an old drunkie on the streets took a likin' to Eric. 

     "You gotta stop runnin', boy.  Stop runnin' and stand up for your rights."

     It was a funny sight.  Eric, caught by the scruff of the neck, runnin' from a group of boys.  Caught by a sixty-three-year-old alcoholic with bad breath and bloodshot eyes.  Then the boys, they come runnin' from around the corner and the old guy, he just stops 'em in their tracks.

     "Hey, we don't got anything against you, old man.  It's the retard we want."  Eric's cowering behind the old man at this point, shakin' and twitchin' for all he's worth.

     "You fight him, you fight me!"  shouts the old drunk, fists raised high, hair all wild and crazy--lookin' kind of like Moses with a three-day hangover.

     The other boys, they shouted some nasty words and ran off.

     Then, there was time for more talk.  Time for the old man to tell Eric a few things. 

     "You know, you're gettin' to be a man, boy.  You need to grow up.  You got to take care of your momma."

     "Momma don't have no money!"  said Eric between twitches. "I want to give her money!"

     "I think you're ready for a profession, Eric, a career.  You want money?"

     "To give to Momma!"

     "Eric, here's the thing about money.  You gotta ask for it, politely. Politely, but firmly."  That afternoon the old man took Eric with him when he went to beg for change.  He showed Eric how to be a successful beggar, a smart, professional beggar.

     "One sad fact in this business.  Not many people want to give up dollars, no matter what you do.  So you gotta ask for change.  But be smart about it.  Never ask for pennies or nickels or even dimes, they're not worth nothin'.  Ask for quarters.  If you hustle, you can earn a lot of quarters in a day." 

     Eric never learned to read or write and he couldn't do math, but when it came to beggin' the boy was a regular Einstein. 'Cause after just a few days' lessons, this crazy Eric was beggin' like an old pro.  People were tossin' him quarters left and right! 

     Pretty soon, the old man and Eric, they started takin' shifts.  The old man liked to beg in the afternoons, so Eric took the morning shift.  Every day at nine o'clock, he'd be at the corner, twitchin', bobbin' his head--and beggin' for change from thepeople waitin' for the bus.

     "Give me a quarter!"  he'd say, loudly but politely.  "Give me a quarter, please!"  Like any good salesman, he had to learn rejection. 

     "No.  I'm not giving you no quarter.  Go away.  Go home boy."

     Like any good salesman, he had to be persistent.

     "Give me a quarter!"

     "No.  Go away."

     "Buy me a soda!"

     "No."

     "Then please give me a quarter!"

     "Will you take my letters over to the mailbox?"

     "Yes!  If you give me a quarter!"

     And like any GOOD salesman, he had his share of success #

     Now, I can hear you talkin' to yourself.  You're thinkin' 'Ok, this story is interesting enough as far as it goes, but when do we get to the space aliens?'  Well, I appreciate your patience.  Patience is a virtue, you know, and you're about to get your reward. 

     You see, after awhile, Eric became one of the main faces on the street corner and in the local grocery store and in the drug store down the street.  In fact, he became a sort of local celebrity.  People started comin' from blocks around just to see him stand in the middle of the street, twitch, and beg for quarters from cars stopped at the traffic light.

     When you see something everyday, you kinda notice when it's gone.  And that's how it was the day Eric disappeared.  The old drunkie he'd finished a late-night of beggin' and he was sittin' on the corner, drinkin' wine and waitin' for Eric to take up the day shift.  And four hours later, he was still sittin' there, waitin'.  No Eric.  The quarter-boy had taken a beggar's holiday.

     Eric didn't show up for the mornin's beggin' next day, either.  So the old drunk decided to pay a visit to Eric's momma.

     "Do you know where your boy is, Misses?"  he asked a woman who looked very tired.  "Where's your boy?  Where's Eric?"

     "I don't know.  He didn't come home last night.  I hope everythin's ok." 

     "Retarded boy just takes off and he don't tell you where he's goin?"

     "No.  I don't know where he is.  I don't know."

     The old drunk, he was about to take his leave and go back to the corner, when in walks Eric, twitchin' and bobbin' his head like always.

     "Eric.  Where you been, boy?"  asked the old man. 

     "Been with the space aliens!  They gave me a quarter!"

     "What?"

     "Space aliens took me on their ship and gave me a quarter!"

     And the young man held up a quarter sized hunk of dull colored metal for the old man and his momma to see. 

     "Boy, that don't look like no quarter."

     "Yes!  It's a quarter!  Space aliens took me on their ship and gave me a quarter!"

     "There's no such thing as space aliens, Eric," said his mother.  "You know that's just a fairy story.  We've talked about fairy stories, remember?  They ain't true.  They just stories."

     "I ain't lyin'! Space aliens took me on their ship and gave me a quarter!"

     "What kind of ship, Eric?" asked the old man. "What kind of de-sign, huh?"

     "Big!  It was a big ship!"

     "And what did these aliens look like?"

     "Little people! Little space aliens! They took me on their big ship and they gave me a quarter!"

