Halloween was a day for trick or treat, and I already knew which one I’d be getting when I walked into work that morning. As a staff reporter at the Los Angeles Daily News, I’d seen plenty of my colleagues laid off. Reporters, photographers, librarians—the paper was shedding employees right and left. Now it was my turn. After delivering the bad news, my boss led me to Human Resources.
I hugged a few friends goodbye and hurried back to my car. When I tossed my purse on the seat beside me, I saw the notice sticking out. The post office was holding a letter I had to sign for. The errand would give me time to compose myself before heading home to my husband, who was also out of work.
There was a line at the post office, and I used the time to worry. Subsisting on one salary was hard enough on our family. Now how would we make ends meet?
Finally, I stepped up to the counter and slid the notice to the clerk. She handed me a plain envelope addressed to me and sent with a return receipt. I signed for the letter. Just don’t let it be bad news, I prayed. Inside was an official-looking letterhead from a law office in San Antonio, Texas. A check was paper clipped to a brief typewritten note: “Please accept this gift from someone who asked me to track you down because the party wishes to remain anonymous.”
I turned the check over to see the amount: $10,000.
“Next,” said the postal clerk.
I moved aside so I could examine the check more closely. It looked real. But was it some kind of marketing gimmick? Or an elaborate Halloween hoax? I didn’t know anyone in Texas.
“I was right, Alfredo,” I told my husband when I got home. “Today was the day they let me go. But look at this.” I showed him the check. “Crazy, right? It’s got to be a joke. What are the odds of me getting an anonymous gift of ten thousand dollars the very day I get fired?”
Alfredo examined the check. “Who do you know in San Antonio?”
“Nobody!” I said. “I did spend two weeks in Houston once, working on a newspaper story.”
Alfredo handed the check back to me. “Take it to the bank. They’ll know if it’s legit or not.” For a minute I dared to dream that this windfall was for real. I’d have to explain to the kids that this year Halloween seemed more like Christmas.
When I walked into the bank the day got even stranger. Instead of men and women dressed in button-down shirts and blazers, the place was full of vampires, cowboys and princesses. It’s Halloween, all right, and surely I’ve been tricked.
I walked up to a teller dressed like a clown and showed her my check. “I’m pretty sure this is a joke,” I said. She seemed to agree, but maybe that was the clown makeup. “I don’t want to deposit a bad check.”
“This way,” the clown said, and I followed her big orange wig to an angel. Trying not to stare at her white wings, I handed her the attorney’s letter. She read it, then turned to her computer and clicked away at the keys. When she turned back to me she was smiling. “It’s your lucky day,” she announced. “This is legitimate. Paid for in San Antonio.”
“I… I got laid off today,” I managed to say.
The angel placed a hand on my shoulder. “God’s blessing you, girl,” she said.
The next several years were challenging ones for my family. We struggled to find work, moved several times, ran through the ten thousand dollars, lost our savings. But when times were toughest I discovered that the real value of that mystery check wasn’t the cash itself. The real value was knowing that God cared enough to turn my worst Halloween into Christmas.
