Fun: The $95,093.35 Adventure



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Author	Fun: The $95,093.35 Adventure (Read 7256 times)
Bolkonskij Administrator 1024 MB Posts: 2023	on: October 09, 2021, 16:59 Patrick Combs website has been off for many years something recently happened that reminded me of his incredible adventure when depositing a Junk Mail Check. I'm posting and preserving the whole thing here. Read it, it's good stuff :-) Depositing the Junk Mail Check On May 19, 1995, I was one of thousands of people around the country who received a 'junk mail' letter touting a get-rich-quick method for making $95,093.35 in just three weeks. That letter also came with a sample check for the same amount--$95,093.35. Everything about the check looked real except for the words "non-negotiable for cash" printed in the top right-hand corner. I look at the check and think, My God, it looks so real. The letter reads, "Patrick Combs, I expected to hear from you by now. Take a close look at the check above. It's just a sample of the money you could be receiving by now." I think, sample? Like a cookie sample at Mrs. Fields - it's a real cookie, but it's just a sample. The letter went on: "We took in that amount in just three weeks. Other mailboxes have also made hundreds of thousands of dollars. In fact, your mail box, at 326 Howard Street, could soon be stuffed full of checks in varying amounts and free merchandise. Now I've written to you several times before about an exciting new money making opportunity. The one that said, 95,093.35 in just three weeks. The same one that was featured on TV! And frankly, I'm surprised I haven't heard from you yet. Patrick, I know what you must be thinking, "Is this for real?" Let me assure you, it is very real." That's all I needed to know to take this check and deposit it into my ATM. Now, I didn't believe it was a real check, but it was fun, like putting Monopoly money into the bank. And I knew my bank would never cash the check, especially since I didn't even sign the back. I walked home, picturing a bank teller opening my deposit envelope and chuckling at the sight of the ridiculously large, and obviously bogus check. I fully expected that on Monday morning someone from my bank would call and say, "Mr. Combs, the check you deposited on Friday wasn't real." On Monday when they didn't call, I figured they were mailing the check back to me and I forgot about the whole thing. Then two days later, while I was withdrawing $40, my ATM produced a receipt that told me my balance was over one hundred thousand dollars. Suddenly I remembered the $95,093.35 deposit. I walked briskly and excitedly home. As soon as I got in, I called a friend and told him what had happened. He made a quick phone call to his own bank and called me back. "It's standard policy to credit your account for any amount you deposit, but it's only a credit. You can't touch the money unless the check clears." Of course. It was just a matter of days before the bank would erase the credit and return my account to a mere $5,000. On each of the next two days, I called my bank for my account balance. It remained over a hundred grand. Friday morning, I again called for my account balance. Still no change. Curiosity kicked in. I went to my bank, a branch of First Interstate, approached a teller, and posed this question: "If I need a cashier's check for $70,000 later this afternoon, do I have the funds available?" The teller typed my account number into her computer. "Yes," she said, "the money is available." I got out of the bank fast. I felt supercharged with possibility and shock. From that moment until the next Wednesday, when I boarded a plane for a four-day career-counseling conference in Orlando (I make my living as an author and speaker addressing career success), $95,093.35 was available for withdrawal from my account. My close friends and I contemplated, for fun, all the possibilities a hundred grand afforded. "To leave the country or not to leave: that is the question." I knew that the money was going to be taken out of my account, and each day I figured it would happen tomorrow. I boarded my flight to Orlando confident--and glad, really--that in all likelihood, the money would be gone upon my return. It had already possessed my thoughts for a week. On Monday, the day after my return, I called for my account balance. Five thousand and something dollars was what I expected to hear. What I did hear was over $100,000. What was happening? Two weeks and that money was still sitting in my account. "It will be gone tomorrow," I kept telling myself for the next five days. Then on Friday, exactly three weeks since I had deposited the sample check, I again returned to the bank. I approached a bank teller at the special Customer Service window, and I sternly stated, "I recently deposited $95,000 and I don't want to spend any of the money if there is the possibility of the check being returned. How long should I wait?" The teller keyed in my account number. Then she said, "$95,093.35 was deposited on May 21. You're safe to spend that money now because that check can no longer be returned. Depositors are protected by a law that says checks cannot be returned after ten business days." I couldn't believe my ears. I couldn't believe my luck. I couldn't believe what was happening. On my way out of the bank, I grabbed every brochure and pamphlet that vaguely implied it might contain the law she had just referenced, and I went home and read voraciously. My reading didn't reveal the law I was looking for. Quickly I learned that bank brochures don't tell you your rights; they tell you all the bank's rights. At the end of one of the brochures, however, I found a reference that said, "For more information, contact the Office of Thrift Supervision (O.T.S)." I called the O.T.S. and a man answered the phone. I gave my first name only and gave him a quick synopsis. He treated my story with a cool intrigue. He told me that the ten-day law the teller had mentioned was known as the "Midnight Deadline." But he suggested that the more important legal question had to do with "negotiability." He wondered if the check I deposited was a true negotiable instrument. He said, "The banking law book, Brady's, has specific criteria that a check has to match in order to qualify as a legal negotiable instrument. I'm not sure what they are, but if the check you deposited was actually a negotiable instrument, that would explain why your bank passed it." Within three hours, I was on my way to the Hastings Law Library and to the book Brady on Bank Checks: The Law of Bank Checks by Henry Bailey and Richard Hagedorn. Soon I knew why law students always looked so beat and tired. I didn't know how I was going to find anything in the monstrous tome in front of me. Then my eyes caught sight of a small, pocket-sized book titled Negotiable Instruments and Check Collection, a guide for laymen. And plain as day, it listed the nine criteria for a negotiable instrument. Read for yourself what I read, and I believe you'll yell out loud just as I did when I came to the very last word: "1. Must be in writing. 2. Signed by maker or drawer. 3. Promise or order....A check usually meets the requirement because the drawee's name is printed and encoded on the face of the instrument. 4. Unconditional.... 5. Order to pay money. 6. Must be a fixed amount. 7. Payable on demand or at a definite time.... 8. Payable to order or to bearer.... 9. No other undertaking or instruction. The final requirement of negotiability is that beyond the maker's order...the instrument must not contain 'any other undertaking or instruction'....The opposite issue is whether or not the parties can use a form that is a negotiable instrument and avoid negotiability by declaring, on the instrument, that it is not negotiable. The answer is yes, except for a check." The get-rich-quick company had accidentally designed a real check, and I had deposited it!
Last Edit: October 09, 2021, 17:01 by Bolkonskij
Bolkonskij Administrator 1024 MB Posts: 2023	Reply #1 on: October 09, 2021, 17:00 Part II: Getting a Cashier's Check I called my brother and asked him what to do. We both agreed that, law or no law, someone would be coming for the money. My brother suggested that I get the entire amount in cash and put it in a safe-deposit box at my bank. "Why?" I asked. "Picture walking into the vault, going behind the curtain, and opening a box filled with $95,000 cash. It'll be fun to look at. How many times in your life are you going to have $95,000 cash in a safe-deposit box?" I liked the idea. It seemed as though it couldn't hurt, since the money would never leave my bank. I asked a teller if the bank could get me a hundred thousand dollars in cash if I needed it. The teller broke out in a chuckle and said, "Nobody's ever done that in the fifteen years I've been working." "But if I wanted to, can you get me that much cash?" The teller chuckled again, this time with a touch of nervousness, and she replied, "We'd have to tell the IRS and order it four days in advance. But nobody's ever done that." "You'd have to order it four days in advance and notify the IRS?" "Yes, because we don't keep that much cash on hand. The largest bill in circulation now is the $100 bill; there are no more $500 bills. And we have to report any cash withdrawals in excess of $10,000." Five First Interstate branches later, I'd learned that no safe-deposit boxes were available that were big enough to hold that much cash in $100 bills. Later that day I began contemplating just how much money $95,000 was, and I arrived at this: one thousand dollars a month for eight years. The next day, June 13, I woke up and decided that if I couldn't look at cash, it would be almost as fun to look at a cashier's check. I got in my car and drove to the California Street office of First Interstate, because it is the bank's showcase branch--cathedral ceilings, marble floors, towering columns, and gold trim--located in the heart of San Francisco's skyscraper district. First, I approached the Customer Service window and filled out the form for a small, fifty-dollar-per-year safe-deposit box. Then I went to a teller's window. I didn't want to say $95,093.35 out loud; it felt scary. So I asked the teller for a piece of paper. I wrote $95,093.35 on it, passed it to her, and said, "I'd like to get this amount in a cashier's check." Without saying a word, she began moving quickly to grab papers and forms. Then she rushed out these words: "You need to write me a check for the same amount." She seemed bothered. I understood and began to write out the check. Suddenly I was daunted by having to write out $95,093.35. I had never written it out in words before and I wasn't sure I'd be able to get it to fit on the line: ninety-five thousand ninety-three dollars and thirty-five cents. That was the biggest number I'd ever written into the suddenly small space on a check. It took her only two minutes to prepare the cashier's check. It seemed like twenty. Her manager approved it, and she slid it across the counter to me. I put my hand on it to take it, but she didn't let go. She looked me in the eye and said, "What are you going to do with this money?" I answered instantly, and slowly, "I don't know." Still holding the check, she said, "Are you going to invest it?" "No," I replied. "Would you like to speak with one of our investment counselors right now? They can suggest excellent uses for the money." Finally, I understood why she'd been short with me during the entire transaction. Banks get upset when you withdraw a lot of money from them. "No, thank you," I said. I walked straight back to Customer Service and was escorted into the vault. The bank teller slid my box out and pointed me to the curtain I could go behind for privacy. "No need," I said, and I slipped the folded check out of my jeans pocket and into the metal container. The minute I stepped out of my bank and onto the street just below the TransAmerica Pyramid Tower, my blood raced with the strangest feeling: like I was ten feet taller, twice as fast, and suddenly capable of super powers. As I headed to my car, I slipped the ninety-five thousand ninety-three dollar and thirty-five cent safe-deposit box key onto my key ring.
