Today

Last night I had the strangest dream. I was driving my car during a nighttime thunderstorm on a cliff above the Pacific Ocean. Without warning the cliff gave way and my car plunged into the water. I was trapped in my seat and the car was now full of salt water. I struggled to gain oxygen and felt a strange electrical sensation as a million memories flooded my mind. Then I woke up.  I tried to recreate the memories but they had retreated to my subconscious. I was soaking wet.

Normally when I have a vivid dream some events of the prior day provide the elements for an abstract story. But this dream seems to have no relation to the prior day’s events.  

I did recall a conversation I had with my son-in-law, John Figueiredo, late into the night. We were discussing AI and the difficulty in deciphering fact from fiction on the internet. 

 A year ago, John successfully sold his company SISU for close to $100 million. John made his original shareholders very happy. 

He decided to invest some of his after-tax gains in an AI program. He called it Plaito.   His vision was that Plaito would provide homework support to the underprivileged, and would benefit those who had limited access to education. 

He was optimistic that after his initial development costs, he could obtain an investor group to take it to the next level.  Unfortunately, he said he encountered the worst investment market in years, along with a significant amount of negative press regarding AI. He told me he was going to shut down Plaito in a couple of days and eliminate his monthly cash drain. My cynical point of view was that potential investors saw Plaito as a small player that would be trounced by Google and or Microsoft. They were not going to invest in a challenge against these two semi-monopolies. 

He was very disappointed that others could not see the benefits of what would become a labor of unrequited love for him. 

Plaito did have a short internet life while its development was being continuously upgraded. I had access to the program and would occasionally ask it a question.

Most of my questions were answered correctly. However, 3 times the answers were wrong. When they were wrong, I would communicate with Plaito and give the correct answers.

Plato would then agree with my answer. On the third question, I asked Plaito to translate a sentence into Mandarin. Plaito got it completely wrong. I again sent the correct translation. This time Plaito apologized to me and said that my translation was the correct one. The apology had a strange effect on me. 

Because John told me he was going to shut Plaito down.  I decided to ask Plaito one last inquiry. 

The request was to give me the titles of books by three successful writers who integrated fiction with nonfiction. Unlike before, Plaito said the request was too vague and could I rephrase the inquiry. Having stayed up late talking with John and knowing he was going to shut the app down, I decided to just delete the Plaito app and go to bed. The Plaito Icon disappeared from my desktop and my app library.

When I woke up from my dream, I could hear my computer downloading what I thought to be Microsoft upgrades. When I opened my Google site the Plaito Icon positioned itself at the top of the page. I have not been able to remove it.

Later that day I received an email. It was sent from my Gmail account to my Yahoo mail account. I just assumed it was some kind of programming error that Google would fix.   

However, this is what was said 

"We believe the following may be the answer to your request."

1.  "Girl Waits With a Gun":  by Amy Stewart

2.  "Nickle Boys": by Colson Whitehead

3. "The Night Watchman": by Louise Enrich

4,  “My Story”.......4U%$34 TOO OPEN USE "GATECODE"

Because I cannot access my story for some reason, I will take my computer to Best Buy where I have a prepaid contract to fix issues. I do not know the relevance of the following, but I think it may be interesting to find out what the  "Geek" squad discovers.  

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Dear Mark:

 I regret to inform you that Green Island Publishing has decided to pass on  “Tales from the Vault.” 

It has been a long road but at the end of the day, we are uncomfortable with some of the material. The murder is unsolved so we cannot in good conscience publish anything while it may still be under investigation.

 Regarding the stories on some of Stephen’s borrowers, we would require releases from most of them.  We believe his higher-profile clients, or their heirs, will use their lawyers. This will cause a tangle of negotiations, not to mention costs.

Regarding his lawsuits, this could be a can of worms for us since we cannot access the settlement conditions.

Although we saw some promise with the Chinese experience, it is insufficient to warrant a continuation. Stephen’s relationship with Helen Li is interesting but, in our opinion, should not be associated with his more technical material.

I like your idea of the Short Book. We can discuss that if you wish. However, our non-fiction financial specialist will handle this book.

Because you are my friend I will tell you another reason for our decision. However, I would rather we discuss it on the phone.

I remain 

Gerald Anspach

Green Island Publications.

January 2024.

My name is Michael Mark O’Brian. I am the creator of the Stephen Dane Diary.  The Stephen Dane Diary is a biography of Stephen Dane, a retired commercial banker. The material for the Stephen Dane Diary was originally written by Stephen Dane and titled “Tales from the Vault.”

 Because someone else has used this title,  this website incorporates "Tales from the Vault' as it was originally written. Mr. Dane began composing much of his book's material 40 years ago but never published any of his work. When he wrote “Tales from the Vault,” he used the pen name Remmars Stephen Dane. 

After the accident, the Dane family engaged me to assist in obtaining a publisher. My bio is found in a tab on the home page of StephenDaneDiary. 

 When I began my work I had a discussion with Stephen about how he integrated the technical material throughout "Tales from the Vault". I wouldn't say I liked this idea. He felt that reading boring accounting information would be better learned if it was introduced a little bit at a time. 

I believe if the reader wants to learn and apply the material he, or she, would prefer a straightforward book.  As a compromise, I created the Short Book which is a condensed version of Stephen's original material. The Short Book can be accessed under the above tab titled Purchasing Power.

