The loop where you slide your keys is slung between to two sterling silver balls. One of them is fixed to the loop; the other unscrews to accept the keys, even though it’s indistinguishable from the anchored ball.
I use it for our post office box key and, frankly, can’t remember what possessed me to unscrew it. Predictably, the ball slipped through my fingers and rolled under the car’s front seat. I spotted it there briefly, but when I bent down to retrieve it, the ball continued on its journey under the carpeting, most likely never to be seen again.
I called Tiffany and was told a replacement ball would cost $21. By the way, Tiffany charged $15 when the keychain was new during the 1970s. Today, they sell on Tiffany’s website for $190. All things considered, 21 bucks sounded like a reasonable fee, so, I ordered it.
However, when the ball arrived — in a trademark Tiffany robin’s egg blue box with a matching ceremonial drawstring pouch, the words Tiffany & Co. printed in the jeweler’s delicate typeface — it was the wrong size. Their representative had asked me whether I wanted the small or large screw ball. I said small because the errant ball was approximately the size of a pea. I didn’t realize Tiffany considered that a large ball.
Disappointed, I returned the tiny sphere, and the Tiffany box, and the Tiffany pouch to the company. But, rather than reorder the correct one, I happened to be heading down to the city and decided to visit their flagship store on Fifth Avenue and purchase it in person. I didn’t know what the “large” ball cost. But, how much more expensive could it be? Forty bucks? Fifty? Whatever it cost seemed worth honoring my deceased brother’s memory.
I also knew how I was going to pay for it.
When I was cleaning out my parents’ apartment after my mother passed away in 2019, I found a Tiffany box and opened it. Disappointingly, there was no diamond necklace inside. The box contained a catalog marked “1979-1980” and a red pouch with two silver coins. The Tiffany logo and “Twenty Five Dollars” was stamped on the heads side, and on the tails side the words “Tiffany Money Redeemable In Merchandise at Tiffany & Co.,” together with a serial number. An accompanying gift card identified the benefactor as my brother. “For Mommy from Johnny,” he’d written.
I remember when the hefty pocket-size catalog arrived in the mail during my childhood, even if I wasn’t much of a jewelry buyer in those days. The cover was robin’s egg blue, of course, and I marveled at the astronomical prices for the diamond, ruby, emerald and sapphire rings. For example, $985,000 purchased their largest pear-shaped diamond set in platinum.
The ring, on a page with a spray of others, came without further description. I suppose they assumed that if you were contemplating spending almost a million dollars on one of their rings — back then, a million bucks was real money — curiosity would compel you to inquire how many carats you were purchasing, as well as the clarity, etc., before you wrote a check.
Twenty-five dollars in 1979 is worth $96 today. And the coins are going for more than that on eBay and other shopping websites. But, it seemed to make cosmic sense to pay for a new screw ball for Johnny’s keychain with the Tiffany money he gave my mother for Christmas in 1979.
I know it was a holiday gift because the pouch the coins arrived in was red and the accompanying catalog explained that each piece is “available in a pleasing little drawstring pouch (red for Christmas and blue for other occasions.)”
So, I headed down to Tiffany with the two silver coins chatting among themselves in the red pouch. But, the closer I got, the more reluctant I became to spend them. Their sentimental value far exceeded their monetary value.
Tiffany’s massive showroom, with its soaring ceilings, is undergoing renovation. These days, you enter around the corner, on 57th street, where an abundance of helpful employees is eager to guide you through their new atrium, toward the elevators, even if you’re buying nothing pricier than a replacement screw ball.
By then, I’d decided that I’d make the purchase, whatever it cost, on a credit card. However, I showed the coins to the saleswoman who was assisting me. She said that she’d summon the manager if I was interested in spending them, but her suggestion was that I wear one as a medallion around my neck.
I don’t think I’ll be doing that. The large screw ball, by the way, cost $25, plus tax. That seemed reasonable enough, especially if it restored the keychain to service.
The coins returned to the pouch, the pouch to the box with the catalog and gift card from my brother, and the box to a bedroom drawer. My hunch is, that’s where it will stay until some future generation loses the keychain’s screw ball again and is forced to wrestle with the price of sentimentality.