My name is Nephet Htim. I was brought to the United States as a youngster and, wonder of wonders, I eventually became a dealer in 19th and 20th century American coins. Numismatics is my pastime as much as it was a business, so I took delight in my work and made a marvelous income at the same time.

Although I sold my establishment on Nassau Street a few years ago, my enthusiasm for the hobby remains undiminished. In fact, a monograph I wrote on the topic of half cents (coins which circulated between 1793 and 1857) was recently published and has been well received by serious collectors.

As you can imagine, quite a few rare and valuable coins passed through myshop and, over the years, I heard many extroardinary - even incredible - tales relating to numismatics. But the most astonishing, the most remarkable developments concerning a coin - a series of events that touched me personally - occurred only recently. I doubted that I would ever be able to make the facts known, but the other person most directly involved in the swirl of amazing circumstances has given me leave to do so. I'm very eager to tell you the story.

I hadn't thought of Libby for years - for decades to be more precise. As children we lived on the same street and played, along with a group of other boys and girls, on porches and in backyards, whenever we had the chance. Libby and I were the same age. We actually shared the same birthday - July 4. Her brothers, Ellie and Garr, were two years younger than us. When I was twelve, Libby and her family moved far away. I think it had something to do with the Depression.

On a summer's day more than sixty years later, I was taking a leisurely walk in my neighborhood and discovered that Libby lived ten blocks away from my own home. She was standing in front of a red brick apartmnt house with a few elderly ladies. She was wearing navy blue slacks and a white blouse with red trimming. Her hair was silver, but her face - a pleasant one- hadn't changed much in all those years. I also observed that she was as talkative as ever. ("Libby's as noisy as three green parrots," her papa used to say.). Libby recognized me immediately and even remembered my name.

Soon we were standing apart from her neighbors and talking in the shade of a massive, leafy sycamore tree. Libby told me she had married, but was now a widow. Her daughter, son-in-law and their four children lived in Charleston, South Carolina. Libby's brothers ("wiseacres" she called them) settled in Costa Rica forty years ago and made a fortune in abaca and hemp. ("Those are fibers used to make rope," she explained.) Libby hinted that she hadn't been in touch with Ellie and Garr for many years. I informed Libby about my family, my work, and my semi-retirement. After half an hour of chitchat, I bid Libby good-bye and resumed my stroll.

Three weeks later our paths crossed again. I saw Libby at the bottle redemption center, which consists of three automated machines alongside our local supermarket. She was taking bottles out of a shopping cart lined with black plastic, pushing them into the machine, and retrieving nickels from the slot. I waved to her from afar. She returned my greeting annd continued working along with two other women. The trio looked like automatons feeding other automatons. What a noisy business, I remarked to myself. Little did I know how appropriate the word business really was.

As the weeks went by, I realized that Libby was outside the supermarket processing bottles more often than not. No one, I thought, could possibly consume that much soda. It occurred to me that Libby was one of those individuals who scour the streets looking for bottles and cans in trash baskets to make a few dollars.

My suspicions were confirmed when Libby appeared with her cart in a part of the neighborhood where I couldn't expect to see her. The black plastic bag was bulging with empties (though I actually couldn't see them). The tools of the trade, I mused to myself. To Libby I said, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm meeting a friend," she replied.

"Have a nice time," I said smiling and went on my way.

A few weeks later, I saw Libby at dusk on a very cold day going from house to house with her cart. She was rifling through refuse bins, plucking out bottles. I pretended not to notice her. I don't know whether she spotted me, but she may have.

Many times I asked myself why Libby had to gaher empties for nickels. Didnt she have enought to live on? Wasn't she getting any help from her daughter? I also wondered how well an "amatuer" like Libby would do competing against so many others. Well, I thought, perhaps after all this time Libby has become a "pro." In any case, I knew that one had to nudge twenty empties into the machine to "earn" one dollar. Even if Libby amassed a hundred bottles a week she could only mke five dollars. I just couldn't understand it. My wife, whom I introduced to Libby, wasn't able to figure out the situation either. I began to feel sorry for my childhood friend. I wished I could be of some assistance. What could I do? I asked myself. Nothing. I could do nothing, I concluded.

During the course of an entire year, I observed Libby looking for bottles and redeeming them more often than I cared to count. Sometimes we greeted one another and occasionally, when I could stand the clatter of plastic and metal being gobled up by the machines, I stopped to chat with Libby for half a minute before I did some shopping.

Soon it was summer again. While taking a walk early in the morning I happened to pass Libby's building. I heard her voice calling my name. I looked up and saw Libby at a second floor window.

"Nephet, may I speak with you? It may be important."

"What is it, Libby?" I asked.

"I'll buzz you in. My apartment is 2C."

A few minutes later I was in Libby's apartment. It was small, simply furnished, and clean. She led me into the kitchen and aked me to sit at a small laminated table. Sunlight filtered into the room through yellow-orange curtains, giving the kitchena soft, golden glow. Libby boiled water for tea and set a plate of cookies before me (making small talk all the while). After sipping some tea and sampling a cookie I finally asked, "Is everything okay?"