 Stephen's original idea was to help those who, for one reason or another, could not manage their money. As he began to develop his concept of the EconoShell and EconoClock his imagination took hold of him and he decided to write his experience as a commercial banker. 

For those who just want the technical material click Purchasing Power, then click Short Book, If you want to know how the contraction of banking over the last 40 years has impacted millions of Americans, the family of Stephen Dane continues from here.  

Despite receiving a small upfront fee from my friend Gerald Ansbach at  Green Island Publishers, the book will be turned down. However, I will continue on my own for many reasons. 

I begin with this suggestion.  If you can find it rent George Lucas'  movie THX1138.  It predicted the reason Stephen wrote his experiences. If you believe bankers have a boring life, the following might surprise you.  

Orange County: California Spring 2021

This site is still a work in progress as some of the material is under legal review.  

For comments you can email me at

StephenDaneDiary@gmail.com

I will respond to as many as time permits.

I may post your comment or question live if I deem it supports my purpose, 

 Remmars Stephen Dane, author of "Tales from the Vault", can be contacted at remmarsdane@hotmail.com

Michael Mark O'Brien, author of Stephen Dane Diary, can be contacted at stephendanediary@gmail.com 

The reason for the rabbit in the vault will be made clear later.

Stephen's life has two major divisions. Part one begins with his birth in June 1944 and ends with his move to Los Angeles in 1984 after receiving a threatening phone call. . Part two begins in Los Angeles and ends when he retires at the age of 75.

                              StephenDaneDiary.com Book One.

 I took the following two quotes from" Tales from the Vault."

". I was a commercial banker for 40 years. My career provided me with a window from which to observe and sometimes participate in more real human drama than all the reality shows ever produced.  

Murder, suicide, fraud, political shenanigans, extortion, organized crime, FBI stings, XXXXX, threats, bribery, international money laundering, drugs, sex, and even rock and roll had all, in one degree or another played a role in my career."

Like the redacted word in the quote, Mr. Dane told me, "Bankers never discuss this crime. It is taboo."

He refused to elaborate, and it remains a mystery.

Book One; "Tales from the Vault the Early Years", has 3 parts. Part 1, is a prelude to Stephen's banking career, my involvement with the Dane family, and ends with his career at Union Bank.  Part 2 is the development of the EconoShell Model and can be found under Purchasing Power above. Part 3 begins with his return to California after a 400-day honeymoon in Europe and ends with being fired from Redwood Bank. 

Book 2 has 4 parts and begins with his lawsuit against Redwood Bank, his move to Los Angeles, and ends with the LA riots; Part one will be the most dynamic part of his banking career.  Part 2 begins with becoming a stock broker with Morgan Stanley then returns to commercial lending where he meets Helen Li and becomes fascinated with Chinese culture.  Part 3 begins when he leaves commercial banking at the age of 66 and ends after 3 years working for an investment banking house until he retires from finance, visits China, goes to Russia to deliver a lecture to Russian students on American banking, meets Nadine in Irkutsk and begins his book. This is when I meet him and begin his story.

I confess this boring outline does not do justice to the adventures Stephen experienced. It will be up to the reader to decide if life is just a series of good and bad luck events, or is predetermined by fate

                 My involvement with the Dane family begins here.  

It was an unusual downpour for Orange County. The rain started about two minutes before I cleared the first-floor parking garage entrance. The gate was now permanently open, and most of the garage was empty. A maintenance crew was removing the names from the assigned parking spaces. They had already removed mine. It did not matter; I could park anywhere I wished. 

 A syndicated conglomerate purchased the paper and leased the entire building.

 Our last office party was on Wednesday. We are all expected to be gone by Friday at noon.  My assistant gave notice a week ago and left the next day. As a cub reporter, Fiona quit her job several years ago to become a full-time mother.

I removed several packing boxes from the trunk of my car, then took the elevator to the former editing department on the third floor.

The elevator door opened, and I carried the boxes across a room full of abandoned desks and fleeting memories to my office. I wasn't sure if I had enough boxes to clear the accumulation of books, photos, trophies, and other mementos generated from 28 years of business journalism.

I set the boxes in the corner and noticed someone had put the Sunday New York Times Business section on my desk.  The date is March 7, 2021. The front page has a picture of a strange-looking character dressed in a coat and tie inside a picture frame.  His head looks like a cereal box with two eyes and a mouth. There is no nose. Attached to the frame is a plaque: EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH. The article's title is 'The Robots Are Coming for Phil in Accounting."

The word Robots and the pounding rain lured me to my corner office window, and I forgot for a moment why I was there. 

Despite the fat drops bending the light and sheeting water causing outside images to shimmy, I could still see several of the lanes of the 405 freeway where the "Stephen Dane" accident occurred.  

It was the last time I looked out that window but not the last time I would remember that day.

The original material for Stephen's book, including the Helen Lee letter, was still in a box in my office closet. The box, which was a little dusty, held the unfinished manuscript.  A piece of masking tape with the title of Stephen's book written with a black marker, "Tales from the Vault," is beginning to peel off the top. 

It has been almost five years since my involvement with the Dane family. I was investigating the accident, assisting in publishing Mr. Dane's book, and the disappointment of never getting it completed after receiving a small up-front fee from a publisher friend. A friend who originally, but cautiously, was optimistic about publishing and then, without any reason, at least any reason given to me or the Dane family, canceled.

