The Endless Attraction Of Penny Whistles

When a student in my creative writing class noticed that I printed exercise forms on the unused side of sheets on which previous classroom handouts had been printed, she said, “Only a tightwad would do that.”
 “So? What’s wrong with being tight? Tightwads are thrifty, and thriftiness is a good practice. I don’t believe in wasting anything, so I use both sides of all sheets of paper,” I answered.

“Whatever,” she shrugged indifferently, confirming what I already knew: Nowadays, most young people don’t give much thought to fiscal responsibility. 

I live reasonably well on pauper’s pay (I’m a college teacher), but only because my budget requires strict accounting of all expenditures. I have learned that frugal people find ways to survive, even in difficult economic times.


Benjamin Franklin was often accused of being a tightwad, but he wasn’t; he just knew how to keep income and outgo in a ratio that protected his pocketbook. 

He once said, “I’ve always regretted buying a penny whistle,” meaning he spent impulsively for something that gave only brief pleasure, and then was worthless.

 My lifelong friend and mentor Jaybird also detested spending before thinking. Each month, when the old black man received the latest Sears Roebuck catalog, a tome as large as a dictionary, he would look at each page, and tear out the ones picturing items that interested him. 
Often he and I would stretch out on his front porch and look through the catalogs together. I enjoyed sharing this simple pastime with him, but noticed that he rarely ordered anything. Instead, he’d wait until the next Sears catalog came, look at new items not in the previous one, tear out new pages, and discard old ones.

“Jaybird, why do you go to all that trouble, only to end up throwing most of those pages away, and rarely ordering anything?” I asked.

 “Because in time I realize they are wants — not needs,” he answered.

 Recently, the wisdom of his answer became apparent to me when I was flipping through gardening catalogs. Almost every page pictured something I’d love to have to enhance my passion for gardening, but later, when I looked at my plants, I thought … they’re doing fine. Impulsively ordering from those catalogs won’t make them any finer.

 So, in a modernized version of Jaybird’s technique, I now scan pages from catalogs and store them in my computer in a folder entitled “Next year’s garden.” If I’m alive when next spring arrives, no doubt I’ll end up deleting most of the items scanned.

 Russian writer Leo Tolstoy once said, “Always remember how passionately you yearned in the past for many things you hate or despise now. Remember how many things you lost trying to satisfy former desires. The same thing could happen now, with desires that excite you at present. Tame your desires, calm them; this is most beneficial, and most achievable.” Thanks, Leo and Jaybird, for teaching me that only spendthrifts fall victim to the endless attraction of penny whistles.