FINDERS KEEPERS

Dedicated to Kenneth Ronald Brown, my husband of 31 years.

He crossed over on April 26, 2026.

My husband was a Marine. In death, he is still a Marine. I used to say, “ex-Marine,” but there is no such thing. Once the legendary end of boot camp “Crucible” is conquered and the Eagle, Globe and Anchor is pinned to your lapel, you are a Marine until the end of time.

In September of 1998, Parris Island arrived in Ridgewood NJ when Ken took a part-time job as a crossing guard at a corner that intersected with a main commuter artery into New York City. Twice a day for 8 years, he worked his post with a Marine’s sense of duty to oversee the daily passage of dozens of the Village’s children as they wound their way through the roaring maze of SUVs, snorting busses, and towering trucks. The hand that long ago heaved an M-16 was issued an oversized STOP sign to halt tons of steel driven by distracted drivers to ensure “his” kids were safe. He never flinched. The children gathered at his corner and in learned response to his no-nonsense orders to dismount their bicycles and scooters and WALK across the street, no child was injured or left behind.

This Marine would scan and select a natural break in the traffic, pin a driver with his eyes, and hoist the oversized stop sign, sometimes waving it at an impatient driver trying to scoot around him. Cars grazed his legs, knocked the sign from his hands and twice, snapped the sign in half. Ken was called unprintable names while children waited for him to create the safe space for them to cross. He was never late, rarely missed his post, even in the worst weather. Marines do not quit.

At the beginning of the school year, when the kids tested and teased and discovered their limits with him, they would meet the Ken behind the sign. Some chatted him up about sports, some leaped to tap the Stop sign like they were laying up a basketball shot, some teased him about his beloved Cowboys team football cap.

One 11-year-old boy walked alone. He would slouch to Ken’s corner and ask: “What time is it?”

“Guess,” Ken would tease.

“Two minutes before 8:00 o’clock,” the boy would shout back.

“Nope,” Ken would say: “Three minutes AFTER 8:00!”

“Oh, wow!” the boy would exclaim and race down the sidewalk as the front door of the school was about to close.

On the few occasions the boy was not late, the two chatted. Ken learned the boy was from the Philippines, a country Ken was familiar with as a young Marine in the 1950s. This was the boy’s family’s first year in this country, and he was often late because he helped with a younger sister to enable his parents to get to work on time. He often talked about his beloved grandmother in the Philippines and how he missed her. He did not expect to see her again.

At the end of Ken’s shift one morning, the boy raced down the street and waited for Ken’s signal to cross the street. Since Ken was then on his way to the parking lot, the two of them walked together. As they passed a row of shrubs, a sudden breeze flung several one-dollar bills into the air. The boy pounced on them and showed Ken.

“Look!” he shouted. “Look at all this money I found!” “What should I do with it?”

“I don’t know,” said Ken. “Maybe you should bring it to the school office in case someone reported losing their money. What do you think you should do with it?”

The boy paused and yelled: “Finders-Keepers!”

Several afternoons later, the boy waited while Ken crossed a dozen chattering children, stopping a long line of traffic so three girls could scurry across at the last minute. The boy was grinning as he looked up at Ken.

“Wanna know what I did with that money?”

“Sure,” Ken answered. “Did you turn it in or decide to keep it?”

“I didn’t give it to the school,” the boy replied. “I donated it to the library fund and now MY NAME IS ON THE HONOR BOARD! I never had that before!”

He skipped and whooped, eyes shining with the satisfaction of having won his own heart. Ken smiled and congratulated him, understanding the concept of honor and knowing where the nobility of self esteem could lead.

Semper fi, my Marine. I will always be proud of you.