Last Edit: October 09, 2021, 17:08 by Bolkonskij
Bolkonskij Administrator 1024 MB Posts: 2023	Reply #2 on: October 09, 2021, 17:01 Part III: The Day They Noticed $95,093.35 Missing One week after I put the cashier's check into the safe-deposit box--and thirty-three days after I had deposited the junk mail check--three people from my bank called. They flooded my voice mail with messages that said it was "very important" and "very urgent" that I return their calls "as soon as possible." One of the calls was from my branch office, one from the bank's Los Angeles headquarters, and one from an officer in the security department. That evening I put my bank card into an ATM to get some cash for dinner. The ATM ate my card, and on the screen green words glowed: "Card Confiscated. Contact Your Branch Office." The next morning, I was up at 5:30 a.m. to catch a flight to New York, to begin a three-week vacation I had scheduled over a month ago, before The Check. My flight had a short stopover in Seattle at about 10:00 a.m., and I used the time to return the first of the bank's calls. I decided to return them in the order that they had been received, so first I called Jerry Jarvis, the person from my branch office. (All the conversations in this book are recounted as I recalled them shortly afterward. They are not verbatim. Furthermore, in most cases I have changed people's names; I did not wish to disturb people's privacy by publishing their names here.) I began, "I'm calling for Jerry Jarvis." The operator at First Interstate replied, "I'm sorry, he's not in today. Can I take a message?" "Yes, please tell him Patrick Combs called." "OH! Hold a second, please." A different woman began speaking to me. "You got a cashier's check from us for $93,095.35 that we need back. Can you bring me the cashier's check today?" I asked, "With whom am I speaking?" "This is Sharon from Customer Service." "Sharon who?" "Sharon Kempner." I persisted, "And what is your title, Sharon?" "Customer Service Manager. Can you bring me that check?" Her voice was rising. "I can't. I'm in Boston till July 6." She asked, "Where is the check?" "It's in a safe-deposit box." "Does someone else have a key?" "No," I said. "When do you come back?" "July 6. I can give you the money then. Sharon, how did this matter come to your attention?" She replied, "The check came back 'insufficient funds.'" "I was worried it might, but I was told at some point by a First Interstate Manager that by law it could no longer be returned." She said, "Well, that's wrong. It can come back for a full year. I'd like to know who told you that. Do you remember who it was?" "No." "What kind of check is this?" I replied, "Have you seen the check?" "Yes, I'm holding it in my hand." "It's a junk-mail check." She said, "I thought that's what it was. Why did you deposit this check? It clearly has the words 'non-negotiable' marked across the top right edge of the check. I don't know why you deposited this check. Were you just experimenting?" "I don't know. How do you think this happened, that it was accepted by three banks?" Crisply she said, "I don't know, but you need to give the cashier's check back. You shouldn't have done this." "I'll give it back to you when I return. I just can't understand how this happened." Our phone call ended politely, with her seemingly satisfied that I was going to bring the money back. It was time to board my plane again, but I had another stopover in Chicago. I used that stop to return the next two calls. First, I called Frances at the bank's L.A. headquarters. This conversation was very brief. She said she'd heard that everything was OK, that I was going to give back the money. I got her full name and title, although she did not like giving it to me: Frances Ferrera, Branch Operations Support. Apparently, she had become involved because someone called her and asked her for the "official bank policy and procedure" for what to do when a bank accidentally cashes a check $95,093.35 with the words "non-negotiable" on the front. Then it was time to call Robert Gage, First Interstate Security Officer. He took my call right away. (It's funny how you don't have to wend your way through your bank's time-wasting voice-mail systems when you've got a major chunk of their change.) Robert was an older man with a very gruff cop's voice. He was not a happy camper. Immediately he informed me that he was "on the case" and he wanted the cashier's check NOW. When I asked him how he thought this could have happened, he let me know loudly that he didn't care a bit WHY First Interstate Bank would have cashed a junk-mail check, because this was a matter of fraud. He'd heard I was out of town, so he proceeded to drill me with possible ways to get the check back immediately. He said, "Can you fly back to return the check right now?" "No, sir." "Then could someone else open the box?" "No, sir. I'm the only one on the signature card." "Will you give me permission to drill the box?" "No, sir." "So you won't cooperate!" I replied, "Yes, I will. As soon as I get back on July 6." "Why won't you give me permission to drill the box?" "Because it would be irresponsible of me. You say you're from First Interstate Bank and that the check was returned, but I haven't received anything in writing. I feel responsible for the money now, and I feel I should receive an official letter from my bank." Now things really got heated. He shouted, "You're not getting any letter! This phone call is all you're getting, and it's all I have to give you! You committed check fraud when you got a cashier's check for money you knew wasn't yours. And this isn't about $100 or $10,000. We're talking about $100,000 dollars! Almost $100,000. If you don't return that money, what you're going to get is policemen at your door! Now will you give me permission to drill the box?" "No, sir." But he lightened up a lot when I told him, "I have not spent, nor do I intend to spend, a cent of that money. And I have no intention of keeping money that doesn't belong to me." As a matter of fact, it warmed him up so much that he said if I would agree to call him on July 6, the minute I got home, no matter what the hour (he gave me his home number and his pager number), then he wouldn't take further action. He also said he'd comply with my request to unfreeze my bank account so that checks I had written wouldn't bounce. That conversation left my mind racing for days.
Last Edit: October 09, 2021, 17:08 by Bolkonskij
Bolkonskij Administrator 1024 MB Posts: 2023	Reply #3 on: October 09, 2021, 17:03 Part IV: Learning My Rights I arrived in New York, still quite shaken from the telephone call with the security officer. The words "fraud," "policemen," and "not willing to cooperate" kept echoing in my head. I decided it was time to learn my rights. After a few quick phone calls to law schools, I had a list of Bay Area lawyers who specialized in banking and checks. I decided to call Manuel Fields first because of his specialty, check fraud. I told Manuel my first name and asked him if I could tell him my situation to determine whether or not I needed a lawyer. "Sure," he said. I told him the entire story, without mentioning the amount of the junk-mail check. He laughed a bit and asked, "Exactly how much was this check for?" I was hesitant to tell a lawyer the amount, but I knew I couldn't lie. I said, "$95,093.35." For what seemed like a full minute, all I heard on the other end of the line was a man laughing very, very hard. "I'm sorry," he said after he finished. "I've just never heard of anything like this." Manuel informed me of the following: * According to Commercial Paper Law, the money was now legally mine, because all checks are first assumed to be valid, and the way a bank invalidates a check is by serving the depositor with a timely notice of dishonor. Considering that it had taken my bank 33 days to tell me my check had been returned, he did not think they had dishonored the check in time. * Fraudulent checks are a different matter--but he said, "Since you deposited the check thinking there was no chance it would cash, and without even endorsing it, you did not commit fraud." * Getting the cashier's check was also not an act of fraud, since the bank had previously assured me the check could no longer be returned. * There are two practices of law as seen through the eyes of a court: 1) Black letter of law, where the court rules strictly by the law (under which I would be awarded the money), and 2) Chancery Courts, also known as Courts of Compassion, where the court disregards the law when it is deemed nonsensical. Manuel said, "A court could easily disregard the law and give the money back to the bank, because you really have no claim to this money in an equitable sense of the law." And then he added, "And when it's an individual vs. a bank, I'm sorry to say that courts usually side with the bank." We agreed to speak again the next day. When I called him back, I continued to protect my anonymity by giving my first name only. It all felt spy-like. I spoke very little and listened carefully. This time Manuel had these comments to add: * I definitely didn't commit fraud because I didn't consummate an act of fraud; I had not cashed the check. But it could be perceived that I attempted to defraud the bank. Proving I had not would require a legal deposition that detailed what I was thinking when I made the deposit and what expectations I had about what I would do if the money showed up in my account. * The burning question now for legal purposes was, "Where did the money come from?" He said he presumed that the bank where the get-rich-quick company had its account was now minus $95,093.35. That bank was in Ohio, and he said that this bank would have to eat its loss if it had not sent the check back to my bank on time. We ended the conversation with no plans to speak again. The next part of my vacation was at my brother's home in Boston. It was a two-week family get-together which included my mother and my godson. Everyone thought the story of the junk mail check was amusing except Mom. It weighed on her. She worried that the bank would get meaner and meaner, and that they might try to throw me in jail. Nevertheless, my mother helped me considerably. I had requested a photocopy of the junk mail check from my bank, because I had forgotten what it had looked like and wanted to be very clear about what was on it and what wasn't. Instead, First Interstate had sent me a photocopy of someone else's $67.42 check. I was upset because I knew I would have to speak with Robert Gage, the security officer who had threatened me, in order to get the error corrected. But Mom said, "Patrick, you don't have to speak to a security officer about this. Call the President of the bank. Haven't I taught you to deal with VIPs? They're the ones with true power." So I did. I picked up the phone and tried to reach the President of First Interstate Bank, while my mother sat beside me, giving me strength. It took many phone calls just to find out the name and phone number of the President, Bill Siart, and when I did ask for him, I was told that the Consumer Affairs Department was as close as I could get. I reached the Manager of the department and said, "I have a problem with my branch office and I'm looking for help. I want to resolve this amicably, without a lawyer, but I'm having a lot of trouble speaking with anyone who wants to help me handle