I have decided to take a year off and finish my work on the U.S. economy during the last ten years. In a way, it is the final chapter in the Stephen Dane project. Because I never completed the work on his book, it left a void in my professional career as a journalist. A vacuum that visits me from time to time based on my conversation with Stephen during one of our meetings.  

What compelled me to resurrect Mr. Dane's book and, more importantly, create an addendum was driven by a short conversation I had while editing his book. 

 I have decided to share with you the conversation from the old material now that the THX1138 scene is even more relevant today than it was while he was a banker. 

"Have you ever seen the movie THX1138?" he once asked me.

"No, never heard of it. I thought THX1138 was a sound system developed by George Lucas for Star Wars."

"It is a sound system, but I don't know if it was developed for Star Wars.  I do know it is the title of his first movie." 

Stephen discussed this movie with me, especially one scene which had a significant impact on him that continues to intrude into the present.  

In his book, Stephen was reluctant to tell me too much of the THX1138 plot should anyone wish to rent the movie. Neither will I. 

He did elaborate on a scene that affected him. Robert Duval, who plays the main character, is trying to escape from an underground society policed by robots.

The scene focuses on the chase with intercuts to a room full of computers, showing programmers tracking the pursuit's cost in real time.

Stephen then said, "The message in that scene will become a reality. A reality that will affect every human on the planet".

That is all he told me about the movie. He was not referring to robots but the computer's ability to monitor and calculate economic costs and financial replicas in seconds.

The "THX1138" effect on the banking industry will be substantial. I should mention the movie came out at the beginning of Stephen's career when there were about 14,000 banks in America.

His story is one of surviving 40 years in an industry that was once considered safe. When he retired, there were only 7000 banks, and there are expected to be less than 500 in the future. If I might paraphrase, he told me with a bit of sarcasm.

"Nobody cares that 7,000  bank presidents lost their jobs or that 7,000 opportunities to become president also were lost to those who aspired to the position."

"Also, consolidation will have an even bigger impact on women who were just beginning to enter the financial field. They had to compete with a high ratio of successful males who were not about to concede their rung on the corporate ladder."

It took me most of the day to pack up and move everything to my one-bedroom apartment in San Pedro. In anticipation of my potential decline in future income and a desire to complete the Dane book, I sold my home in Anaheim. I was fortunate that the sale occurred when interest rates hit rock bottom. I made a nice profit after taxes that will carry me comfortably for quite a while. 

I leased my apartment for one year at one-third of the monthly cost of my home. My new digs included storage space for items I wanted to keep should I buy another home. However, much of my former house was full of 15 years' worth of things I thought had value. At the end of the moving process, I realized I had a lot of worthless junk. The only negative was all this took place during the Covid-19 lockdown.  Some things like wooden furniture I couldn't give away. Even the Salvation Army didn't want it. Most ended up in a dumpster, along with the memories they triggered. 

By about 4 pm, I had completed my loading task and headed toward San Pedro. The I-5 was busy, but the rain had stopped. There were some bright arrows of light shooting through the clearing clouds, exposing patches of blue.  I had to drop my visor when a blinding light angling off the car's rear window in front of me diverted my vision. 

The highway was still wet, which made me remember a warning given to me by someone I met at a party when I first came to California. She said, "When driving on a freeway during or right after the first rain, be very careful. All the oil that has dripped off the traffic floats to the surface and makes the surface very slippery."

The timing of this memory seemed providential.

Not 100 yards on the right, a black and white with its rotating red warning light was assisting the driver of a small foreign car that a Ford F-150 rear-ended.

Now that I was unemployed, a rare condition, I decided to take a conservative approach to my new situation. I slowed to 55 and drove home in the slow lane. The slippery road, the flashes of blinding light, and the fact that my possessions blocked vision out of my rear window made me reflect on the CHP strobing warning.   I felt like I was going to be driving my life on an oil-slick road during the ensuing year. I quickly adapted to this rare driving condition as I drove home. 

My new apartment is a one-bedroom with an enclosed garage. It also has a small windowless den. I

As dens go, it was about a third of the size of my former office. But this is where my new life began after I bought a desk, a swivel chair, a lamp, some bookcases, and a four-plug surge protector.  

I was anxious to investigate the Dane project box, so before setting up my new den office, I took various folders out and put them on the floor. 

As I removed each folder, I remember my first vision of Mr. Dane's room, where he kept his work. It was a jumble of piles of books, folders, newspaper clippings, unopened mail, and crumpled-up paper on the floor near but not in the wastebasket.  I could hardly believe Stephen was a banker. There was absolutely no semblance of organization. I asked how he found anything, and this was his answer. 

"Mark, there are two ways to handle material items. One is called batch processing, and the other is linear processing. These competing concepts are usually applied to any material used in the manufacturing process. But they can also be applied to data processing. Which is better depends on the requirements of the task involved.  When you have multiple tasks, deciding which is best becomes more complicated."

"I am a batch processor. Because the research material comes in at a different time, I must receive all the documentation before completing my work.

 Each stack of papers you see supports a different subject of my book.  In addition, the ideas that float up in my mind do not flow linearly. Material on economics, some written  20 years ago, is updated weekly. When all the material is in order, I decide to finish my economics chapter; the stack is organized, reviewed, and filed away in an economics folder. 

