My cousin Nick remembers:
My dad was so cheap that he once drilled a hole in a nickel so that he wouldn’t have to pay eight cents for a washer.
My first memory of gas prices is driving home from my grandparents. We drove into a gas station, and pulled up to the pump. The guy came out and said, “Can I help you?” My dad said, “33 cents a gallon? No you can’t!” We drove off. Five miles down the road, we ran out of gas. We had to pay a farmer 50 cent cents a gallon.
Now Nick is the skinflint. But that’s a good thing. He’s accumulating wealth. He also runs the finances for our family business — he keeps us in line!
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