this fairly." Instantly the Manager became helpful. I requested a photocopy of the front and the back of the check I had deposited, and an official letter from the bank explaining what had happened and how the error had occurred. I told her that Robert Gage in Security had denied me just such a letter. She recognized Gage as someone high up in Security, and she assured me that she would call him to see if I could get such a letter. She lived up to her promise, because the next day Robert Gage faxed me the things I had requested. What arrived by fax was a surprise. It was incredible to see the front and back of the check. I had forgotten just how real the bogus check looked. This was the first time that I could confirm that the check in fact matched all nine criteria for a negotiable instrument. But what surprised me more was the "official letter" from my bank. What came out of the fax machine wasn't a letter from my bank at all, but a memo from First Chicago Bank dated June 5. It was my first piece of the puzzle of how this whole thing could have happened. (https://images.macintosh.garden/2021/10/09/chicago.gif) The memo, which had the amount of my check on one line and the word "non-negotiable" circled on another, had a name and phone number for an Account Adjuster on it. I decided to call him. (As my brother says, "More information is always good.") I reached Edwin Mickley, the man who had written the memo. I told him who I was and why I was calling. He explained that the memo I now possessed was the notice of dishonor that he had sent to my bank about the $95,093.35 check. On the same day that he sent the memo, his bank also reclaimed $95,093.35 from my bank. "So MY bank is out the money?" I asked. "Yes," he said. "All the other banks involved have recovered their money." Suddenly it dawned on me: this memo was dated June 5. That's the day my bank learned that the check had been dishonored. Why had First Interstate waited until June 21 to notify me of the problem--especially since, by law, they were supposed to notify me by midnight of June 6? No doubt about it now, my bank had made a big mistake. And they had faxed me a memo to prove it. At the end of the conversation, Edwin did me another big favor. He obliged my request for the names of the other banks involved. He didn't even mind telling me whom I should talk with and what item number I should reference. I called the other banks involved and soon learned the details of the entire fiasco. I had deposited the check on Friday, May 19. On Monday, May 21, it was overlooked by my bank and sent onto the bank in Chicago that was acting as a clearinghouse. It was again overlooked there. The next day, on May 22, it was sent to the Federal Reserve Bank in Cleveland, and this bank rejected the check, calling it a "non-cash" item. (Take note that the Federal Reserve Bank rejected the check within 48 hours after it left my bank.) The check was then routed to the get-rich-quick company's bank in Cleveland. The Cleveland bank says it sent a notice of dishonor immediately to the bank in Chicago. I cannot confirm when the Cleveland bank actually sent its notice of dishonor, but I do know that the bank in Chicago sent my bank a notice of dishonor on June 5. I've read that bank computers are programmed to pay special attention to checks over $500. Then why would any bank delay attending to a dishonored $95,093.35 check with the words "non-negotiable" on the face? Especially when it knows that it has a midnight deadline to meet--and that missing that deadline would mean losing that $95,000. I made this entry in my journal: "The bank knows they made a big mistake, but instead of calling me and explaining their mistake, they called and bullied me with scare tactics, 'banking' on my being ignorant and fearful. Apparently, they feel they're powerful enough to avoid admitting to their mistakes and powerful enough to deny me even the right to fair treatment, refusing even to send me a letter about this. I don't think they're that powerful."
Last Edit: October 09, 2021, 17:09 by Bolkonskij
Bolkonskij Administrator 1024 MB Posts: 2023	Reply #4 on: October 09, 2021, 17:07 Part V: Beating Fear! July 6 arrived. I had an obligation to call Robert Gage at First Interstate Bank Security. But I had not returned to San Francisco as I'd originally planned--and I was not planning on giving the money back when I did return. It was the hardest phone call I've ever made in my life. I put it off all day, until 10:30 at night. Then it took me a full hour to psyche myself up enough to be ready. My godson, a twenty-two-year-old college senior, and my mother sat across the dining room table in silent support. The last thought in my mind before picking up the phone was this self-test: Was this call worth being falsely accused of a crime, and possibly facing criminal charges? I could just say, "I'm going to give you the money back." But deep down, I wanted to stand up for myself. I picked up the phone and paged him. Then I sat and waited for him to call back. I hated the waiting. I was scared to death. It went painfully slowly. Then the phone rang. I looked into my godson's eyes, then into my mother's. I picked up the phone. "Hello?" "Robert Gage here." I said to him, "I called you back as I promised. I'm extending my stay in Boston. And I need to inform you that upon my return, I don't intend to give the money back, unless we reach a different agreement. I'm going to explain why. I've received no official notices from First Interstate making a legal claim to the money. And no one has explained to me why I should give it back. Everyone, except you, has advised me that the money is legally mine. I was told by a First Interstate teller that the check money was safe to spend because a law protected me from the check coming back after ten days. I've been advised that, according to commercial paper law, the money became mine when First Interstate didn't serve me with a timely notice of dishonor. I've also been advised that a check is not made non-negotiable by printing the words 'non-negotiable' on the front. "Now, unless we reach some other agreement, I intend to keep the money." I had imagined that he would explode as soon as he heard that I was going to keep the money, and that he would say, "I'm putting a warrant out for your arrest. We can talk in court." But he didn't. Instead, he said in a pleasant tone of voice, "Where do we go from here?" I started speaking again. He listened, only trying lightly to cut in, but quickly turning back when I continued to speak without pause. I said, "I'm upset and I'll tell you why. I've been a customer of First Interstate for over ten years, and instead of calling me and treating me like a long-time customer, you treated me like a criminal.You chose to freeze my account, even when you knew the money in question was not in my bank account. An ATM machine confiscated my ATM card and, as a result, any time I've wanted to do anything on my vacation, I've had to borrow money from my friends and family. It's humiliating. "Then, after you gave me your word that you'd correct the freeze on my account, an ATM machine ate the bank card my mother uses. She uses that card to get medicine and food money from my account. It has left her worrying that her son is in financial trouble. "You promised me documentation of insufficient funds, and instead I got some memo from another bank." When I finished, Robert explained several things, all with the utmost respect: First, in sending me the memo from the Chicago bank, he had thought he was giving me the notice I wanted, straight from the horse's mouth. Second, he had promised to make sure that none of my checks would bounce, and he had kept his word, but he had had no idea that my ATM cards had been confiscated. That, he said, had been done through a separate department. He promised that he would inquire about the status of the cards and try to get them replaced. He could not promise to issue new cards, however, because the bank did have the legal right to confiscate ATM cards and freeze my account. Third, he apologetically promised to have an official letter drafted by a bank manager or lawyer that would explain the bank's legal claim to the $95,000. He also promised to fax the letter to me in Boston. Then, politely, he tried to explain away all of the legal claims I had made to the money. He told me that he appreciated my quoting laws from Brady's on Bank Checks, because that was the same law book he used. But he insisted that none of the laws I had quoted applied, because what I had deposited was not a check, but only an advertisement. He added, "It's the people who make these checks who should go to jail because they are the ones trying to mislead people." I heartily agreed. "It had looked like a real check to me." Then I informed him once again of what a First Interstate teller had told me: that legally, after ten business days, the bank could no longer ask for its $95,000 back. He said, "You need to understand that tellers are part-time workers who don't know banking laws and who don't speak officially for the bank." I replied, "You need to understand that as a customer I thought they did." He said he understood. I asked, "Weren't you surprised at how long it took for this check to be returned?" "No, because these checks are routed out of state. That can take a long time. The check was dishonored when it reached Chicago." (I wondered why that should take thirty-three days, but I chose not to raise the issue right then.) He also explained that the check didn't even have a complete set of routing numbers on it, which was why it didn't get past Chicago. I told him that before the whole junk check incident began, I had thought the words "non-negotiable" on a check had meant "can't change the amount of dollars and cents." He agreed that it would mean the same thing to him if he didn't know the lingo. Then I said, "I was told that the check had come back because of insufficient funds, but evidently that wasn't the case at all." "That's right." He said that I'd been misinformed--that the check had in fact come back as "non-negotiable," which meant that it wasn't a check at all. That, he said, was very different from insufficient funds, which meant that a check was legitimate but the account didn't have the funds to cover it. He said the woman I spoke with probably made the error because most returned checks are sent back because of insufficient funds. In all, Robert and I spoke for nearly an hour. He remained absolutely and incredibly polite throughout. Time after time, I calmly and firmly reasserted my rights, and then he politely tried to explain why I had none. To my surprise, he never made any requests of me. He didn't even demand to know when I would return to San Francisco. He kept returning to the two things he was going to do for me next. He never used the words "fraud" or "criminal." Three days later, I was in the Boston airport getting ready to fly back to San Francisco. My mother and I had been talking a bit about my plans for dealing with the money, and the conversation had made her stressed and weepy. When it was time for me to board the plane, she looked me in the eye and said, "Well, I won't tell you to not do things like this anymore, because when you stop taking risks, your life gets boring. Just keep saying your prayers, and I will, too." My mother said that. I thought about that the whole way home.