If I were a linear processor, I would first set up the file in a file cabinet and then file the item as I got it.  This act of filing one at a time is a pain in the ass. 

 The pile you see is, in effect, a folder in a file cabinet. But it has one advantage. I know where it is because it stares me in the face daily. Since I never purge the pile until I have completed the reason I created it, I never lose anything."

"Before you ask, "no" I do not keep batch files in my room for 20 years. I only have a few, so my only challenge is remembering where they are. I bring them out when necessary. Sometimes I create a batch file and keep it in a cabinet." 

"I have from time to time placed an item in the wrong pile. Usually, what I have misplaced is at, or near,  the top of the wrong stack. My method looks sloppy because it appears to be highly disorganized. I find it easier to sort through the piles than to go to a file cabinet and look through all the files.   To a linear processor, I am a sloppy, disorganized person, and by extension, a sloppy thinker"

"There is a situation where batch processing doesn't work, and that is when there is a deadline to complete a task."

"The best example was my experience in Coast Guard boot camp. When the reveille alarm went off, you had a short time to get to roll call and morning inspection."

"The first task was to make your bed, followed by a shower, shave, and get dressed. Your shoes had to be shined, your bed in strict conformity, your brass buckle sparkling, your uniform free from lint, your duffle bag well packed, and your locker in perfect order. You couldn't put your shoes and belt buckle in a batch pile because they had a common requirement of being polished.  In short, military procedures are the poster child of linear processing, and there is a reason. Semper Paradis. Always ready.

"I am sure that as a reporter, you did not work on five or six different articles when you had a deadline for one of them."

That was his answer.   I am a linear processor.  Working with Mr. Dane was challenging, and organizing the material in this box will also be challenging. I did not create the batches, and I do not know if some piles were mixed. I will try to organize his writings coherently. But to be honest, some of the material seems to have no connection; at least to me, it doesn't.

 At the beginning of his book, Stephen wrote the following introduction, which may explain his writing process.

"There are numerous styles when you go to a museum and wander the art galleries. In one room, paintings may capture a perfect representation of what the artist sees. On the next wall may hang stylizations of these same scenes. On yet another wall, a human body model is constructed like a bunch of unconnected building blocks. In another room, you might encounter an overwhelming presentation by Jackson Pollock created by splashing paint colors in what appears to be random guessing.  One of my clients owned an art gallery and described Pollack as "Jack The Dripper." 

So, as in art, writing must exhibit a vast diversity of styles, forms, and constructions. However, I admit I have limited experience in this field.

My writing style is whatever comes into my head. 

Since my style is to write down whatever comes to mind, it can only mean there is some connection between seemingly random thoughts. No doubt, Mr. Pollock's creations make perfect artistic sense to him. I will assume the same thing. If it comes into my mind, it must make sense to me. I will believe it makes sense to you."

Random order could be the best description of Stephens's writing style. It is a combination of stream of consciousness and strict order and discipline. My challenge will be to create an "orderly random order" that will be easy to follow. Wish me luck.

December 12, 2015:

"It was an early Monday afternoon, and I was on my way to Morro Bay to interview Richard Dane, brother of Stephen Dane. My editor thought it might make an excellent human-interest story as a follow-up to an accident two weeks ago Wednesday afternoon on the North Lane of the 405 freeway.

Usually, my reporting is found in the business section of the paper. Still, the research department got wind of a multi-car pileup from a police radio alert. The editor asked me to accompany a new hire, Fiona Biggs, to its location not far from my office. Fiona was instructed to take notes while I led the inquiry.

By the time we arrived, the California Highway Patrol had secured the area, and the ambulance had come and gone. The firemen were looking for gasoline leaks, and tow trucks were trying to clear the wreckage.  

The police would not give any victims' names or accident details. Several eyewitnesses confirmed that a pick-up truck pulling a large 30 to 35-foot pleasure yacht had swerved to avoid a piece of furniture falling onto the highway.

 The truck driver lost control, and the trailer carrying the boat jackknifed into an early model Mercedes sending it into the left lane cement barrier. The yacht came partially off the trailer, and the truck, the Mercedes, yacht, and trailer blocked four of the five lanes.  

The truck driver appeared not to be injured; however, two additional cars were also involved. One ran into the stern of the boat with moderate damage to both the vehicle and the yacht, and the other car had minor damage. 

Several witnesses we approached had no information on the other cars or their drivers. The consensus was the other drivers were not injured either.

 I surmised the Mercedes and its driver were not as fortunate. According to one witness, the Mercedes flipped on its passenger side after hitting the barrier and skidded approximately 50 feet.

One eyewitness said that 10 minutes after the California Highway Patrol arrived, an ambulance, fire truck, and two tow trucks maneuvered through the wreckage. They were able to assess the situation and took control of the highway.

 The Mercedes driver remained strapped in his seat belt and unconscious. Several paramedics opened the driver's side door, removed the injured man, put him on a gurney, and took him to the hospital. Another witness said there appeared to be some blood.

Realizing that most of the drama was over, I wrote down the license plate of the Mercedes. I told my partner that I would follow up on the injured driver if I could track him through the license plate. 

We then noticed a woman about 65 or 70 years old with white hair and a youthful body being interviewed by the police. We approached her in our casual reporter style. Her demeanor was a combination of serious, efficient, and worried. After the officer excused her, my partner and I decided she might know something.