     Eric's momma and the old man tried to get Eric to admit he'd made up the story, but the twitchy young man wasn't budging an inch. Space aliens gave him a quarter. Eric couldn't understand why that was so hard to believe.

     Next day, Eric was back on the corner, beggin' for change.   But the old drunk, who was sittin' on the curb, drinkin' more sweet wine from a paper sack, noticed something different.  Eric was bobbin' and jumpin' and gratefully grabbing new begged quarters with his right hand.  But his left hand he kept balled in a fist. 

     "Hey Eric, why you got your left hand all fisted up like that?"  Eric edged his way down the street to where the old man was sitting.  Then he just stood stock still, bobbin' and twitchin' and lookin' at the old man.

     "I say, why you got your left hand all fisted up like that?  What you hidin' in that hand?"

     "It's mine!"

     "I know it's yours.  But what is it?  What you got in that hand?  Maybe the quarter you got from them aliens?"

     Eric's left hand slowly opened to reveal the dull, faceless coin. 

     "I don't know what you like so much about that coin, boy.  You can't spend it.  It ain't a real quarter." 

     "It's my quarter!  Got it from the space aliens!"

     "Lemme take a closer look at it," said the old man, reaching for Eric's hand. 

     "Don't touch me!"  said Eric, pulling back the hand.

     "I just want to take a closer look, boy," said the old man, grabbin' onto Eric's left arm. "I know it's your quarter.  I ain't tryin' to take it from you." 

     The old man pried open Eric's hand and that's when he saw--  that's when he realized that the coin was like attached to Eric's palm.

     "What you do, Eric?  You 'Krazy Glue' this on your hand?"

     "It's stuck!"  said Eric. 

     "I can see that.  How did it get stuck?"

     "It's just stuck!"  insisted Eric.  "Leave it alone!" he said, balling his hand back up into a fist. 

     The old man didn't say another word to Eric all that morning.   He just finished up his wine in silence, watchin' the boy.  And wonderin'. #

     'So', you're sayin', 'this retarded guy gets this weird quarter from some guy and it sticks to his hand, so what?  Not much of an alien story.'  Well, the story's not over yet.  Like Yogi Berra used to say 'It ain't over till it's over.'

     So, for the next few days, the old man, he watches Eric.  Watches the boy, runnin' around, begging for quarters, his left hand all balled up in a fist.  And he starts to notice something.

     The boy ain't twitchin' no more!  Still dartin' those nervous eyes to and fro, but not doin' any twitchin' or bobbin' or shakin'.

     "Eric.  You seem relaxed, today," he remarked when the boy took a begging break.

     "Yes!  I'm happy!"

     "You still got that coin stuck to your hand?"

     "Yes!"  Eric thrust his left hand in the old man's face.  The coin seemed to be melting into Eric's palm.  You couldn't tell any more where the coin ended and Eric's hand began. 

     "So if you still got that coin stuck to your hand, why you so happy?"

     "I found a new way to get quarters!"

     "A new way to get quarters?" 

     "Yes!  I ask the soda machine and it gives me quarters!"

     "You ask the soda machine?  Boy, you're gettin' stranger every day."

     "It's true!"  insisted the boy.  "I ask the soda machine and it gives me quarters!  Come and see!" 

     And the boy grabbed the old man's coat sleeve and started to yank him off the curb.

     "What are you doin' Eric?  Tryin' to pull my arm off?"

     "Come and see the soda machine give me quarters!"

     "Ok, Ok," said the old man, as he got off his butt and started to follow the retarded boy down the block and into the neighborhood gas station. 

    "Watch me!"  said Eric, as he ran up to the station's Pepsi machine.  The boy faced the machine and tapped it lightly with the coin on his left hand.  "Please give me a quarter!" he said to the machine.  And, a quarter popped out of the coin return slot, surprisin' the old man clean out of his britches.

     "What'd you do!?"

     "I asked the soda machine for a quarter!" 

     "Huh.  Do that again."

     Again, Eric touched the machine lightly with his left palm. 

     "Please give me a quarter!"  Another quarter dropped out of the
coin return slot.

     "Boy, I'm impressed," said the old man, grabbin' onto Eric's left hand.  "Now, let me try, he said, pressing Eric's palm onto the machine and holding it there for five-ten seconds.

     "Give ME a quarter," ordered the old man.  And quarters began to pour out of the soda machine.  Dozens and dozens of quarters.

     And Eric and the old man scooped 'em up by the handful and began jamming them in their pockets.  But then, the attendant at the gas station, he saw what was going on.  And he started hollering and running towards Eric and the old man. 

     "Hey.  You there.  What do you think you're doin'?  Are you breakin' that machine?  Stop."

     So, Eric and the old man, they ran.  They ducked around the corner, out of sight.  And soon as he was sure they was safe, the old man he asked Eric about what he'd done.

     "That hand of yours with the coin from the space aliens, what'd it do, talk to the soda machine?"

     "Yes!  It talks to machines--all machines!"

     "Show me," insisted the old man.

     "OK!  It's good with cars!"  said Eric, running into the street and resting his palm on the nearest hood.  The car's engine purred into life. 

