One of the better things about operating our earlier business ventures out of Tucson was the annual opportunity to attend the world’s largest gem show. I believe that may have been what drew us there in the first place, back in ‘87.

The first few years, I seldom got a chance to tag along with my dad and his friend and mentor, Walter C. But as our business grew and I aged into a somewhat responsible teen, I was allowed to accompany him more often. We would only make it through a tiny percentage of the show, as my dad was extremely pokey, and loved nothing better than haggling some poor Brazilian until the guy forgot his English.

In the early nineties tanzanite really took off as a popular gemstone. Always expensive, it was not nearly as bad back then as it is now, but still pricey. I haven’t been to the big gem show in over a decade, but at the time it was common to find some very, very nice material in the portable cases set up in the Holidome.

One man that my dad did business with for a long time was an Indian named Balu. Short, swarthy, and kind, he would grin from ear to ear when he saw us coming. He was always in a good humor, always up for haggling, and had a great selection of the violet-blue stone.

“An-gee-lo!” he would cry, greeting us with a flash of white teeth, “How is the biz-zy-ness? Good?” Nearly every dealer asks their clients this, because it is the business of the retailer that keeps the wholesaler afloat.

One year we needed tanzanite, and my dad told me to go ahead and select a stone or two while he and Balu dickered over a parcel of sapphires. My head swelled with pride as I picked up the case containing the finest tanzanite in Balu’s stand. There were stones in that case that were as big as golfballs- huge cushion-cut beauties seeping liquid blue fire onto the white velvet beneath them.

I was fifteen that year- a two year veteran of the jewelry industry. Although young, I knew my stones and bascially how to handle them. But I was still a kid, after all. For some inexplicable reason, I picked up a pair of tweezers to handle the tanzanites.

Now, tweezers are designed for smaller stones. Like a tiny pair of fingers, the fine metal tips can grasp a stone as small as 0.05mm in diameter. Tweezers are not meant for heavy, rounded stones as big as shooter marbles. These can be easily picked up with hands, and cleaned of any fingerprints.

The stone that I had my eye on was the third largest in the little velvet case. It had a deep seat, a high table, and plenty of rich color. The tweezers didn’t even fit around the stone! Glancing at my dad and Balu, I ascertained that they were still haggling over the sapphires. I would make my dad proud by picking the nicest tanzanite in the whole gem show! Slipping my finger in between the tweezer tines, I stretched them open far enough to fit around the stone…

Now picture this in your head: a large, highly polished, rather heavy, slippery gemstone with rounded edges. A pair of stainless steel tweezers, bent just beyond their normal capacity, tenuously gripping the slippery edges… a little fumble of the uncertain hand holding the tweezers and- POP! Twenty carats of violet-blue gemstone go skittering forcefully across the aluminum edged glass showcase.

Now, tanzanite is a softer stone. It has the same Mohs hardness as glass, actually. It hit the glass with a dreadful snickety-click sound that I will never forget. Then it bounced a bit, skittered, hit the extruded aluminum edging, and was headed for the precipice when a quick hand, practiced many years ago at playing baseball, caught the stone.

I was petrified with fear and embarrassment. I looked up at my dad, got the gimlet eye, and gulped. Without a word, he took the tweezers out of my hand and laid them on the edge of the case. At the slight gasping sound coming from my right, I turned and glanced at Balu- the poor guy was standing very rigidly, his Adam’s apple bulging in his dark little neck.

“How much was that one?” I asked, stupidly trying to diffuse the situation.

Balu’s voice was pinched a little, but still very friendly, “Twen-ty-five tousand dollars.”

My dad looked at me in some disgust, “What are you looking at stones that expensive for?” he waved a hand at a display containing disappointingly smaller gems, “This is more like reality, kid.”

“Oh.” I looked at the stones in our price range. These ones were small enough to fit in the tweezers, unfortunately. I sludged through the stones, finally selecting three that I liked and could visualize settings for. My dad pared my selections down to just one stone, but he did buy it, and Balu never seemed to think any less of me for my mistake. If something had happened to that stone, I don’t know if we could have afforded to pay for it then. It probably was purchased and set into some wonderful necklace, surrounded by diamonds. The owner will probably never know how close that piece came to being a hole in one.