Alonda Emery can’t figure out what she’d call that thing sitting in the corner of her place of employment, the Flameburger in Little Canada. For all of her 42 years, she’s known the machines as penny presses. But what will she call it if nobody has any pennies for the machine to munch between its gears and make into souvenirs? Or, worse, if her boss converts it to accept higher denominations?
“Who wants to call it the nickel press?” she said.
In February, President Donald Trump signed the penny’s death warrant, with an order to cease production of a coin that costs almost four times more to make than it’s worth.
The government minted its last penny in November. Businesses will figure out which way to round change. Future parents will explain strange idioms to future kids (“A defunct 1-cent coin for your thoughts”?). But the pressed penny — a quintessential childhood treat — will forever be altered.
Makers of the penny-smashing machines, including the Little Penny Press Machine Co. in Little Canada, are betting people will instead use quarters or nickels. Or pay a little extra for penny-sized copper disks. And with an estimated 300 billion pennies still in circulation, they will live on at least a little longer. But Emery is already in mourning.
“I think about my future grandkids, and they’re not going to grow up knowing what pennies are. Or doing that,” Emery said, pointing to the machine in the corner that imprints pennies with hamburgers and pancakes.
Two miles northeast of Flameburger, Brian Peters has been waiting for the penny to die. For someone who’s built his career atop the humble coin, he’s calm about its impending disappearance.
Peters’ Penny Press Machine Co. is one of about a half-dozen manufacturers of the contraptions that smoosh designs into pennies scrounged from the pockets of vacationing parents. He’s been preparing for the penny armageddon for a decade, he said.