"Yes," she said, "It's just that a coin came out of the bottle machine which I'd like you to see."

"A nickel?"

"No, a gold coin. I think it may be valuable and I know you'll tell me what its really worth."

"I'd like very much to see it," I said. Libby left the room and returned a few moments later holding a small, black, lacquered jewelry box. She raised the lid, removed a coin, placed it on the table, and sat down opposite me.

I picked up the coin and studied it carefully. For a moment I was too flabbergasted to speak. I looked at Libby and said, "Do you mean to tell me that this coin was thrown out by the bottle machine?" My tone was somewhere between amazement and incredulity.

"It happened two days ago - on Tuesday afernoon. For a second I thought it was a Sacagawea dollar. Then i took a closer look and saw that it's a tewnty dollar gold piece. I know it must be worth more than twenty dollars."

"Libby, listen to me. Listen to me very carefully. This coin is a 1933 double eagle. A ten dollar gold piece is called an eagle and a twenty dollar gold piece is known as a double eagle. (Here I pointed out the majestic eagle on the reverse, that is, the back of the coin and the beautiful representation of Lady Liberty on the obverse or front of the coin.) The double eagle was designed by the famous sculptor, Augustus Saint-Gaudens. It went into circulation in 1907. But a double eagle dated 1933 is not an ordinary gold coin. It is a fabulous find of historic importance."

Libby was all ears.

"The last such coin which came up for auction once belonged to King Farouk. That coin fetched more than seven and a half million dollars including, of course, the usual buyer's premium of fifteen percent. I don't want to oerwhelm you with numbers, but that coin sold for $7,590,020."

"And twenty dollars," Libby repeated, laughter in her voice.

"The twenty dollars was to match the face value of the coin. That's the way it works. But I can't comprehend gow a double eagle from 19933 could find its way into a bottle return machine. Libby, this coin shouldn't have been anywhere. The U.S. government had to give its permission for the speciman I just told you abot to be sold."

"Why is that?" Libby asked, looking a littl worried now.

"I'll explain. When Franklin Roosevelt took office he ordered the banks be temporarily closed because so many people were withdrawing cash and gold."

"Even though we were children then, I remember that. He declared a bank holiday."

"Yes. Well, many changes were made in our financial system around that time. After a while it was decided that in order to preserve the supply of gold, banks would no longer be permitted to pay customers in gold coins. That brings us back to the 1933 double eagle. Even though more than 400,000 of these beauties were minted, the President ordered that they not be put into circulation. The 1933 double eagles were, with a few exceptions, eventually melted down in a refinery and made into gold bullion. One of the remaining coins was given to the Smithsonian Institution to put on display, but a handful of them were illegally saved from destruction. I don't know exactly how or by whom. Since then about nine of these double eagles have come to light. Over a period of time they were either seized by the Secret Service or surrendered to the authorities by their owners. Obviously, there is at least one more 1933 double eagle in existence that was not accounted for. Yours, Libby. Now, I have no doubt that your coin is worth many millions of dollars. However, I'm not at all sure if it legal for you to sell it or even to have it in your possession."

"Nephet, it would be a terrible thing to have to give the coin away. It even has my name on it."

"Your name? Isn't your name Elizabeth?"

"Never. Everyone except mama and papa called me Libby so the name stuck, but my real name is Liberty. My parents gave me that name because I was the first child of theirs to be born in the United States and because, like you, I was born on the Fourth of July. Liberty is on my birth certificate and on my coin." I was astonished for at least a second time that morning.

"The coin is exquisite," Libby said wistfully, "but I would like to sell it. To be honest, I could use the money you've been talking about. Nephet, coins were your life work and I trust you. Would you be willing to take care of the entire matter for me? I realize I'm asking more than a favor."

I sat there looking at the coin, then at Libby. "There will be a great many legal hurdles," I reminded her, "and I can't promise that we can overcome them. Nevertheless, I'll do everything in my power to enable you to sell your coin."

As I anticipated, legal obstacles were put in our path, but they were, in a word, negotiated. And, happily, all anyone had to be told about the coin's provenance was that Libby got it for change somehwere. Her coin was put up for auction and it brought $9,250,020, including the buyer's premium and twenty dollars equal to the original worth of the coin. It was a record paid for a single coin. I received something for my role in the affair, but mainly I was pleased to be of assistance. I rejoice at my old friend's great good luck!

Soon after the auction, Libby purchased an 18th century home in Charleston, "to be close to the kids and grandkids" as she put it. Libby is involved in historic preservation, which is a major concern down there, and is active in several charitable organizations. Her efforts on behalf of the community have earned her the sobriquet Lady Liberty. Naturally, we keep in touch. Afer all, Liberty and I are both avid collectors.

Written by Steven Smith