Jacques and the Bean Stocks
Once upon a time a widow toiled on a small organic produce farm with little help from her grown son Jacques. The young man longed to be rich, but just couldn’t see himself working hard enough to get there. Jobs he saw advertised looked like hard work and didn’t pay much. Going to college seemed like serious effort with no guarantees. So he watched daytime television, played video games, wished a lot, and, when she threatened to quit feeding him, helped his mom a bit.
One year the little farm failed them. A late frost killed off the early leaf crops and plague of locusts ate everything above ground in July. By September
the woman began to realize she wouldn’t have enough money left to pay the bills, feed herself and her hungry son over the winter, and buy seeds for next year,
One day at dinner she said, “Jacques, I need your help.”
“Yeah, yeah, Mom. You know how weeding kills my back and I’m allergic to compost.”
“Well, this doesn’t involve weeding or compost. I need you to run an errand for me in the city. Your poor departed father left us some stock shares in the MoneyMakers Mutual Fund, our “cash cow,” and I need to sell them. Take 
these certificates to our broker Harold Fairweather in the city tomorrow. I’d go myself, but I can’t afford being away for a day when we’re still selling fall vegetables.”
She went to her nearly empty secret hiding place in the back of a kitchen cupboard. “Here’s some money for the train.”
“Going to the city on the train sounds better than sitting around here watching weeds grow,” Jacques replied. “Glad to help out, Mom.”
“Good. I called Harold this morning, so he knows you’re coming tomorrow. The stocks are in this portfolio. Don’t let anything happen to them. They will give us the money we’ll need to get us through the winter and to plant next spring’s crops.”
“Trust me, Mom. I’ll guard them with my life.”
The next morning the commuter train was crowded. Jacques finally found a seat next to a man in a cheap, but flashy, three-piece suit and an orange bow tie. The man put down his paper and held out his hand, “Hi, I’m Gordy English, how are you?”
“Hi, Jacques Farmer here. I’m fine.” Jacques shook hands and tried to think of something to say. “Do you ride this train every day?”
“Not a chance. I usually go by car, but my chauffer called in sick today, and I didn’t feel like driving in rush-hour traffic.”
“Chauffer. Wow.”
“Where are you headed, Jacques?”
“I’m going to meet with our broker to sell some mutual fund stocks, our “cash cow,” so that we can buy groceries and pay the bills. Me and Mom are having a tough year with our organic vegetable farm. We’re just about broke.”
“What have you got in that portfolio, son?”
“Here. See for yourself.”
Gordy opened the folder carefully and drew out the mutual fund certificates. He let out a little moan. “Money Makers Mutual… I’ll bet they weren’t much of a cash cow, after all.”
“Guess not, or Mom wouldn’t be selling them.”
“Hmmm, too bad. What you need is an aggressive portfolio that makes big bucks in a short time like… Oh, no. I shouldn’t be giving you advice. I mean… just because I’ve made billions in the market.”
“No, no. I want to hear what you suggest. I can share it with our broker and see what he thinks.”
“You trust this broker, I can see. Do you or your mother talk to him often?”
“Well… I guess neither of us ever actually met him. He was my dad’s college buddy and he’s supposed to be real smart.”
“I’ll bet that smart broker has a big suite of offices right on Wall Street, doesn’t he? And a big estate in the Hamptons?”
“He shares an office with a travel agent two blocks from his apartment in Brooklyn.”
Gordy groaned. “Maybe he’s not so smart, after all, ya think? Listen, Jacques, you seem like a nice kid. I’m gonna let you in on a secret that can make you very, very rich, but you can’t tell anyone about it, or we both could get into serious trouble. Are you in?”
“Yeah, sure! – I guess.”
“OK, I’ll take care of these wimpy MoneyMaker stocks for you and in exchange I’ll give you 4,000 shares of the hottest stock on the under-… I mean over-the-counter market.
“Do you grow beans on your farm?”
“Yeah, we grow a lot of beans, but so do all our neighbors. We don’t make much on them, according to Mom.”