Bolkonskij Administrator 1024 MB Posts: 2023	Reply #5 on: October 09, 2021, 17:14 Part V: Henry Bailey After I returned to San Francisco, I didn't hear from First Interstate Bank. No phone calls and no letters. Each day I expected to receive an official letter from the bank, but nothing arrived. My curiosity drove me back to the law library. This time I was determined to read and understand the big book, Brady on Bank Checks: The Law of Bank Checks by Henry Bailey and Richard Hagedorn. And this time, determination (or coffee) made the difference, because I knew what I was reading. I was reading a lot of laws, in black and white, that gave me a legal right to the money. I photocopied like a madman. I copied the Midnight Law, Finality of Payment and court case rulings that held it illegal for a bank to cancel a cashier's check. Then, just before my brain went to mush and my photocopying change ran out, I read a footnote by the author regarding the law that makes the words "non-negotiable" meaningless on a check. The author wrote: "The only problem with this approach is the use of blank sample check forms that bear language such as 'void' or 'non-negotiable' or 'sample form' that is clearly intended to show that the particular sample or form is not intended as a valid check. Would potential liability exist if such a sample form is filled in without authority and passed to one who could take as a holder in due course? The 1990 provision might well be drafted to avoid such a possible problem." The author of Brady on Bank Checks had seen my situation coming! I had to tell him. I noted from the back of the book that both authors were once professors at Willamette University in Oregon. I called the university as soon as I got home. (I didn't even have to call Information for the number, because I had just recently given a speech there.) Only one of the authors, Richard Hagedorn, was still working there; the other had retired. I asked if I could speak with Mr. Hagedorn and was informed that he was on vacation for the week. My heart sunk. Then I got an idea. I said, "Is Henry enjoying his retirement?" "Yes he is," came the reply. "As a matter of fact, he still keeps in touch with us on occasion." I said, "I bet he stayed in the beautiful state of Oregon when he retired. I'm from Oregon myself." (This was true; I was born and raised there.) And the golden reply came back, "No, actually he retired to a small town just outside of Providence, Rhode Island." In no time at all, Directory Assistance was giving me a phone number for one Henry Bailey in Providence, Rhode Island. The phone rang 25 times before an elderly woman answered. I asked for Henry Bailey. She said, "Just a minute"--and then the connection was broken. I tried calling back right away, but there was no answer no matter how many times I let it ring. So I called again the next day--and after twenty or so rings, an elderly man answered--and was he gruff! I tried to explain the reason for my call, but he just kept firing angry questions at me. "Who is this? What are you calling about? Who are you? Are you a lawyer? Are you a banker? Are you with the press? Then why are you calling me? Finally, I was able to express that I was a 29-year-old consumer calling because I was in the middle of the very problem he had foreseen. Eventually my explanation began to sink in; when I mentioned the UCC code about the words "non-negotiable," he brightened up like a light. "Yes, I wrote about that problem in Brady and I published an article about it in Banking Law Journal. It was never like that in the 1962 code!" Our conversation progressed. I said, "I deposited an advertising check and..." He responded, "Well, it sounds like you weren't being very honorable." I tried again. "I deposited it because I thought my bank would never accept it, but they did." "Well, that doesn't necessarily make you a holder in due course. Did it have a name on it?" "Yes, sir, it had my name on it." "Your name!" he exclaimed. "Hmm....Well, did it have a signature on it?" "Yes, sir, an authorized signature and an account number." "It did! Well, these dummies deserve it! Was this check an advertisement?" I replied, "Yes! That's exactly what it was." With a pleased note in his voice, he said, "Oh, this sounds good. How much was it for?" "Ninety-five thousand." "Oh, this sounds really good! Well, when did the company call you?" I answered, "The company didn't call me, my bank did. They said the check was returned as a 'non-cash item.'" "When did you deposit the check, and when did your bank notify you?" "I deposited it on May 19 and my bank returned it on June 21." "Well, if your bank delayed that long, you have a legal claim to that money. Your bank has to meet a Midnight Deadline! You need to get a lawyer because that money is legally yours." And he began citing many court cases and reiterating that I needed to get a lawyer. At the end of our conversation, he said he was glad that I had called to tell him. It was an honor to speak with Henry Bailey. I greatly admire him for having seen this occurrence coming, and I appreciate his having co-written a law book so good that even I could understand it, although when I said that to him he said, "I didn't write it to be used by the layman, I wrote it to be used by bankers and lawyers." (Not only are they reading it Mr. Bailey, but so are Security Officers).

Bolkonskij Administrator 1024 MB Posts: 2023	Reply #6 on: October 09, 2021, 17:18 Part VI: The Wall Street Journal Somewhere along the line, a friend suggested that I had a national story for the media. The idea grew on me pretty fast. Everyone I told seemed to love the story. They'd put themselves into it and imagine what they would do under the same circumstances, testing their own ethics and values. The focus of the media story could be, "What would you do if you got a hundred thousand dollars by mistake?" I was excited at the thought of the media picking up the story--and at the potential recognition. As a writer and speaker, press coverage wasn't new to me. Nor was occasionally being recognized in public places by people I didn't know. But I'd never received widespread media attention, either for my first book or for my speaking engagements. Actually, I had gotten my fifteen minutes of national fame some years earlier--including extensive national press coverage and several TV appearances. The story behind that was every bit as strange as the one I was living through now. About six years ago I delivered a baby on the sidewalk. The story of the sidewalk birth was on my mind as I contemplated breaking the news about the junk mail check to the press. I tried to decide whether or not I was sitting on a national news story. The baby story was so clean--a good citizen story. The check story, on the other hand, could backfire on me. What if people associated me with fraud? As one of my friends jokingly put it, "I can just see the headline: 'Baby Deliverer Bilks Bank for $95,000.'" Part of me really did fear that a story about the junk check could ruin my career as an author and speaker. After three years of building that career, I was finally hitting my stride, and so long as I stayed out of trouble, it was only going to get better. How would it look if the author of Major in Success was being sued for bank fraud? But at the same time, I thought that the story could make waves--waves that would prohibit false checks from being sent in advertisements in the future. Waves that would improve the banking system. I found myself recalling the words of one of my college professors: "It's a rare opportunity to get to make or affect law in this country, but it does come knocking." I finally decided to call a newspaper. As for why, I can only tell you this: Deep down inside I felt like I hadn't done anything wrong. If people judged me differently, it would be because they're different people with different values. And perhaps I should add something else. Of the many lessons I learned from this adventure, one of the greatest was this: never let fear win. I decided to call the most prestigious newspaper in the country, The Wall Street Journal. It was July 13. I called Information and found that The Wall Street Journal had a San Francisco bureau. A woman answered the phone and I asked her if I could speak to a reporter who writes features, and explained I might have a great story for the paper. "What's your story?" she asked. Figuring that if I could sell her, she'd put me through to one of the reporters, I launched right into a brisk and upbeat telling of the story. Within 15 seconds, I could tell that I had her interested. When I finished, she said, "That's a great story! I'd love to write it. Hmmm...there's one consideration, though. If we run this story, there's going to be a lot of people who will try to copy what you did. Let me think about that, and I'll ask my editor if I can take this as an assignment. Call me tomorrow. I'm Lynn Hazelwood." I got off the phone feeling as if I had just been told that Christmas had been moved to tomorrow. But I couldn't stand the uncertainty. My mind flashed on Kenny Goldstein, a young man I had recently interviewed. He had gotten his dream job writing for a newspaper. He earned it by boldly walking into the Chicago Sun-Times--without an appointment--to locate an editor whose name he had seen that morning on the editorial page. When he found the editor, a feat in itself, he bravely pitched himself as a writer. He got the job, and that was all the inspiration I needed. So the next day, instead of calling her, I gathered my photocopies of the check and the pages from the law books, and jumped into my car. The San Francisco bureau of The Wall Street Journal is located in a skyscraper only one block from where my cashier's check was locked away. I went up the elevator to the eleventh floor and found myself right inside The Wall Street Journal's tiny little lobby. I asked the receptionist if I could speak to Lynn Hazelwood and told her my name. It didn't take long for Lynn to come walking around the corner. She looked friendly and extended her hand. Our interaction was brief. I gave her the small stack of photocopies, and explained that I was there in person to deliver them, so that she could see all the details of the story for herself. As I stood there, worried about whether she'd still be interested, she said, "This is a really fun story. I'm going to do it." This was music to my ears. I said, "Then I won't call The New York Times back." (Actually, I had put in a call to the Times as well, but it hadn't yet been returned.) "Don't talk to them. This is my story! I'm just waiting for our lawyers in New York to give me the OK on it. You don't want to give them this story. OK?" "OK," I said. I walked out of that skyscraper as if I were floating. Almost immediately, I began telling friends to watch for an article about me in The Wall Street Journal, which I told them would appear any day. The next day, I anxiously waited for Lynn to call me. I wondered if she would need to speak with me again or if she would just write up the story based on our earlier exchange. But she didn't call, and at the day's end I called her. She said, "I'm sorry I didn't call you. I haven't heard from the New York office yet. I've got to get on them. I'll call you tomorrow. I'm sure they'll approve it, so don't give this story to the Times, OK?" "OK," I replied. Patience is a virtue, I thought to myself. The next day was Friday. Several of my friends bought The Wall Street Journal, expecting to see my story. I knew it wasn't going to be there, and instead, I sat waiting for Lynn's call. It didn't come. By 3:00 p.m., I couldn't stand it and called her again. This time the receptionist informed me that Lynn had already gone home for the weekend. !@!* Monday morning came, and I called Lynn. She still hadn't heard back from New York, but she tried to reassure me. "Don't worry. I'll call them this afternoon and get a reply. They should have answered by now." Eleven o'clock Tuesday morning arrived, and Lynn still hadn't called. I was feeling crazy, and my friends wanted to know when the story was going to run. I called her again. "Patrick, I'm glad you called. I was just going to call you. New York approved the story! They like it a lot." She scheduled a telephone interview with me for Friday. Friday arrived slowly, but Lynn phoned right on schedule. She began the interview innocently enough--but within the very first minute she turned on me. Suddenly she was no longer a friendly person listening to an entertaining story. Now she was a reporter out to discover if I was trying to defraud a bank out of ninety-five thousand dollars. The first sign of trouble came with the very first question. Lynn: "How long was it before you deposited this check, which you believed was real?" Me (with surprise and shock): "I didn't think the check was real. I must admit I saw the words 'non-negotiable' on it." Lynn (with suspicion): "You did? Then why did you deposit it?" Me: "Because I thought it would NEVER clear." Lynn (with even more suspicion): "Then why would you waste your time?" Me: "It didn't seem like a waste of time to me. It was Friday after 4:00 and my work week was over. I had to go to the post office, and the walk took me right past my bank, so it didn't strike me as a waste of time." Lynn: "So why did you deposit it again?" Me: "Simply because I thought it would never clear. I don't know if that makes sense to you, but to me it seemed like a fun and harmless act. After doing it, I walked home laughing to myself, thinking, 'Now I have certainty in my life. Now I'm certain that on Monday I'll get a call from my bank saying, "Mr. Combs, the check you deposited isn't real."'" Lynn: "OK, I don't quite understand, but let's move along. Tell me what happened next." This kind of suspicious grilling continued in various forms throughout what became a grueling one-hour interview. "You weren't trying to defraud the bank?" "Are you afraid the bank will bring criminal charges against you?" I felt like a prime suspect on the witness stand, fighting to save himself from an unfair jail sentence. At