The Windfall

The Windfall






All of Harry Waxler’s life he was Mr. Mediocrity. He was Everyman, an inconspicuous being inhabiting planet Earth lost in the nothingness of an ordinary drab existence. He daydreamed and fantasized about being able to excel in some special thing. Harry would His inner soul cried out have liked to be recognized for greatness in some way. In his most private moments his innermost being cried out for the recognition he so badly craved.



Life was one repetitious routine of getting up in the morning, going to work, coming home to his blah family, and than going back to sleep and escaping in his dreams of greatness and fame.



Then it happens. Harry hears that the state lottery is to be drawn that night with an unusual format. The numbers will be picked in a mathematical pattern that guarantees a winner in every voting district of the state. He makes the plunge and buys a ticket. That night he lies in bed waiting for the numbers to be drawn and is amazed that so many numbers are called.

When he hears the numbers that he has so diligently memorized it is as if he is awakened from a deep trance.



“Can it be?” He is careful not to awaken Sheila his wife

“Is this my chance to get some money and fly the coop and start over somewhere else without any baggage? “ He has read of such things, but does not know if he can carry it off to fruition.



When he takes his ticket in to be scanned and verified in another part of the city he sees that he has only won $18, 760., because of all the multiple winners. So much for escaping this life! He breathes a sigh of relief for not having to think further of a life on the run from the reality of home and hearth.



In the past he has read newspaper accounts every time a fireman or policeman died on the job and how their benevolent associations always rallied around the grieving (always pregnant) widow, and family. There were always bills to be paid and educations to be provided for. He wishes he could step up and be the benefactor at such events. He also felt sorry ever time he read about some poor soul having the misfortune to be pushed in front of a train at some subway platform or railroad station. Oh, to ease the pain and suffering of the unfortunate family survivors.



Even when that beautiful model was slashed by some freak he wished he could have come forward like some anonymous millionaire did and pay for her corrective plastic surgery. Inevitably people start trust funds to help out in many cases, but on the sum of money he was to claim that would be difficult for him to do.



Harry decides he will wait until the next thing comes along. He will get the fame he needs, the recognition for what he is, a real man, a solid citizen and a knight in shining armor. Harry Waxler is no loser. He holds himself back from even telling Sheila that he is a lottery winner. He is going to have his moment in the sun. She will see his face all over the newspapers and TV when he gives his money to one poor family or even better yet, to some institution that is being closed up for lack of funds to pay its bills.



He had kept a file in the bottom drawer of his desk with all the letters and pleas everyone gets all year long. He made room for them by finally getting rid of about sixty sheets of return address labels that so many institutions think everyone needs. Harry didn’t ask for them and he never sent away money for items he did not ask for. Like most people he felt guilty every time he hesitatingly used one. He was aware that if he paid for them he would be getting more ornaments and trinkets he didn’t need or want from all over the country.

“No sucker lists for me,” Harry thought.



Then he hits upon an idea. He will call up the local television stations and arrange to have coverage when he cashes his check and donates it to his final choice. But then again, he will have to live with the fear of losing his ticket or not remembering where he might hide it. So, the hell with that idea.



“No, I will go to the State Lottery office and try to be as inconspicuous as possible and get the check in a lump sum. I can deposit it in the bank right in the same building,” he decides.



Harry spends another fretful night thrashing in bed with restless leg syndrome and leaves for work as early as possible without even seeing any members of his family.

He will show the world he is a sport, he is a winner, and he is after all Harry Waxler the neighborhood philanthropist.



He gets out of the subway station and goes upstairs to the Lottery Office and is standing on line on the 68th floor just as a large shadow of an aircraft wing appears along with an ear shattering roar. There was a moment of unreality and incomprehension as the huge building quaked and swayed all around him. He felt himself get soaked with acrid jet fuel. As he chokes and gasps for air before being consumed in flames, his final thought is:

“No one will even have known that I could have mattered. I lost my chance and no one will even know where I died, or THAT I AM A WINNER.”