     "Eric.  Turn that off!  We ain't stealin' no car." 

     "No!  Momma said it's bad to steal!"  said Eric, resting his hand on the hood a second time.  The motor sputtered and then it just cut off.

     "What else can you do with that coin on your hand?"

     "Lots of things!  It makes radios and tv's play better!"

     "Play better?"

     "Louder!  Better!"

     The old man and Eric, they made one more stop that afternoon-- the laundromat.  When nobody was lookin', Eric gave the dryer a pat with his palm.  And, that old dryer, it just started rumblin' and rollin' and spittin' out quarters.  And Eric didn't even want no more quarters by that time.  He'd filled his pockets from the soda machine and couldn't carry no more.

     Eric was tired, so he went on home to his momma's.  But the old man, he kept on thinkin' about Eric and his hand.  About how he and Eric could make some REAL MONEY with that hand.  The old man started thinkin' about bank machines.  If Eric's hand could make those machines start spittin' out tens and twenties, he and Eric could be rich in no time!  Problem was, that'd be stealin'  And the old man, he didn't like stealin'.  Takin' quarters from a soda machine was bad enough.  That was a teeny, tiny little sin.

     But takin' dollars, that would be stealin'. 

     Over the next few days, the old man kept thinkin' about Eric and his golden palm.  Meanwhile Eric, he cut his beggin' hours down to just an hour or two a day.  You don't need to beg so hard for quarters when you got a whole sackful of quarters under your mattress.  It was the following Friday that the old man had his best idea in years.

     "Hey Eric, let me see that hand again," the old man called to his lucky beggar friend.  Eric walked over, still without bobbin' or shakin', and showed that hand to the old man.  The coin had melted even further into the boy's palm. "You say this space- alien palm of yours can fix radios and such?"

     "Yes!  It likes radios!"  And that was the start of Eric's 'Fix-it' shop.  You see, the old man, he started tellin' everyone how good Eric was at fixin' things.  He fibbed a bit and said the boy learned about radio repair and such at school.  And he told how he and Eric only wanted a few dollars to fix Mrs. Johnson's old TV or Mr. Tully's broken clock-radio or even Miss Smith's fancy-schmancy computer thingy.  And you know, he and Eric started makin' a few more dollars every day, which they split fifty-fifty. 

     People started comin' with the sorriest lookin' old radios and stuff.  And Eric would take 'em home, rest that magic palm of his over 'em for a few minutes before he went to bed, then bring 'em back the next day, workin' like they never did before!  And the customers, these were happy people!    Word spread like wildfire, and soon the old man and Eric were makin' more than fifty dollars a day! 

     "We're rich!"  Eric said one afternoon.  "I can buy my momma anything I want!"

     "Well Eric, we ain't exactly rich, but sure got more than we did before."

     "I want to be rich!"

     "Rich is a tall order, boy."

     "I want more quarters!"

     "Dollars boy, remember?"

     "I want quarters AND dollars! 

     So the old man, he starts thinkin' again.  How could he use that magic palm of Eric's to make even more money--to make hundreds, thousands, even millions of dollars?

     The answer was so simple, the old man, he hit himself for not thinkin' of it before.  Lottery tickets can earn you a million bucks, easy.  And today, they pop lottery tickets out of these fancy machines.  But Eric's hand likes all machines, even fancy machines.  So maybe if he took Eric down to the drug store and bought a million dollar ticket while restin' that magic palm on the fancy machine, maybe he'd win! 

     "Boy, you want millions of dollars?"

     "Yes!"

     "Then come on!"  The old man walked the boy into the drug store and marched him up to the lottery ticket counter.

     "This boy, he wants a ticket!"  said the old man to the ticket-lady.  "A million dollar winner."

     "That'll be fifty cents," said the lady.  And the old man reached in his pocket for two quarters to hand to the lady, then reached over, grabbed Eric's hand and smacked it against the lottery machine just as the lady was punchin' out the ticket. #

     Well, we're gettin' near the end of my space alien story.  You see, after the goings-on at the drug store, Eric and the old man, they fell into a pot of money and lived happily ever after.  But not from no million dollar lottery ticket.  See what happened was this: When Eric's palm touched that machine, tickets started pourin' out of it, like seltzer from a shook up bottle of soda.

     And the ticket-lady couldn't do nothing about it.  And this policeman, see, he was in the drugstore at the time so he dragged Eric and the old man down to the police station for causin' a disturbance. 

     Then the old man started tellin' the cops about Eric's hand.  And even lettin' Eric show 'em a trick or two with an old radio they had at the station.  Then Eric started talkin' about his space aliens. 

     And pretty soon, the cops, they called some other people, who called some other people, who must have called some other people.  And soon, he and Eric were talkin' to some mighty important government people.  These guys, they promised Eric and the old man that they wouldn't have to beg for quarters no more.  They took Eric and his momma and the old man, gave 'em a big house and lots of food and lots of quarters.  All they wanted in return was the right to give Eric some fancy tests and show him a bunch of new machines and stuff.