the time, the only thing that felt positive about the whole interview was something Lynn told me: she had tried to get someone from First Interstate to comment on the matter of the junk mail check, but they had refused. That was useful information, and somehow I found it heartening. Still, by the time the interview ended, I had an enormous knot in my stomach. I was worried sick that something had gone VERY wrong. I thought of the friends who had advised me not to tell the media about this story, who had warned that it would make me look bad. I had followed my own instincts, which had told me it was a positive story. Now, though, gripped by a feeling of doom and images of a damaging Wall Street Journal article, I needed help. I called my friend Scott and asked him to come over right after work to discuss the interview. "How did it go?" he wanted to know. "I'm not sure. I need your opinion." Hearing Lynn's questions worried Scott just as much as they had worried me. His reaction confirmed most of my fears. Lynn had definitely been trying to get me to admit to fraudulent intentions. But Scott pointed out something that I had overlooked--that I was getting what I had hoped for, media attention. Plus, he said, it was natural for Lynn to wonder if I was a good guy or a bad guy, because I had intentionally said nothing about whether I intended to profit from the bank's mistake. In fact, when she had asked me what I intended to do with the money, I hadn't answered her directly. Instead, I'd replied, "I'm just waiting for a letter from my bank. They said they'd get me one." Lynn had told me the article would probably run late the following week. A week seemed like an eternity to have to wait. I tried asking Lynn if I could see the story before it ran. "No way," she replied. Wednesday, July 26 came. I called Lynn again to see if my story was going to run soon. "Oh, I'm glad you reminded me," she said. "I've still got to write it." What? She hadn't even written it yet! I just about lost it. "What's the problem?" I asked. "I'm definitely going to do it. It's a fun story. Don't worry. I just need you to call me daily and put some pressure on me to get it done." I said, "I'm thinking that you're not really interested in the story and that maybe I should give it to another paper." Lynn replied, "And it's good that you tell me that, because I can use that information to put pressure on my editors to run the story quickly. But don't give it away, OK? Things are just really busy around here, and other stories that are time-sensitive have to come first." I vowed to call her daily. To my pleasant surprise, when I called the next day she said, "I wrote it last night and it came out really well. It's really fun. Now it has to be approved by the New York office. Hopefully they'll like it and won't carve it up too much." New York approved the story within a few days. In fact, Lynn reported that they loved the story and edited her words "hardly at all." It would run any day now, she told me. She asked me to call her the following day to see if it was on the schedule. I called. It wasn't. "Call again tomorrow," she said. The next day was Tuesday, August 1. I called her. "Your story is on the schedule for tomorrow's paper!" she exclaimed at first. Then she paused. "Damn!" "What?" "They took it off the schedule! It was on there this morning. It probably got bumped for a story that's been waiting to be run much longer than yours. I'm sure it will run tomorrow. Call me." The next day it was not on the schedule. I suggested that I was seriously thinking once more of giving the story to another newspaper. Lynn countered with, "New York is going to run my story any day now. I can't guarantee when, but it will happen unless you give it to someone else. But if you do that, my editors will kill my story." With each day that The Wall Street Journal did not run my story, I felt more and more at the paper's mercy. A realistic assessment told me that it was still the best chance I had of getting the story into the news--but just in case, I started working on a back-up plan. I did two things: 1) I researched press wire services and discovered that for $500 I could fax a press release out to the wire on my own; and 2) I began creating a web site for the story. Over the course of five days, I wrote up the story into a twenty-five page document--a briefer version of the book you're reading now. Then, on the following two mornings, I concentrated on translating the story into web pages. Soon I had created a new web site for spreading the word about my ongoing $95,000 adventure. On Friday morning, August 4, I pitched to my Internet-famous friend, Justin Hall, the idea of linking my web site to his own, Links the Underground. I pointed out to him that the link would give him the opportunity to break the story before The Wall Street Journal. He agreed to the association, and the link was established on his page that same afternoon. By the next day, my fledgling Internet site had received over 500 hits. The relief I felt was tremendous. New media had freed me from the control of the old media. I no longer needed The Wall Street Journal to run my story. From here on out it would only be a perk. Thank you, Justin Hall. You kicked The Wall Street Journal's butt! With the web site up and running, I put out a call to my fellow websters, asking them what they thought I should do next about the junk mail check and First Interstate. E-mail began pouring in at about 50 responses per day. The very first one said: I just finished reading the detailed account of your experiences with an advertisement check and a highly chagrined (though not admittedly) sector of the banking community. I think that Mr. Gage at First Interstate, in his final conversation with you while at your mother's house, adopted a new tone with you because he and his bank most likely talked with their lawyers and found out that you probably have them by the royal sweets. They are most likely willing to take the matter as far as criminal charges in an attempt to scare you into submission or to the point of a judge telling them that they don't have a case against you. Don't give in. Keep the money, if not for your own personal financial gain, but for a muchly deserved lesson to the banking community. If you do, it will make me feel much better about the hundreds of dollars deducted from my own checking account over the years for NSF fees. Twenty dollars per bounced check adds up when an average of three come in before you realize that you forgot to note that $200 ATM cash withdrawal made several weeks earlier. Good luck with this matter. Your adventure is definitely going to keep me checking your site in the near future. Respectfully yours, Tony Beard GHOST in the MACHINE I called Lynn again on August 4. She was out, so instead I spoke with her boss. His name was Oliver, and he told me he couldn't tell me when my story was going to run. I told him that was fine, but that I was now seriously considering faxing it to the wire myself. "You do whatever you have to," he said, "but if I were you, I'd buy the paper in the morning when you wake up. It's on the launching pad." I took Oliver's words as a discreet way of telling me that the story was going to run tomorrow or the next day. I went back to a routine that I had developed earlier: a midnight walk to The Wall Street Journal paper box to wait for the delivery truck. Sometimes at 12:15 a.m., and sometimes at 1:20 a.m., the truck arrived and I anxiously dropped three quarters into the box. Disappointment had become a well-established part of this ritual--and the next two nights were no different. The day after that, however, my chances of the story ever running in The Wall Street Journal changed dramatically, and quite by accident. On that day I was taking care of normal business as an author and speaker. I needed to place an ad in a publication called Radio-TV Interview Report--not for the junk mail check story, but for my first book, Major in Success. I talked to the publication's salesman about my ad for about 30 minutes. Then, almost as an afterthought, I talked about possibly placing an ad for radio interviews about my $95,000 adventure. The more I told him, the more he wanted to know, until I'd told him the whole story. When I was done, he flipped out. "I know lots of TV show producers on a wine-and-dine basis because of my work here. What TV shows do you want to be on? I'm going to call Larry King Live! Swear you're telling me the truth! Swear it!" I did, and he said, "Then with your permission, I'll call them." "You have my permission," I said, "as long as they're not tabloid shows." As soon as I got off the phone, I felt an obligation to call Lynn at The Wall Street Journal. She answered and I said, "Hi Lynn, it's Patrick. I'm not calling you to bug you about when it's going to run because I know you can't tell me. I'm calling because..." Angrily, she cut in. "What do you want?" Surprised by her anger, I said, "I wanted you to know before anyone else that I may end up on TV soon." "My story would have run on Monday. It was scheduled and approved, but they canceled it when they found out you released it on the news wire. I'm really angry at you." I thought of the three thousand hits my web site had already received, and I wondered if it was possible that the story had gone from the web to the wire services in only a matter of days. But there was no way for me to know the answer. "Lynn, I have not released the story to the wire services. What makes you think I did?" Her tone immediately changed from angry to puzzled. She wondered aloud how someone in the New York office could have claimed otherwise unless they had actually seen it on the wire. "I did put the story on my web site. Maybe they've seen that." But it hardly seemed likely to me that a trained journalist would confuse a web site with the Associated Press or UPI. And something else didn't fit. I asked, "Why, if it did hit the wire, have I not received any calls?" That didn't make sense to her, either. By now Lynn believed that I had not given the story to the wire services. She vowed to find out what the people in New York were talking about. She said she'd get back to me soon. Lynn called me back a few minutes later and told me that she and her bosses were trying to convince New York to run the story as soon as possible, before I did any TV. She was now convinced that the person in New York who claimed they'd already seen the story somewhere simply hadn't. I didn't wait at The Wall Street Journal paper box that night. I slept soundly. But I did wake up in the morning and put another 75 cents into the same blue The Wall Street Journal box. Still no story. The next day was August 10. That night I had a strong gut feeling it would run the next day. I resumed my midnight ritual. At 1:12 a.m. the truck came with the papers and the man loaded them into the box. I plugged my three quarters in, got the paper out, and flipped through, my eyes searching frantically for a key word. Nothing. Damn! I was beginning to feel that the story would never run. I called Lynn after the sun rose to see if I had any chance left. I began by restating that I was sure the story had not already appeared anywhere else. She replied, "Your story never hit the wire, and they didn't read about it on the Internet. The guy in the New York office who claims he saw the story somewhere else most likely saw it on our own internal computer system during one of the many times it had been on the schedule." She sounded as down as I felt, but said she would keep trying to get the story scheduled. It was time to look at other options. I put in calls to USA Today and The New York Times. Neither one returned my call. During the entire 27 days, while I hoped and waited for The Wall Street Journal to run my story, I heard nothing from my bank. I was still waiting for them to send the letter Robert Gage had promised me. Finally, on August 11, a letter from First Interstate Bank arrived. There it was, right behind the phone bill. I didn't take the letter into the house. I opened it right there on the sidewalk. This would change everything. A new chapter was now being added to the tale. I opened the letter and read: Dear Patrick Combs: We would like to thank you for maintaining your account here at First Interstate Bank of California. We sincerely appreciate the opportunity to serve you. I trust that we are providing the services you need and adding to your financial security as well. To express our appreciation, we have arranged to provide a new benefit for all eligible checking account customers: $1,000 of Accidental Death and Dismemberment Insurance. There is NO COST to you at any time. We pay the premiums. Sincerely, Michael A. Johnson Senior Vice President Junk mail! Either that, or Mr. Michael Johnson was seriously out of the loop regarding my account. It also struck me as funny that First Interstate was offering me Accidental Death and Dismemberment Insurance. Would I be needing it soon? I vowed to frame the letter as a testament to the absurdity of computer-generated, supposedly personal letters. On Monday, August 14, Lynn called to tell me that she was still trying to convince New York to run the story. She was encouraged by the fact that now both of her bosses were upset that it had been killed. She told me that both were fighting to run it. My hopes went back up. By this time, though, over 1,000 people all over the world were already following the story on my web site. I was posting regular updates, and the instant anything changed, these people would be the first to know. Meanwhile, something else heartening happened: I received a phone call from a movie production company. A producer had read my web pages and was intrigued. He was not making an offer, he said, just expressing interest, at least for now. But he also brought up something I hadn't thought about: "I'm anxious to see how this turns out. But whether you get to keep the money or you go to jail, from our point of view, both make for a good ending. And if you do go to jail, we won't have to pay for the rights to the story."

