Just after 11 p.m. Monday night, a man cut in front of the line of about 200 medallion hunters that snaked its way down Cedar Street and around the corner of Fourth Avenue. He peered through the glass doors of the Pioneer Press building, pressed the intercom button, and asked the security guard, "Is this where I turn in the medallion?"
The crowd fell silent. A pall quickly came over the proceedings – or as much of a pall as can come over these proceedings – since suddenly there was the possibility that, with three clues to go, the hunt, and the fun, was over.
Sharon, the woman who was first in line and who has looked for the medallion for 45 straight years, looked dazed. Even the guy wearing a safari helmet and cut-out army fatigues that exposed his buttocks to the 20-degree Minnesota night looked sobered.
After the security guard let him in, the man strode into the Pioneer Press lobby and anxiously announced that his friends had found the coin, and that they were on their way with it. But the crowd of veteran medallion hunters was dubious. "If he's got it, I want to see it," one guy told the security guard. "When it gets here, tell him to hold it up. I just want to see it."
Of course, that never happened, since the medallion still sits somewhere, buried beneath a blanket of snow, ice or more. Suspecting as much, the hunters filed in to buy the Tuesday paper for clue No. 9. Almost as quickly as it had descended, the pall lifted.
Over at the main spot where the hunt has intensified, news of the hoax spread quickly. With it came a new sense of purpose – a reprieve – that burned inside the night crawlers with the intensity of the bonfire that crackled near the frozen swings, slides, and picnic tables that sit in the middle of Cherokee Park.
Copyright 1998 Pioneer Press.