"Excuse us."

"Yes?"

"We are from the Orange County Courier. I am Mark O'Brian, and this is my associate…."

"Fiona Biggs," she said after my lapse of her name.

"Pleased to meet you," she said, then gave me a "what kind of reporter are you ?" look.  

After a brief embarrassment, I continued to address the woman.

"Fiona," I said, looking at Fiona for approval, "I noticed you were having a lengthy conversation with the Highway Patrol.  We arrived a bit late and could only obtain some information on what happened.  We wonder if you might be able to tell us anything." 

"I'm sorry, I did not see the accident. I arrived about 5 minutes after it occurred."

"You didn't see anything?"

"No."

"At the risk of seeming aggressive, you spent some time talking to the police for a witness that did not see anything."

"I am not a witness; my brother was driving the Mercedes. He and I were both heading to L.A., where he is staying. Please excuse me. I am a bit shaken and would like to go home. The timing of this accident seems both fateful and ironic.

 "Can you at least give me your brother's name?"

"I am sorry; the police said until relatives are contacted, it is in my brother's and the family's best interest not to talk to anyone. "

She continued, "We have legal counsel in the family, so we will contact her to handle this." 

She choked up at this point, so we decided to wait for a better opportunity. 

"We understand."

 Deciding to make a half retreat, we prepared to walk away and then asked 

"Would you mind continuing this conversation in the future?"

"I might not mind, but I live in Montana. I was on my way to LAX to drop off my rental car, and I need to go now, or I will miss my plane."

"How do we..."

"Get in touch with me? 

She appeared shaken as she fumbled while opening her purse to get a business card and car keys. She then handed both to me. A brief slight smile of embarrassment seemed to reduce her anxiety.

I returned her car keys, which she accepted with an honest thank you and another humorous smile. 

"You can contact me in a few days if you wish.  Goodbye. "

The card read Steffanie Leveroni, Ph.D.

Family Counseling

For Appointments, Call 406-252-5658

Or Email at ConsultSG@Pro.com

Website   Currently under construction.

FOR MEDICAL EMERGENCIES, DIAL 911

She got into the car, and the police assisted her through the chaos.

It wasn't easy to know if the last name on the card was the same as her brother's or a married name.

We also noticed no address on the card, but the 406 area code is for Billings, Montana. 

As it turned out, we did not need to contact her.

I identified the driver through the Mercedes license plate, UCLAPL8.   This vanity plate offered two interpretations. The owner went to UCLA, or he was a frustrated standup comic.  Using newspaper resources, we accessed the registered owner through the license plate. His name was Stephen R. Dane. 

We had nothing on him in our archives, so I began a random internet search. There were extensive postings for Steven Dane, but only two for Stephen R. Dane. One lived in New Jersey, so I ignored this one.

The right Stephen R. Dane was listed on LinkedIn, Facebook, WeChat, and IMDB and is a UCLA alumnus.

 I decided to access his Facebook account. It was listed under Stephen Dane and had a picture of 3 males dressed in Tuxedos. Which one was Stephen? I could not tell. I read the bio: "San Rafael High, San Francisco State; MBA from UCLA.  Married."  Not much to go on. There were no photos and not much on his site. When I clicked on Friends, it said: "no friends to show." 

Also on the net were two lawsuits against banks where he is the plaintiff, a couple of published editorials, and other personal organizations, one of which involved learning Mandarin.  The UCLA alum link and the license plate made me believe I had the right person.  

He was also cross-referenced in the Yellow Book, which listed several relations with the last name Dane. All were males except for one female named Terry O'Brien.

I could not tell the origin of this relationship based on the Yellow Book listings, so I ran a google search on Terry O'Brian. An investigation which proved much more difficult as there were many O'Brien's. Now I am curious. She has the same last name as mine.

 I reviewed Fiona's notes to remember what the sister said about having legal counsel in the family. As a long shot, I referenced Martindale Hubble, a publishing company that lists practicing attorneys. 

There she was. Working in a  boutique law firm in downtown Los Angeles, listed as Terresa O'Brian of Baker, O'Brian, and Durst. Address and phone number included.

When I tried to contact her, her assistant answered. When I introduced myself, she told me Teressa had expected a call from the media but was too stressed for an interview at the moment. 

This answer confirmed my suspicion that this was Stephen's wife despite a different name. 

She said she would respond to all press inquiries in a few days and to please leave a name, the company you represent, and a phone number or email address, and she will contact you. 

My curiosity got me, and I asked the assistant if there had been other media inquiries. She informed me that I was the only one so far. 

I gave her the requested information, said thank you, and decided to go home.  The fact that no other media had contacted her set off a little warning bell. I ignored it and assumed they did not do the same work I did to find her. 

As promised, Terresa called me the next day.

 Our conversation began with a caveat that press comments would be limited.

 However, she did have permission from outside counsel to direct me to Mr. Dane's brother Richard. He would be willing to give me some background information if I wished. 

I concluded that Stephanie had contacted her other brother Richard Dane and told him about us. Richard agreed to take her place in the interview. 

Terresa added that these two brothers had just bought a sailboat anchored at Morro Bay Harbor. She gave me Richard's phone number and believed Richard was staying on the boat.