Bolkonskij Administrator 1024 MB Posts: 2023	Reply #7 on: October 09, 2021, 17:33 $95,093.35 Adventure, Updates First Interstate Bank was doing nothing. The Wall Street Journal was doing nothing. Except for my web postings, things seemed to have ground to a halt. But I knew that sooner or later the logjam was going to break. When it finally did, things moved fast. Each hour--sometimes each minute--brought a new phone call, opportunity, request, threat, offer, or change in my situation. At the same time, I was facing the beginning of the school year--the time of year when I am always busiest as a speaker. So in the midst of everything else, I had to be flying around the country, giving speeches and workshops at dozens of colleges. Sometimes I woke up in a different city each day. Throughout the two harrowing months that followed, I kept those interested informed of developments through regular updates on my web page. Sometimes things happened so fast and so furiously that I was adding new postings every day. Many of these were posted very late at night, from nondescript hotel rooms in strange cities, after long and exhausting days of lecturing, endless interviews, and innumerable phone calls. To date, over 100,000 people have read these updates on the Internet. Many have responded with e-mail messages of appreciation, enthusiasm, and words of encouragement. Below are the updates exactly as they were posted, day by day. Thanks for following along. Tuesday, August 15, 1995 Today I was told that The Wall Street Journal is once again planning to run the story. Although I hesitate to say it because I've heard it many times before, I was told that it could happen very soon. In other news, I'm happy to report that these pages are being read by approximately 500 people a day. In total, they've been visited by over 4,000 people since the first one was posted on the net on August 4, 1995. And each day I get about 50 opinions on what I should do about the money. Thank you! Wednesday, August 16, 1995, 3:00 a.m. I went out to The Wall Street Journal box and my hopes were high, High, HIGH. I plopped my three quarters in and grabbed for the paper. Flipped to the second section, and saw the words "Trash Into Quick Cash." It was PAY DIRT!! In print! For real! National news! I owe Lynn at The Wall Street Journal big time. The story wouldn't have run without her persistence. I woke some people with my yelling. Now, I wonder what will happen.... Friday, August 18, 1995 I'm in flight from Phoenix to San Francisco. The last two days have been CRAZY. When The Wall Street Journal article came out, I stayed awake until 6:00 that morning celebrating. By the time I woke up at around noon, my voice mail was deluged with calls from radio, newspaper, and television. Calls included messages from both The Late Show with David Letterman and The Tonight Show with Jay Leno! I did an interview with a reporter from the Associated Press wire that afternoon. The reporter said that she'd write it up, and it would definitely be released to all California papers, and maybe to all national newspapers. The next day, Thursday, I woke up and had to catch an 8:00 a.m. flight to Phoenix, where I was scheduled to lead an all-day workshop. When I checked my messages at about 8 a.m., I had over 25 calls already. The calls were from EVERYWHERE, which told me the story had gone out national wire. With no time to call anyone back, I boarded my flight. Halfway into the flight, I began conversing with the person seated next to me. Then, out of the blue, the man across the aisle said, "You're the guy that cashed the check?" He extended me a hearty handshake and told me he'd read The Wall Street Journal article and an article in the San Jose Mercury News just that morning. The San Jose Mercury News headline was "Man 1, Bank 0." By the time I got to check all of my messages that night at 8:00 p.m., two dozen radio shows had called. Plus there were calls from Paramount Pictures, NBC Nightly News with Tom Brokaw, Hard Copy, ABC World News Tonight with Peter Jennings, CNN News, the Montel Williams show, Day & Date, American Journal, CNBC's The Money Club, Good Morning America, and all of the top San Francisco news stations. Looking at the list was a dream come true. (Well, actually, I never dreamed this big.) I had no idea how to handle so many calls. I talked to some of my friends, and we contemplated setting up a press conference. (My friends are saving my ass! They help me make decisions each new step of the way.) I slept on the decision and awoke at 6:00 a.m. Friday. I decided against the press conference, at least for now. Instead, I began calling everyone back and setting up everything I could. The interviews would start the minute I arrived back in San Francisco that afternoon. I arrived in San Francisco at 1:30 p.m. At 2:00 p.m. I was doing a radio interview with David Brenner on Westwood One radio. Then from 3:00 till 6:30 I did three television interviews from my home: two San Francisco news stations and NBC Nightly News. (I had arranged the interview with them at 10:30 that morning; a producer and correspondent flew in from L.A. and arrived by 4:00.) Each person who interviewed me was supportive in the treatment of the story. And guess what? Since I couldn't return any phone calls on the day the story hit, I changed my telephone message to suggest that people get additional details from my web site. Many of the reporters did just that! Tomorrow I do an interview with ABC World News Tonight. They may follow me into my bank as I go to pick up the cashier's check. Then Sunday I'm being flown to New York for a morning appearance on Good Morning America. Jay Leno's show, Hard Copy, and the Montel Williams show are tentatively planned. Let me report what I've been saying during the interviews. When I'm asked if I'm going to keep the money, my reply is consistently: "My ideal outcome would be that the President of First Interstate Bank take me to lunch and we have a decent, fair, and honest conversation. Honest means I'd admit that I didn't earn that money, and he'd admit that First Interstate lost the legal right to the money through a series of mistakes. Then together we'd work to put an end to these ridiculous, problematic junk checks because they mislead people, and people are sick of them. Then I'd like to see the $95,093.35 given to charity." Saturday, August 19, 1995 Did an interview with ABC World News Tonight. They arrived with a crew of four: camera person, sound engineer, reporter, and producer. All the news crews, including ABC, have shot their interviews in my home office, and then down the street at the branch where I deposited the check. Today I had wanted to get the check out of my safe-deposit box, but I couldn't because the branch where the check sits was closed. But ABC did have me go into the branch on Haight Street where I had first made the deposit. The camera crew was not allowed to enter the bank to film, but they could stand at the door and shoot, which is exactly what they did. A very pleasant surprise occurred while I was in the bank. I asked the bank Manager if any of any of the tellers were getting in trouble because of this, and she said, "Oh no, and nobody will. You deposited it into the ATM, so we're OK." This was welcome news! The ABC segment is scheduled to air on Monday night. I was informed that its viewing audience is 60 million. Personally, I feel this is the best interview I've done yet. Many people have been expressing concern about my cashier's check expiring. If it expires in 90 days I still have until mid-September. But I believe I read in Brady's that courts and the law require banks to honor cashier's checks for one year. (I plan on going back to Brady's to confirm this, but I will be unable to do this for two weeks because I'm on a lecture tour starting tomorrow.) Today I e-mailed Michael Moore's TV Nation. I think he's THE guy who could actually get the President of First Interstate Bank to go to lunch with me and donate the money to charity. And finally....STILL NO WORD FROM THE BANK. Wednesday, August 23, 1995 I am traveling now for my real-life work as a speaker at colleges and universities. On Sunday, I flew to New York and woke up Monday morning to appear on Good Morning America. It was not what I expected. A limo picked me up at 7:00 a.m., and when I arrived, I was pointed straight to the "green room." I was not told what to expect or what to do. I just sat. To my pleasant surprise, I was sitting right next to Winston Groom, the author of Forrest Gump. I didn't realize it until he said to one of the producers, "No, I didn't make up the line, 'Life is like a box of chocolates; you never know what you're going to get.' I don't like that phrase, and the phrase I used in the book was close to the opposite." He came across as a very humble, polite, down-to-earth guy. And he was kind enough to give me his autograph. Eventually a technician came in and put a mike on my shirt. Then I was taken to makeup and powdered. Then I was taken back to the green room to sit. At 7:28 a.m. the producer came in and said, "Patrick Combs, come with me. You're on next." We entered the studio, where three different stages were set up. About 15 people stood around, looking focused. I was seated in a chair in front of a camera and told to smile into it on cue. I did, for about 20 seconds. This, I was told, was a little teaser shot. Then I was moved to the center stage. I was sitting across from the male host (whose name I don't know). As soon as I sat down, a voice started a 30-second countdown to air. When the interview began, it was fast at first, then faster. There was no time to tell much of a story. The host surprised me by asking if I had possibly committed fraud. I felt like saying to him, "What is this, Good Morning America or 20/20?" But I simply said a firm "no." The interview lasted, at most, two minutes. When it was over, I got up, took off my mike, and walked myself out the door and back into the limo. And that is how Good Morning America runs: pick 'em up, move 'em in, roll 'em out. But it was fun. That evening ABC World News Tonight aired its interview. I saw it standing in an airport bar in Kansas City. I was really happy with the way it turned out. NBC Nightly News also ran theirs that evening, but I was unable to see it. The airing of these two news programs, viewed by approximately 120 million people, produced another wave of media calls, primarily from radio stations. I continue to do a few telephone interviews for radio per