Published in the Feb. 5, 2014 issue of Morgan Hill Life

By Marty Cheek

Marty Cheek

Marty Cheek

Perhaps I was 5 or 6 when I discovered the magic power of money one frosty morning at the Morgan Hill Flea Market. Once located on what’s now the vacant lot at the corner of Butterfield and Main avenues, the market was always a destination for my dad when we came to Morgan Hill from Hollister. We would wander the aisles looking at other people’s used tools, dishes, clothes, paperback novels and assorted items displayed on a gauntlet of picnic tables.

A shiny yellow Tonka steam shovel set on the ground with other toys caught my eye. With no doubt in my child’s heart, I knew that toy truck would make my life complete for all time to come.

While my dad was busy at a nearby table perusing items, my feet carried me back to the Tonka truck. A short strip of masking tape stuck on the steel grip-handle seemed to have the price $200 scribbled faintly with ballpoint pen ink. An astronomical sum!

I asked the lady for the price. “Two dollars,” she said flatly. On closer inspection of the tape, I saw that there was a tiny dot between the two and the first zero.

Gladdened at the realization that the possession of the object of my ultimate happiness was within reasonable reach, I went back to dad and told him of my need for the Tonka. “How much?” he asked. “The lady says it’s two dollars,” I told him.

Dad reached into his pocket and pulled out his leather wallet, took out two worn dollar bills, handed them to me, and went back to examining flea market items.

I gazed at the greenbacks. George Washington’s steely eyes stared back at me. It was a signature moment. This, my very first purchase, was my initiation into the world of consumerism.

I handed the woman the bills and and took the Tonka. It felt strange realizing that I now owned this toy. It was such a simple transaction, but I felt amazed how two pieces of paper with Washington’s face on them could in an instant be converted into this delightful toy now in my possession.

Probably because it’s so pervasive in our lives, we don’t often stop to think what an astonishing idea money really is and how it shapes our daily lives. We spend long hours at work in the pursuit of a paycheck to exchange money for goods and services. We buy lottery tickets in the hopes that by selecting the right set of lucky numbers, we will open the door to a better life.

We often fight over money and sometimes nations wage war because of it. People often marry not for love but for the security they believe will come from a wealthy spouse. People every day steal money and even murder for it.

Money is a driver of human history. The discovery of gold in California in 1848 ignited the sudden need in thousands of adventurers to brave treacherous trails or a long sea voyage to come to this backwater American state in pursuit of riches. The possibility of gaining millions or even billions of dollars inspires thousands of entrepreneurs to build Silicon Valley businesses that shape how we process and communicate information.

If you think about it, even though it dramatically shapes our lives, money is really a fiction. Money doesn’t really exist. “Money” is really a magic that happens in our minds.

Whether it’s the giant stone currency on the Pacific island nation of Yap, pieces of paper with dead presidents printed on them, or digital numbers stored in a bank’s database, the true value of money really exists in the brain. Human beings collectively accept the fiction of money is real, and that’s what makes the system work.

An important ingredient in the financial fiction game is the trust and belief we put into the magic of money. If one day suddenly everyone stopped trusting that the dollars and cents in their pocketbook or bank account could be converted into goods and services, the bubble of the fiction of money would burst. The global economy would come to a crashing halt.

Recently, with the hacking of Target stores, we’ve seen this trust severely tested. That incident warns us that our global digital system of creating the fiction of money is vulnerable. The collapse of our fiscal fiction puts at risk the quality of life for billions of people.

I still have the Tonka steam shovel truck I bought at the Morgan Hill Flea Market one frosty morning more than four decades ago. It’s beat-up and and a bit rusty now, but it serves as a reminder of the powerful magic of money.