                                   MORRO BAY

After a quick breakfast of hot oatmeal, some cinnamon toast, and black coffee, I copied the photo of the three brothers to my iPhone. I contacted Richard by phone, and we agreed to meet on his boat moored in Morro Bay harbor.

I left at 6:30 A.M., driving North to Morro Bay, located on the California coast about 15 miles west of San Luis Obispo.

Taking the 405, I hoped to avoid LA commute traffic before transitioning to 101. With any luck, I should arrive to meet with Richard at about 11: a.m.

My goal is to locate the harbor and then find Richard’s boat. I had never been to Morro Bay, so the day before, I opened a link to Wikipedia, which gives a detailed presentation of the city. I will not have time to the town of 10,000 residents or to visit Morro Bay’s famous landmark, Morro Rock

Stephen’s wife said she thought the boat was called “Miss Briolo.” She said the harbor was relatively small, and I should have little difficulty finding Richard.

When I arrived, the parking spaces were nearly all taken, and there was very little activity. I assumed the boat owners were either sailing or fishing. The gates to the various boat slips were locked, so I went into the Harbor Master’s office to ask for directions.

A young lady was the only one in the office, so I asked her

“Can you tell me how to get to Mr. Dane’s boat, the ‘Miss Briolo’? “.

She smiled with a slight giggle and told me, “Mr. Dane’s boat is called My Barolo. You can find it moored on dock B. I think Mr. Dane  is….”

Just then, she was interrupted when someone entered the offices and called out my name.

“Mr. Obrien?”

“Yes”

“Richard Dane:  Welcome to Morro Bay”

“I am sorry I wasn’t at the gate to meet you; I was on the phone. Shall we go to the boat.?”

Richard then asked, “My sister told me to expect you. When did you see my brother?”

‘I didn’t. I found Stephen through the net, and his photo was posted in his profile, although it does not look recent.”

At that point, I opened my iPhone and showed Richard the photo.

Richard stared at the photo for a few seconds and then said

“Oh! that photo was taken almost 25 years ago. As you can see, I am still bald. I lost most of my hair and turned grey in my mid-twenties. Unlike Steve, who still has all his hair.

“That is a photo of us at Ronald’s wedding. Ron is the tall one in the middle and is younger than Steven and me. Now he is as bald as I am. I am surprised Steve still has that photo on his site.”

“Richard, thank you for taking the time to discuss what must be an emotionally trying time for you. I thought our Orange County readers might like a follow-up story on your brother.

“The accident occurred almost on our doorstep. As you know, we met your sister at the accident site, and she made a statement that I felt may be of interest to our readers. She said something to the effect that your brother had just completed or was about to complete a project and that it seemed fate or something of that nature had blocked him.   Do you have any thoughts on this?”

“Well, Mark.” Then Richard paused before answering. “My answers might seem a bit guarded. As you know, there may be legal action against the boat owner and the company transporting it to Long Beach. So as long as I do not feel you are probing for legal liability information, I am happy to entertain your questions.”

I continued: “I want to pursue the ‘fate’ angle alluded to by your sister. I do not believe fate can be used as a legal defense.”

“I agree; OK, ask away.”

“Most of my questions will not focus on the details of the accident. We have already obtained some specifics from the police report. I am more interested in a storyline on your brother that may give some credence to the “fate” angle. Or to prove that it was just a coincidence.”

 “Are you OK with this, Richard?”  

“No problem. Go ahead and ask away.”

“I understand that you and your brother just recently bought this sailboat. Is it a blue water ketch? Are you planning on an ocean voyage?”

“Yes and No. I hope to eventually take it on an adventure when we learn how to sail. I should say as soon as I have learned how to sail, Steve used to race as a crew member in an offshore Choi Lee in San Francisco Bay. He quit sailing when he moved to Sacramento and got married. He used to joke that he had no desire to sail on the Sacramento River because you can only navigate in one direction.

“We bought the boat about a year ago so I would have a place to hang out where I could write in solitude, and he and Terri, Terri is his wife, would have a place to come on the weekends. We were lucky that this boat came with a permit to live aboard. Morro Bay has only 50 slips available for this purpose,

“I live in our parent’s house in El Cajon. I am responsible for monitoring their health. The stress load of this responsibility takes a toll on me. Fortunately, Susan and…”

Richard paused for a second as though he was distracted.

“…..Stephen are available to relieve me from time to time. Now I can only come to the boat when scheduling permits.

“The accident occurred while Stephen was returning to his home. Ron and Stephanie were also there that weekend to meet with our lawyer on family financial matters. They are both 96.

“This accident has also derailed our schedules. Stephanie had to fly back to El Cajon to care for the folks. She shuttles back and forth from the house to the Hospital. She is stressing that her patients in Montana are being neglected.

“We are now interviewing for in-home care. Explaining our parent’s need for home health care will be challenging.”

Richard added. “Most importantly, we have not told our parents yet regarding Steve. We are hoping he wakes up so we can deliver good news. “

“Do you know his condition? I asked.

“No, I don’t, but Stephanie would tell me of any changes one way or the other.”

“Can you tell me which Hospital?”

“Mark, I am sorry I was told to keep that a secret. He is 60 years old, and though in good health, there was a severe injury when his head hit the driver-side window.”

“You said he is 60 years old; you look slightly older than 54.”

“I am. I am 66. Why?

“Oh, Sorry, I must be having a senior moment. Ron is 60, and Stephen is 72.”

