In 2013, a woman from his mother's hometown was shopping in a flea market some 300 miles away in another state, and found the card. She recognized the boy's name, and bought the card for couple of bucks.
|Yes, my last name is painted out for this post. Spots in the corners appear to be where the card was affixed to a photo album or something similar.|
Returning home, the woman contacted the mother and asked if it was from her son. That mother then sent it to her son to ask if he remembered it.
No, I don't, but I thought the world of Ms. Gillespie at the time. She's long gone, of course, and the card must have been part of an estate sale. What a strange chain of events has returned the card to me, 51 years later. And to think she kept the card ...
p.s. I'm looking at the card as a snapshot from an America that has all but passed from memory. Note the lack of zip codes, the three-cent postage, and the inscription ("In God We Trust") on the stamp.