“Have you heard of Bingo Beans, Jacques? No? Well, this little family farm in New Jersey has developed a new bean that’s:
B — Bountiful: four crops a year south of Chesapeake Bay
I — Insect and blight resistant
N — Nutritious: full of vitamins and proteins
G — Green: good for the environment
O — Outstandingly delicious
BINGO!
People love them! Big supermarket chains are begging to get more of them.
“Well, they’re going to go public with their stock tomorrow. Traders on Wall 
Street haven’t heard about Bingo Beans yet. When they do, there’s going to be a bidding war to buy as many shares as possible. I’m on my way to meet Hugh V. Gant, the giant of the vegetable industry. I mean, he’s big – makes the Jolly Green Giant look like a grasshopper. He wants to buy all the Bingo Beans stocks I can get ahold of. He knows he’ll make a fortune – another fortune — on these stocks. I’ll make a little, too, of course. I’ll tell you what, Jacques — I guess I could take you with me if you want to meet Gant. You might get a few tips on investing the money you’ll make from the Bingo Bean stocks. Wanna come along?”
Jacques peered at Gordy. “Why are you helping me? I can’t do anything for you.”
“That’s OK, kid. You remind me of me when I was your age — an ambitious young man with big dreams, trying to help his poor mother.”
By the time they got to the city, Jacques had signed over the Money Maker stocks and had 4,000 shares of Bingo Beans, Inc. in his shabby old portfolio.
Hugh V. Gant lived and ran his veggie empire in a penthouse suite atop Gant Tower in the Financial District. Gordy and Jacques got off the elevator and stepped into a leaf-green carpeted lobby. On the opposite wall a green-on-gold sign declared “Gant Enterprises, Inc.” in six-foot tall leafy letters. A fashionably dressed receptionist took Gordy’s card, made a quick call and then showed them to a plush waiting lounge stocked with free drinks and snacks. “Mr. Gant had to fly to Vegas this morning to look at a casino he might be buying. Ms. Green, the Executive Vice President will be with you in a few minutes. She’s on the phone with the President of Chile at the moment.”
When Ms. Green arrived, she looked mildly surprised at the odd pair. “Mr. English?”
Gordy held out his hand. “F. Gordon English, III, ma’am. Pleased to meet you. I’m here to give Mr. Gant an opportunity to buy some vegetable stocks “ (leaning over and whispering) “Bingo Beans stocks, actually. Oh – this is my associate, Mr. Jacques Farmer.”
“Mr. Gant mentioned that you were coming in with some bean stocks. I’m authorized to buy all the shares you have at the price you quoted on the phone. The money will be transferred into your account as soon as you deliver the stocks.
After the transaction, Gordy asked, “Is it OK if I show my associate Jacques here Mr. Gant’s office. He’s new in the business and a huge fan of Gant’s.”
“OK. With Mr. Gant away, his personal assistant has the day off, so you’ll have to go on your own. As you probably remember, it’s the double doors at the end of the hall. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a conference call set to start in five minutes. Just don’t touch anything.”
Gordy led the way to the double wooden doors marked “Private.” Inside, while Jacques gawked at the luxurious office and the 
spectacular view, Gordy went straight to the big desk, whipped out his phone and took a picture of what looked like a blank scratch pad lying on the desk. Turning quickly, Gordy said, “OK, let’s go.”
“What’s the hurry? I want to look out the windows some more. Look! There’s…
“Next time. Gotta leave now. Let’s get some lunch and I’ll explain.”
At lunch Gordy made some adjustments on his phone and showed a picture to Jacques. “What does this look like to you, my young accomp… associate?”
“Looks like a blank scratch pad.”
“Look closer. You can just make out the impressions made by what was written on the last sheet torn off. It’s the names of stocks Gant’s going to buy next, I bet. Looks like Golden… Harp… and White… Hen. With the cash I make on these bean stocks, I’m gonna buy some of these. You can too. Talk to your broker. That’s what you’ve gotta do to get ahead in this business. Grab every opportunity, Jacques. I’ve gotta go now. Here, take my card. Call me if you need advice. Good luck, Kid.”