“You seem well-informed but not overly concerned.”

“I am getting my information from Stephanie, who, as I mentioned, goes to the Hospital. She is with our parents now, but when she decides to see Steve again, I have to return to San Diego, which could be as early as tomorrow.

“And, of course, I’m concerned. But I know my brother, and despite what Stephanie said, I do not believe this is his fate. He has survived many more dangerous events in his life. Some of these events are in my book. Sorry I mean his book. I believe he will either buy the ranch in some spectacular tragic event or live into his late nineties and die in his sleep with a smile.”

“You said: in his book, he is writing a book.?”

“Yes, we are both semi-retired, and we are both interested in pursuing new challenges. As I said, Stephen is six years older, and his interests differ from mine. I am writing a fictional novel, and he is writing about his banking experiences. He is also taking, I mean was taking, an art class at UCLA extension and had just finished a writing class at the same place.”

“Is your brother a banker? I inquired.

“He was, in fact, our other brother Ron, I mentioned before, is currently also a banker. But his career prevents him from devoting time to our parents.”

“Any more siblings?”

“No, just the 4 of us.”

“Richard, I had already found some evidence he was a banker. I just wanted you to confirm it in addition to the fate angle. During my preliminary research, I found two lawsuits against his former employers. It is rare for an officer of a bank to sue the bank. Two suits seem to imply your brother had some personal issues. These links further piqued my curiosity.”

Sensing more than just a human-interest story, I continued along this line of questioning.

 “How far along is he with his book? Do you know?”

“Oh! for sure, we always discuss each other’s work. Steve emailed me his latest updates just before the accident. I have a hard copy below in the cabin.”

My curiosity about the boat’s name diverted me away from Stephen’s book. I implied a question in the form of observation.

 “My Barolo is a strange name for a boat.”

“When we first bought the boat, we thought so too, and I wanted to change it, but Stephen said it is bad luck to change the name of a ship. It is an old superstition.

“The harbor master told us the former owner of the boat loved Italian wine, especially expensive Barolos., but for health reasons, he had to give up drinking. He changed the name to My Barolo. He died a short time later, and we bought the boat from his estate.

“I guess giving up wine didn’t help him.”

“Oh, that isn’t how he died. The story is tragic. He hadn’t had the boat for long when he took his 12-year-old son out for his second sailing lesson. The boy knew very little about sailing.

“As the story goes: The boat was sailing close hauled, and he had let his son take the wheel. A strong gust caused the boom to swing violently from one side of the deck to the other. The father stood up for some reason just before the wind changed direction. The boom struck the father in the back and knocked him into the water. “Although not unconscious, he was not wearing a life vest.

 Stephen told me; " this is called an uncontrolled gybe. It is one of the most dangerous events on a sailboat: And it proved to be. While in the water, the boat moved away from the father’s location. The boy did not know how to rescue someone in the water. The story goes he did know how to steer the boat and put it in irons.”

Richard then decided to express some of his newly gained knowledge to me.

“How you place a boat in irons is the first lesson Stephen taught me. Putting the boat in irons means you steer the boat directly into the wind, which empties the wind from the sails. A sailboat boat cannot move much if the bow is in irons.

 “I do not know how the dad was eventually taken out of the water. The rumor is the son sent up a flare, but by the time whoever responded, the father had drowned or died of hypothermia.

“Steve told me that on his first day of crewing, the owner said to him, even before Steve jumped onto the deck.”

“Whoever is steering the boat is the Captain. Since I will be the Captain today, I only have one command.

“Keep your head down, your mouth shut, and look good at the parties.”

“Mark, I am sure you see the irony here. I am a Chianti man; however, “My Barolo” will remain “My Barolo.”

“Regarding Stephen’s book, he has completed about 90% of his original outline. The stories about the lawsuits are covered in the relevant chapters. These stories may have to be amended by legal counsel before publication.

I do not think it is appropriate to divulge the book’s content. However, there is one section that, although part of the overall content, diverges from the book’s main focus and deals with your fate theme.

 “Upon reflection, many of my brother’s experiences seem to be initiated by external forces beyond his control. But my sister’s comment seems a little unusual, so she must have seen or knows something that I haven’t been informed of.

“He was initially going to publish this part of the book as a short story. The theme of this diversion has a broader appeal than “Adventures of a Banker.” I do not believe he would be upset if you read this section. He would probably invite your opinion and where he might send it for publication.”

“What is the theme of the diversion?”

“My brother has been married to Terri for 45 years; they have three daughters, two grandchildren, and one on the way. Their relationship seems like the kind of marriage everyone dreams of having. But about 20 years ago, I think my brother fell in love with another woman. Or at least had some emotional involvement. He would have been 52 or 53 at the time.”

“So he was unfaithful?”

Richard gave a long pause at this somewhat indelicate question then he said.

“I will tell you what. I have to go to the chandlery to buy some grommets for our sails. I will let you read the chapter, such as it is, on this subject, but the material is not to leave the boat. I will also give you the Preface and the Prologue, which introduce the book.

 “There may be some handwritten comments in the margins by me. There may also be some grammatical errors as it has not been edited, nor has Steve written an ending. But the essence is all there.

“Regarding your question about being unfaithful, you can stay here and read his story, and I will let you decide for yourself. The conflicts between fate, love, and morality should give you a good storyline. However, this material has not yet been submitted for copyright protection. I will leave it to you on your honor to keep the stories secure from piracy.

