He entered the bank while a dolly followed in his wake. Everyone looked at him at once when the sound of the coins was heard.
The coin master, Otha Anders, served as a supervisor for the Jackson School Board. He was the one to whom suspended children were sent, and they grew to love him.
Anders’s spouse and children were by his side throughout, but he had a somewhat dubious interest.
Something that began as a fun project developed into a passion, almost like an obsession.
Anders thinks that God is teaching him to be thankful with every penny he finds. He nearly always found a penny on the days he didn’t pray. He felt that was how God was directing him to express his gratitude.
Anders was a man of faith, thus he said prayers on the penny when most people would just wish for anything.
“I came to believe that finding a misplaced or dropped penny served as an extra divine prompt to always express gratitude,” Anders stated to USA Today.”There have been days when I have neglected to pray, and almost without fail, a misplaced or dropped penny has appeared to remind me.”
He kept them in five-gallon plastic water jugs for forty-five years. He surmised that he had hundreds of thousands of dollars stashed away, but he would soon find out.
The staff members had a great day trying something new when they carried the gallons to the bank. They used an ax and hammer to chop the pennies out of the water bottles. They had a number after five hours of chopping and counting on the coin counter.
Anders had saved $5,136.14 in pennies over the course of 45 years! That comes to roughly 114.4$ annually. In forty-five years, who would have imagined that a pastime of collecting pennies might result in a “old car”?
Anders, however, used his money to pay off a recent dental bill.
He was glad to put the money toward a worthwhile purchase. He used the remaining cash to support a family vacation and church donations.
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This Caribbean Island Is Back From the Brink—and Ready To Share Its Treasures With the World
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The paintings of Italian-born artist Agostino Brunias, who made a profession of depicting the island in subdued, stylized settings that covered up the harsh realities of colonial control, were my first visual introduction to Dominica. However, as soon as I step onto its winding roads, which begin to twist shortly after I arrive, it becomes evident that this region, which is situated in the center of the Lesser Antilles’ curve, is anything but tame. The two-toned leaves of its bois canot trees, which change color from green to white when they sway in the wind, shimmer and bristle with the power of the volcano. It lulls with the erratic sound of its numerous waterfalls, scatters rainbows haphazardly across its breathtaking horizons, and enchants from the depths with its vibrant coral reefs. And it roars come storm season.
The indigenous Kalinago people of Dominica survived invasion by the French and British, who imposed slavery on the Africans who now make up four-fifths of the island’s population and left a linguistic legacy of English and French-based Creole, by mastering the lush tropical rainforest that covers more than 60% of the island. If you visit Trinidad for roti and Jamaica for jerk, you should travel to Dominica for green things like bush rum and flower teas. There are a ton of medicinal herbs in the forest.
The Jungle Bay Dominica resort, located smack dab in the center of the Soufrière jungles, leans into nature instead, maybe realizing the futility of fighting against the earth’s generosity. When I finally get there, the kitchen is closed. Joanne Hilaire, the operations manager, tells me that they never let guests go hungry, though, so I can feel the warmth of Dominica’s welcome. The cook is preparing an excellently stewed dish of beans with taro, rice, and plantain for our late dinner, off the menu, while I have a refreshing ginger-lime cocktail that is a local favorite. When I wake up the following morning, I find that my villa’s doors open onto a private veranda that faces southwest toward Soufrière Bay, where the Caribbean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean converge. I let the light wake me for the remainder of my stay by leaving my blinds open.
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