A Tale of Seven Nickels

In my memoir, SINCE I LOST MY BABY, I tell the story of how on a jog through my Oakland neighborhood in 1981, I casually asked God for ten thousand dollars to replace my broken-down hulk of a VW Beetle. I was a new, and uber-true, believer, and after making that request, I had the best feeling ever that it was going to be fulfilled.

I knew what faith meant, but still I wondered how it might happen, not wanting my windfall to come from anything bad, like somebody dying and leaving it to me. And then, as clear as any voice speaking to me, I heard the word "Reno."

Perfect, I thought. I’d just bought a bus ticket to meet friends for a concert in Reno. But when I told a religious person about it, she shook her head in disapproval saying, “Reno? That’s gambling, and God doesn’t work that way.” Oops, my bad. Never mind. Whatever.

I hopped on the bus to Reno and forgot about it. And yet... while waiting for my friends to arrive, I wandered into a casino where the nickel slot machines were old school, clanging, banging metal contraptions. Just wanting to see how they worked, I got change for two quarters and dropped in a few nickels, one at a time. With a fifty-cent budget, I was definitely not gambling.

On the seventh nickel, I hit a jackpot for $9,106.

When my friends got to Reno and I told them that I’d asked God for ten grand and hit that jackpot for $9,106, they joked, “Well, I guess He took his ten percent off the top.”