day. By far, my favorite interview to date was with Art Bell on the Chancelor Broadcasting Corp. network. We went deeply into the ethics and legal considerations of the whole story, and heard from callers for two hours, between 2:00 and 4:00 a.m. Someone asked me via e-mail to tell them what most people have suggested I do next. Most have said one of four things: 1) They support what I'm doing; 2) They suggest giving the money to charity; 3) They think the bank behaved poorly and should be made to sweat, but recognize that if I keep the money, in the long run it's we who will pay for the bank's loss; 4) They see junk mail as the real problem here, and wish something could be done about it. There have also been a significant number of people who hold this opinion: "Keep it. Banks make us live by the law, and keeping it is the most probable way to force a change in the law." In addition, every day there are other suggestions and opinions that are quite creative and insightful. I read them all and respond to as many as I can. One other thing: MTV is now interested in an interview. Saturday, August 26, 1995 I am holed up in a Holiday Inn in Virginia just outside Washington, D.C. Yesterday I did a lecture at George Mason University, and I was pleasantly surprised by the number of students who had heard of my check cashing tale through the media. One student informed me that his friend told him the story over lunch yesterday, and that it wasn't until later that evening that he learned I was coming to speak. This morning I woke up at 8:00 a.m. and did a radio interview with a Washington, D.C. station. Then at noon, a producer and cameraman from Hard Copy showed up. They were very cool, and, fortunately, did not shoot the interview in my hotel room (I worried that people would think either that I live in a hotel or that I decorate badly). Instead, they shot it in one of the hotel's conference rooms. Someone e-mailed to ask me why I chose to do Hard Copy. Two reasons: 1) It is the only show that has wanted to explore the failure of the bank's check-handling procedures, my legal claim to the money, and the problems of junk mail, and 2) I spoke at length with the Producer about what kind of segment he wanted to produce, and he earned my trust. Hard Copy has until September 8 to run the story. Then, if it hasn't run, I can go to one of their competitors (Inside Edition also called). But Hard Copy intends to run it Thursday or Friday of this coming week. I am being actively pursued by several people for Hollywood movie deals. Discussions with two of them have progressed to the step where more VIPs evaluate the idea. Could this story really justify a movie or TV special? (Yes, if a love interest is added in, that's what they think.) I did a radio interview with the BBC in London on Thursday, and it is slated to run soon at the 5:30 a.m. hour, which I am told is a time slot with the greatest audience. Rod Sharp was the interviewer. bOING bOING 'zine e-mailed to invite me to contribute an article or an interview, and they gave me the highest compliment I've received yet, by making me the patron saint of their PRANKTIME page! MTV has moved very close to sending me a video camera and requesting that I self-document my banking bonanza. This would be incorporated into their upcoming pilot program, Reality Check. I would shoot the footage, then edit it down to 4-5 minutes. Then they would videotape me while I discussed the adventure with five peers. MTV considers it a cross between Real Life and a talk show. I like the sound of this. Monday at 7:50 a.m. EST, I am scheduled for an interview on WABC radio in New York. Monday afternoon at 1:40 CST, I am scheduled for an interview on Judy Jarvis's radio program. Wednesday, August 30, at 7:00 a.m. CST, I am scheduled for an interview on WKRZ radio out of Pennsylvania. Wednesday afternoon at 5:00 CST, I'm scheduled for an interview on WWL radio out of New Orleans (which has a broadcast range from Texas to Florida). I've spent the last couple of days contemplating what to do next. The bank has chosen to continue to ignore me. I've considered many options, from going to First Interstate headquarters in Los Angeles to push for a resolution, to holding a press conference that highlights the problems caused by junk-mail checks. I even thought about returning the money in the way one e-mailer suggested: "Return the money, in pennies, by way of a dump truck." What I've decided to do is write two open letters, one to the President of First Interstate Bank, and the other to Mitch Klass, the issuer of the check I deposited. By "open letter," I mean that they will be letters that will be available for everyone to see. I will post them here on my web site first, and then offer them to the news media. Wednesday, August 30, 1995 Greetings from Green Bay! I'm here in a Holiday Inn for a lecture tonight, and I'm doing radio interviews all day. The news today is that Hard Copy is going to run its story tonight. Calls came in yesterday from media wanting to know if there's been any change. Readers here already know the answer: there's been no change. But I go home to San Francisco tomorrow, and you can bet I'm going to do something. A related detour: I went cruising around the web and found the newsgroup Make Money Fast. Here people report their stories about get-rich schemes. I now believe that some of these get-rich-quick schemes really work. Wednesday Night, August 30, 1995 Spoke briefly with two new lawyers today. I wanted to see if I could dig up any new thoughts about the ground I'm standing on. Both of them thought the story was a hoot, appreciated what I'd done, and felt strongly that the bank probably wished I'd go away. One felt First Interstate Bank might very well do anything they could to try to get rid of me. It was his experience that banks were very nasty institutions that have lobbied for more rights-to-be-abusive than any of us are aware. He said, "Their rights to be unfair start the minute you sign for a checking account--it's all in the fine print--and they expand with the inconspicuous, almost monthly, arrival of fine print amendments." The next lawyer felt First Interstate Bank might do anything to get me to shut up. He said that if I gave back the check and agreed to stop doing interviews, they'd probably give me the letter and everything else I'd requested. Saw Hard Copy's story and loved it! I thought it was the best treatment yet. And Hard Copy's Executive Producer loved it, too, and inquired immediately as to whether I'd do another segment. To talk about what, I'm not sure. Did a live interview with WWL radio today. (One of you websters called in. Thanks!) The station took calls, and this produced some real action. Apparently, there are quite a few who believe deep in their hearts that I'm a bad guy. Two things came up today. First, a man read from Louisiana's law on fraud. I was nervous when he started, thinking I was going to learn something new, but by the time he finished, I felt safe again. It was funny because he thought he'd just proved I was headed for ten years in the can, and I thought he'd just proved I was perfectly safe. The law said something like this: "Fraud is when a person even attempts to take the bank's property." The man-with-a-law-book clearly thought that if you deposit a junk check, that automatically means you are attempting to get the bank's money. Absurd! What explains my not endorsing it? What explains my not withdrawing the funds as soon as they became available? What explains my having not cashed the cashier's check yet? I like what Lionel, the host of a WABC radio in New York said: "If someone jokingly offers to pay their restaurant tab with seashells and the restaurant accepts them, does that make the diner a fraud or the restaurateur stupid?" The next caller concluded that I was just a scammer--as also evidenced, he said, by the words "Beat the System" in the subtitle of my first book. I'd like to thank this caller for bringing up my book; it hadn't been mentioned yet. Of course, if this were true, then I'm definitely the world's stupidest scammer: "Man scams bank for $95 G's and then tells the world." Actually, I believe that I am probably not the only person to cash a junk check--just the only one willing to admit I did it. Others are probably out there, hoping their windfall doesn't get discovered. Tomorrow I wake up, fly home, and work to bring this has-been-fun, but soon-to-be-tired story to a close. Decent treatment and an explanation is all I want, but I may be barking up the wrong tree. I may be barking in the wrong forest... Thursday, August 31, 1995 The Hard Copy vote is in! Approximately 10,000 people paid 50 cents each to vote, and the results were: 70% said "keep the money," and 20% said "give it back." I don't know what the other 10% said, but I wonder why they'd spend the money to vote if they didn't have an opinion. Friday, September 1, 1995 Yesterday in the late afternoon I was working at my desk, getting organized after having been on the road for two weeks. The doorbell rang. I went to answer it, and there at the bottom of the stairs was a plainly dressed man with papers in his hands. I went down the stairs and opened the gate. He said, "Patrick Combs?" "Yes." "I have a court summons for you," he said as he handed me the papers. Then he looked at me and said, "I saw you on TV last week, and I wanted to tell you that I support what you're doing. I hope you win." Suddenly I was smiling and saying, "Thanks. That means a lot." I've reviewed the 50-some pages of legal writing and, although I'm no lawyer, the worst thing in them seems to be the inconvenience of the scheduled September 20th court appearance-- because on that date I'm scheduled to be speaking in Buffalo, New York. What the papers seem to be attempting is a court judgment that restricts me from being able to cash the cashier's check or open my safe-deposit box. I'm disappointed to have received these papers, because I don't want this to go to court. From my perspective, this story doesn't deserve a court's time. Bank gives man a letter, man gives bank back the money. Simple. So, I've decided to continue with the plan I formulated earlier this week: to meet with my bank and try for an out-of-court resolution. One last thing. I believe that people at First Interstate are also reading these web pages, because that would explain how they apparently knew the date of my return to San Francisco. (They knew exactly when to serve the summons, and had not attempted to serve it before.) Hello, First