When Jacques got home and told his mother what he’d done, she was furious. “You foolish, stupid boy! What have you done? You’ve traded our cash cow for these worthless stocks in a company that probably doesn’t exist! Oh, what will we do? We’re ruined!” She threw the stocks into the recycle bin. Then she began to cry. She went into her bedroom and slammed the door. Jacques could hear her wailing and sobbing.
He was stunned. He hadn’t imagined the stocks could be worthless. If they were, what would become of him and his mother? He might have to work! He hated to see his mom so angry and sad. He dug the stocks out of the recycle bin and sat up all night trying to think what he could do.
The next morning, he got up early, took some money from his own secret hiding place and slipped away while his mother slept. He took the train to the city again, but this time he went to see Mr. Fairweather, the family broker.
After he told Fairweather what he had done and showed him the Bingo Bean stock certificates, Fairweather began typing rapidly on his computer. “Do you remember the name of the man who sold you the bean stocks?” he asked.
“Sure. Here’s his card.”
Fairweather’s face suddenly broke into a smile. “Gordy English! You met Gordy English, and he sold you some stocks! You are incredibly lucky, if a bit gullible, Jacques. Gordy is an eccentric trader who sees himself as a Robin Hood. He gets secrets from the rich and helps the poor make money. These Bingo Bean stocks are magic! I’ll sell these for you when the time’s right. They’re already worth about seven times what your MoneyMakers stocks were worth. Did Gordy give you any other tips?”
“Well, he read the impressions on Mr. Gant’s scratch pad and guessed they were names of hot stocks. Golden Harp Recordings and White Hen Precious Metals. Ever hear of them?”
Fairweather turned back to his computer. “Mm, I see Golden Harp… yes…. yes – and here’s 
White Hen. I think we should sell half your Bingo Bean stocks right away. We’ll take out a little cash for you and your mother to live on for now. Then we’ll divide the rest between these two companies.
—–
Later that day, Gordy English engineered hostile takeovers of both Golden Harp and White Hen. Both stocks doubled in value in the first hour.
Jacques could hardly wait to tell his mother the good news. At first, she thought he’d been fooled again, but the bundle of 
cash convinced her. “Jacques, Jacques, my darling son! I don’t know how you did it. It’s like magic!! Let’s order a pizza to celebrate. Vegetarian, of course.”
When Gant got back from Las Vegas and found out what had happened, he was furious. He suspected right away that Gordy’s visit to his office the day before the takeover was no coincidence. He called his lawyers, Fee, Figh, Faux, and Fumm to tell them his suspicions. “Fee, Figh, Faux, and Fumm, I smell the work of that English man. If he’s the one that stole my thunder, I’ll sue his firm ‘til he goes under!”
Alas for Gant! Fee, Figh, Faux, and Fumm never could build a case against Gordy English, who was now even more fabulously wealthy.
Jacques and his mother were able to retire from farming. The dividends from Golden 
Harp were like sweet music to them. They could live very comfortably on those alone. But White Hen! It paid off in precious metals – a golden egg every day!
Jacques never did get a job.
““““““““““`
Discussion Questions:
1. Did you trust Gordy English when we first met him on the train? Why or why not? Do you think you were stereotyping? Was it the bow tie?
2. Why did the author not give Jacques’ mother a first name? Is this gender bias? Another work by this writer, “The Three Little-Pyggs,” etc. had no female characters at all. The author blames the 19th Century English work he had “borrowed” from.
3. Does the golden egg qualify this story as magical realism? Is it realistic to consider this story to be realism at all? Really?
4. Were Gordy and Jacques morally justified in stealing stock tips from Gant? Is this any less theft than, say, to steal a magical hen and harp while trespassing in a giant’s castle at the top of a beanstalk? Or to steal a plot for a story? What is public domain?
To read DaveWagar’s previous fairy tale revision, CITRONESLLA, click here
Marvelous 🎉