Keep or Weep?

As David Morris, 16, of Cuyahoga Falls, Ohio, leaned over a low shelf in his bedroom closet, a ring slipped off his finger and rolled into a crack near a loose board. Casually, David yanked up the board, retrieved the ring--and spotted a dusty, brown paperboard suitcase. The youngster opened it and discovered that it was crammed with mon ey. Clutching fistfuls of bills, David raced to his mother's room. Mrs. Har riet Morris, who at that moment had $1.35 in her pocketbook, $1 in a savings account and $2 in a checking account, called the police. The cops stacked the old bills into a pile totaling $21,259.

Treasure-Trove. Under the law, Mrs. Morris had a clear obligation to report her son's haul. And it was far from clear last week that the Morrises will be allowed to keep the cash. The "finders keepers, losers weepers" rule of thumb dates back to a celebrated case in 1722 when a British court held that a chimney sweep could keep a jewel he had found in a sooty flue. But over the years, specific exceptions to the old saying have been spelled out in an effort to clarify conflicts over accidentally discovered loot. Though practices vary widely, the legal distinctions are based mainly on the way the article was lost and on where it was found.

According to most state laws, unidentified lost valuables become the property of the finder unless the actual owner can prove his case within a specified length of time. In a separate category are "misplaced" riches--money or valuables that have been intentionally stashed away and then forgotten. The majority of states have ruled that these belong to the owner of the property on which they are discovered.

The legendary "treasure-trove" is in a class by itself. Originally limited to gold, silver and gems, it has been broadened by modern law to include paper money. An authentic treasure-trove must be buried beneath the earth by a person intending to come back and dig it up--Jean Lafitte, say, or Henry Morgan. If the original owner never reappears, the treasure belongs to the finder even if the cache is unearthed on someone else's property. If the treasure is dug up on federal land, the authorities take it all.

Uncle Joe. Since Mrs. Morris' find was made above ground on private property, the Government does not challenge her claim. But there is no shortage of disputants. Her landlord, Thomas Locascio, maintains that he owns the money, since it went with the $7,000, five-room frame house when he bought it from Nunzio Calcagno in 1962. Calcagno, who now lives in California, has filed a suit claiming that the cash belongs to him; tucked among the bills were envelopes bearing the name of his dead uncle Joseph. Arguing that the money was only misplaced, not lost, Calcagno said that Uncle Joe on his deathbed warned against selling the building because "the house is rich." Summit County has slapped a lien on the loot, claiming that Uncle Joe--whatever his true worth--had received $175 in county welfare payments.

Mrs. Morris may have to wait months along with the other claimants, before the courts decide who shall keep, who shall weep. At the moment, though, she is slightly richer from David's discovery. Mrs. Morris found a dime in the back of the police car that took her home after the cops had deposited the $21,259. They let her keep it.

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