Interstaters! Tell me what you think I should do. Wednesday, September 6, 1995 I met with Charles Ward, FICAL's Senior Counsel, yesterday morning. (It turns out that FICAL is the proper acronym for my bank: First Interstate of California.) There were just the two of us, and the meeting went very well. I went in with a list of ten things I wanted before returning the check, and after two and a half hours, I left with the impression that FICAL would comply with all of them. Of course, FICAL was quite clear about what they wanted from me in return: the cashier's check. Charles Ward treated me like a gentleman, and we both stuck to the objective at hand: settlement. Before going to the meeting, I had tried again to call Bill Siart, FICAL's President and CEO. I can now report that it is literally impossible to call the President of FICAL. All calls and messages are directed to Consumer Affairs. I am supposed to hear back from Charles Ward tomorrow. He hopes to have FICAL's approval of our resolution, and we both hope to resolve this quickly. If FICAL does meet my requests, I am going to be a very happy man. One odd thing did happen toward the end of our meeting, however. Mr. Ward said to me, "We assume you'll be closing your account." "No, I wasn't planning on doing that," I replied. I had thought that things were going to end in a friendly way, but the look Mr. Ward gave me prompted me to ask, "Does First Interstate want me to close my account?" He replied, "First Interstate isn't asking you to close your account, but it would please First Interstate if you would." Wednesday, September 13, 1995 I got the following e-mail yesterday: Hey! I'm a teller at the First Interstate branch. We got a memo last week saying we should keep our mouths shut about the situation. A lot of people are really uptight about this, and very little joking is tolerated. Good luck to you, and I hope you get what you asked for! SCOTT! So cool! A supporter inside the bank. I have responded to Scott and asked if I might anonymously receive a copy of the memo by mail. Thursday, September 14, 1995 Sure enough, when I arrived home, there was an envelope full of settlement papers from First Interstate Bank. But they are completely unacceptable. Why? Because I asked First Interstate Bank to give me a letter that explained the truth about how this whole situation unfolded, and I requested that the letter explain the errors that they made. I feel that this letter is essential to my future; it is the only way I will be able to prove my integrity, if it is ever called into question over this occurrence. As a matter of fact, I had presented Charles Ward with a letter I wanted FICAL to sign. Mr. Ward, of course, didn't want to sign my version of the letter, but he told me that the bank would write a letter that was very similar. What I got in the mail today wasn't at all similar. It was the result of an editor who simply said, "Edit out any mistakes we made, with the exception of accepting the deposit." Then, adding insult to injury, First Interstate Bank says that I must pay them $266.00, because that's what it cost to file their lawsuit in court. They're out of their mind (and soul), because I didn't make them file in court. They chose to go to court instead of simply calling me. I have scheduled several meetings with lawyers for tomorrow. I'm losing all faith in First Interstate Bank's ability to be reasonable, honest, and decent. I will be closing my account, gladly. Saturday, September 16, 1995 Today, as a release and for fun, I wrote out several lists. (1) A list of bank errors that FIRST INTERSTATE doesn't want you to know about, (2) Top 10 Reasons I Still Intend to Give The Bucks Back, (3) Top 10 Reasons Why A Perfectly Sane Person Would NOT Give The Bucks Back. Sunday, September 17, 1995 Today, Norm Paxon e-mailed to say this: You may be interested to know that I called First Interstate of Utah, asked if they had any affiliation with FICAL, and was told yes. I then proceeded to tell the customer service rep on the phone that because of the way that FICAL has been handling this situation with you, I will do no business with First Interstate of Utah. I feel strongly, as you have mentioned, that the only reason people have jobs is because they have customers, and they need to start treating those customers like they matter. I informed her of this, and asked that she forward my complaint to her managers. She didn't seem too excited, but I just thought you might be interested in that, and maybe even ask your readers to do the same. If FICAL starts getting complaints from managers of First Interstates throughout the country, they might realize that the scope of what they have done. Good luck. Wednesday, September 20, 1995 Today I made a list of the Top 7 Reasons Why Get-Rich-Quick Advertisers are the Primary Troublemaker Here. Thursday, September 21, 1995 Yesterday I did a lecture at the State University of New York at Buffalo, where I received a pleasant surprise. At the end of my speech, a student raised his hand and asked, "Do you have $95,000 in a safe-deposit box?" The questioner was Dan Barkevich, a follower of my Internet updates since they began, and a graduate student at SUNYAB. It was my first meeting with one of the people reading my web pages, and I enjoyed swapping perspectives, in person, for a solid half-hour. (My speaking schedule is posted). I'm on a train from Buffalo to New York City, and I'm headed for a taping of the Montel Williams show tomorrow. I don't know the air date yet. For the record, this is also an unpaid appearance. The only appearance I have been paid for was Hard Copy, for which I earned $1000. I did speak with many lawyers last Friday. From them, I learned that I do have legal legs to stand on if I should need to go to court. I even learned that I would have a very good chance of stopping the bank's attempt to freeze the cashier's check, because courts only issue these "preliminary injunctions" when the potential damage is irreparable. My lawyer would have pointed out to the court that, "Mr. Combs cashing the check would not result in irreparable damage, only in a loss of money for First Interstate Bank, and if it was later ruled that the money was theirs, nothing would stop First Interstate Bank from trying to recover the money." I liked that logic: "It's only the loss of money." But I haven't attempted to stop the preliminary injunction because I don't care, so by now a San Francisco court should have ruled that I cannot cash the cashier's check until a court rules to whom it rightfully belongs. Late last Friday, I called the bank's senior counsel again and tried to further negotiate and resolve this. It seems I have made progress, because yesterday Charles Ward faxed me a new settlement letter that is much better than FICAL's last attempt. Recently I received a bottle of wine in the mail. Harry Max from Virtual Vineyards sent it to me, along with a note that said, "This is unquestionably one of the best experiences I've had in quite a while. I'm not sure whether it means I need to get a life or that I appreciate the fact that you didn't have to get run over by a 4-door Chevy Impala as I did to collect the money. Either way, thank you. I don't know whether you drink wine or not, but I'd like you to offer you a complimentary bottle from our portfolio. Free. Honest!" This is the wine I'm going to celebrate with soon! Thursday, September 28, 1995 Last Friday, I did tape the Montel Williams show. It was a good time from beginning to end. My cab dropped me off at my hotel, which happened to be right next door to The Late Show with David Letterman. No David sightings, but it was fun to be standing right underneath the big blue and yellow marquee. When it was time to tape the show, a young woman named Brooke came to escort me to the studio via limousine. In surprising contrast to Good Morning America, everyone who worked for Montel was very friendly and pleasant. I got a private green room which was well-stocked with soda and cookies. Montel came by to "meet the guests," but he came and went so fast it wasn't really like meeting him. But a quick handshake was cool, and understandable; the guy taped three shows in that one day alone. On the show, which might run next week, the theme was everyday ethics, and my story was the kickoff segment. I really enjoyed myself and got to make the points I felt were important. I also learned that the reason why people yell at each other and talk over one another on talk shows is because the producers strongly encourage it during every commercial break. Watch the show I'll be featured on, and notice that with each segment I get progressively more talkative and boisterous. That's because in the beginning, I was sitting quietly, listening to the stories of others, obeying the rules of polite conversation. I was not being an ideal guest, and the producer kept encouraging me to "get involved more," "interact more," and "yell for Montel's attention." So I did, and it was fun. But I was nothing compared to the professional talk-show guest-expert sitting to my right. After the segment, behind the scenes, I ran into the adorable little boy who had also been a guest. (He had played a lost child in a staged event to see how many New Yorkers would stop to help.) He had barfed up all over the hallway. From the looks of it, apparently he had eaten an entire basket full of peppermint candies. It was a big mess, but he'd waited to upchuck until the show was over. What a trooper! When I left, I was given a variety of Montel Williams gifts (mug, autographed photo, water bottle, and key chain) and a ride to the airport. At the airport, I walked up to a pay phone and thought I heard a strangely familiar voice coming from my right. I looked over and, sure enough, there was Dr. Ruth Westheimer, reaching a height of no more than 4'10". I tried to have a normal phone conversation, but I couldn't stop laughing. Her voice forces your brain to think about sex. I asked for her autograph and she gladly gave it to me. I didn't have any time to work on the bank thang this week. My work must come first and my speaking engagements are keeping me very busy. I had a few days back in San Francisco, but now I am in Cleveland (Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, here I come!). On the plane ride here, however, I did complete my list of the Top 10 Suggestions I've Received for this $95,093 Thang. Hopefully, next week I'll clean up this FICAL matter.

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