Essay #1

During the summer before ninth grade, we had a Monte Carlo night activity at Echo Hill Camp. We played games like blackjack and poker, striving with one another to win fake paper bills that we could trade in for candy, soda, and whatnot. Everyone had a good time, but afterward, the money lost its value. People scattered bills on the ground, creating an environment reminiscent of Weimar Germany, when the value of the mark plummeted. When I saw piles of paper dollars lying in the dirt, I had an idea.

I stuffed bills in my pockets and gathered even more in my arms. By the time I got back to the tent, I had between 50 and 100 bills. Not a lot, but enough for what I was planning.

I walked between the tents, distributing dollars to anyone who would take them. I kept 20 or so bills for myself. Next, I rummaged through my trunk, which was full of dirty clothes, to find anything I could use to back up the bills’ value. Duct tape, no. . . a box of tea, no. . . Bingo! I found a bag of bright yellow, pink, and blue Japanese candy that my parents had sent me. I announced that I would trade candy for bills, and within minutes, kids started streaming in to buy it. Soon, other people began advertising their own Smarties, Snickers, and Swedish Fish. Within an hour, campers started little cottage industries, selling duct-tape wallets and swords made from bug-net poles for money.

I felt proud of what I had done. Just like that, I had created a tiny economy. Kids hawked wares from their tents, and the bustling commerce made the camp feel like a bazaar. I, who had the most money, was at the center of it all. My stash of candy and bills acted like a pocket-sized federal reserve. I could contract or expand the money supply by buying or selling bills. I felt intoxicated with power! I dreamt of expanding the system with loans, taxes, and a stock market.

Sadly, I learned pretty quickly that a homegrown economy comes with homegrown problems. Within a few days, reports started flooding in of older campers mugging younger kids. Customers claimed vendors had cheated them. Gambling dens even popped up in some tents. Echo Hill was turning into Lord of the Flies. The administrators eventually found out and made me shut everything down. My booming economy ground to a halt.

After Monte Carlo night, I had seen value in those little paper bills that no one else recognized. With them, I was able to build something wonderful, even if it was ultimately ephemeral. I also learned a lesson that day, similar to the one Spiderman learned: “With great power comes great responsibility.” Making a test-tube economy had been a noble experiment, but I hadn’t considered the consequences. Since learning this lesson, I have tried to weigh all possible outcomes before assuming any plan I come up with will work.

As I watched kids flock to the recycling bins in droves to throw out their money, I reflected on what had happened. My plan had in many ways been genuinely sound. I had found importance in the seemingly insignificant bills and created something new. As anyone who has studied history knows, however, good results don’t always follow good intentions. My idea was meant to bring prosperity, but it resulted in mayhem. Although this event was disappointing, it did not discourage me from exploring economics. Instead, I decided to study the subject even more, so I could discover what went wrong and why. With the knowledge I gain in my studies, I hope that one day I can pick up where I left off at Echo Hill, but on bigger scales, with more sustainable plans, and with real dollars rather than fake ones.