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Bracelet is returned -- fashionably late
By ANDREW MEACHAM © St. Petersburg Times, published May 27, 2001 TREASURE ISLAND -- Lost and found. For Edith Sessions, the phrase describes the curious path of a gold bracelet, recently reclaimed. Like each piece of jewelry she wears or the knickknacks filling up her apartment, the bracelet denotes family members and memories. Adorning her body or lining the walls and shelves of her tiny living room, they make up the mile markers of a life. Her parents gave it to her on her 10th birthday, Sept. 13, 1939. She imagines it was her mother who picked it out from a Walgreens counter in Washington, D.C. At the time, she still coveted the ring her parents had given to her sister. Over the years, she forgot the ring. She could never forget the bracelet, even after letting it languish in a Treasure Island jewelry shop for 11 years. Her husband's death, a move out of state, and her own procrastination stood between her and the bracelet she had dropped off May 10, 1990 -- the day before Mother's Day -- to get it re-dipped, and to replace a missing catch. That was Sam's idea. The couple had married when both were just 14. They had five children. Sam worked as a D.C. police officer, then moved to Virginia Beach, Va., to open a typewriter repair shop. They moved to St. Petersburg in 1980 for Sam's health, which worsened in cold weather. By 1990, most of the "gold" coating on the bracelet had disappeared. She took her husband's suggestion and left the piece at A&A Jewelry. She remembered owner Russ Atwood brought a pair of dogs with him to work, a toy poodle and a Labrador retriever. For years, she had been getting her hair styled at La Russo's Hair Design, only two doors down at 143 107th Ave. on the Treasure Island Causeway. A series of events then forever altered the flow of her life. Sam's health worsened. He died of lung cancer in 1992. For the first two weeks after his death, Mrs. Sessions visited his grave daily in Memorial Park Cemetery. "It was just too sad, let's put it that way," she said. Instead of wanting to be near him, she sold their four-bedroom trailer for a mere $5,000 and moved back to Virginia Beach. She thought being near eldest daughter, Martha, would help. "It just wasn't the same town I remembered," she said. Mrs. Sessions moved back to St. Petersburg, not far from daughter Melanie and her family. She settled in to regular bingo games and managing the apartment building where she lives. Lorraine La Russo was cutting her hair again, but Mrs. Sessions never ventured back into A&A Jewelry to check on her bracelet. "She would mention it from time to time," La Russo said while giving another elderly customer a trim. Mrs. Sessions didn't think the store would have the bracelet after so many years. There was another reason for her hesitation: She was now living entirely off Social Security. "Thirty-two dollars doesn't sound like a lot of money," she said. "But to me it's a fortune." She remained in this limbo for 11 years, peering through the store window countless times but never walking through the door. But recently, Mrs. Sessions, 71, went in to the beauty salon for her usual, a "shampoo set." This time, Melanie and Melanie's son, Ray, 5, accompanied her. As Mrs. Sessions remembers it, La Russo, who was busy with customers, said, "Edy, why don't you go down there and check on your bracelet?" A clerk at the jewelry store found nothing in view, and checked the safe. She produced a small beige envelope. It had Mrs. Sessions' name on it, along with notations of failed attempts to reach her by telephone. The bracelet was inside. Its gold plating, though no longer new, still gleamed. Daughter Melanie paid the $32 with a credit card. Atwood re-introduced himself to his long-lost customer. He had another Labrador in place of the one Mrs. Sessions remembers. Beebee, the poodle, was still at the shop, though she was now 14. Atwood showed the worn envelope to a visitor, along with newer envelopes bearing the words, "Not responsible for goods left 60 days." The staff stopped trying to reach Mrs. Sessions after she moved and the phone company gave her number to someone else. Mrs. Sessions marvelled that the store still had her bracelet. "We are a service-oriented business," said Atwood, who is 70. "Keeping something for someone is just a part of that service." "She came back here crying," said La Russo, the hairdresser. "I thought somebody had mugged her or something." Her joy came despite the fact that the store only had completed one of the requested tasks. The chain catch still was missing. But Mrs. Sessions decided she could live without it.
 © 2006 • All Rights Reserved • St. Petersburg Times
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