“You are welcome to help yourself to some beer in the fridge, The toilet is at the bow, and there is a sandwich shop in the harbor house in case you get hungry. I should be back in two or three hours and will be happy to answer more questions if you wish. 

“You have my word.”

Despite his concern, Richard gave me the entire manuscript, which was quite extensive, and just put a red paper clip in the sections he mentioned.

I admit I was tempted to read the whole manuscript, but I feared that I might not get to finish what he gave me to read before he returned. He would know that I looked at the other material if I was still reading, and I wondered if he gave me the whole manuscript as a test. Not an unusual suspicion for a reporter. Returning in 2 or 3 hours seemed like a long time to buy grommets. He might be back in 45 minutes

Dear reader: If I may return to the present for a moment. The manuscript Richard gave me on the boat was an uncompleted portion of the book. The chapter he wanted me to read, titled “The Lotus and the Rose,” does not appear until much later in “Tales from the Vault.”

I introduced this chapter at the beginning because it is how my story begins.

 I spent almost two years meeting with Richard in my spare time, working on the various chapters and editing some of Stephen’s more esoteric writings. As I mentioned, the publisher will eventually turn down the book.

I have inserted here a copy of the turn down letter.

After our mutual disappointment, FedEx delivered the box with the folders that now cover the floor in my den. Not only did the box contain the UCLAPL8 license, and the Sylvia Li file, but folders with writings that were not part of “Tales from the Vault

For example, a folder labeled compositions. This folder contained lyrics to songs and musical scores written by Stephen. Another folder labeled Miscellaneous is the most interesting. It has what I might call philosophical musings. I found some of his views on economics very interesting

The Sylvia Li folder was a lot thicker than I remembered.

One folder labeled “Law Suit Number One” contains documentation Stephen had kept secret from me.

The subject matter in this folder may be why the publisher decided not to publish it. Since then, I have researched “The Marcos incident” and found relevant material not available to Stephen. I will add my discoveries when I post Stephen’s chapter on Redwood Bank in Part 3. 

An envelope containing a letter was attached to the box when it arrived. There was no return address on the envelope, and the letter, now misplaced, was not signed. In a nut shell I was thanked for my input and given all rights to the material in the box should I wish to publish anything in the folders. It also said Steve and Terri have sold the boat and are now taking an extended vacation.

It has been three years and not even a postcard. I assume Stephen is no longer with us, or he and Terri have decided to move on.

I will now return to Morro Bay and continue with my story.

Except for a few episodes involving me, most of the following is taken directly from the original manuscript.  

Chapter 7, “The Lotus and the Rose”  DRAFT

Chapter 7, “The Lotus and the Rose”  DRAFT

Under the Jacaranda, a red rose bloomed

by the side of a pond

where a Lotus perfumed

They say that all stories have a beginning middle and an end.

I do not know where or when this story begins. My life seems to be a continuum of one episode to another, with each episode having different degrees of importance as they progress through time.

This story does not have an ending, but I hope to have a resolution or understanding, if not an ending. I was reluctant to start the story without an end, but in my mind, it is integral to a significant portion of my book.

I have made several references to my career in the preceding chapters. How and why I ended up in a Chinese bank, you recall, was caused by a string of bad decisions on my part and outside economic events over which I had no control.

So, I guess this part of my life begins at a new low point late in my career. I have fallen to the Vice President level and commercial loan officer in a Chinese bank.

As a VP, I am expected to obtain, underwrite and increase my loan portfolio; These are the same responsibilities when I first became an officer 25 years ago. No departments report to me, and I no longer have an assigned parking space. At the peak of my career, I had over 100 subordinates. Now I have only one, me,

This part of the book has nothing to do with Chinese or other banking institutions. It has to do with my relationship with a Chinese woman, 27 years younger than me, and my introduction to the ways of Asian thought and the events that intervened every time we were parted.

Her name is Sylvia Li. She had been in America for many about 12 years. I will tell her life story of what I know later. But there is much about her background that I am clueless.

Except as a continuation of muddled judgment on my part and outside events over which I had no control, I have no idea why any of the following occurred. Despite attempting to apply my analytical skills to find some rational explanation, I always felt like a lost child in the fun house.

The only significance of this story to banking was that Sylvia was a trainee at my new Bank. A third party told me Sylvia wondered if I would be her mentor. Although this is not unusual in American business, being asked to be a mentor in China is considered a great honor.

When I learned this from Mr. Choi, one of my male Chinese peers, I took the request with great pride and dead seriousness. I also noted a sense of jealousy in the exchange. Although Sylvia never asked me directly, I decided to assume the role without a formal agreement.

My previous training and experience prepared me well to address this honor. What and how I helped her in her career were relatively minimal and not part of the story. Like all other Chinese I associated with, I can say that they worked their asses off. They were like machines, as I noted earlier in the book.

At my prior Bank, my position came with an office and a secretary; however, my status here was hard to evaluate. If I may repeat myself, Asian banks keep most of their officers and assistants in a large single room. Rows of desks from front to back divided the room. Each row represents a division, and each desk in the row has a designated status. The Chinese Bank I was employed by had a similar structure; however, the highest position in the open room was VP level. Thus, I sat in the back row with my fellow Chinese Vice Presidents. I was the only non-Asian on the floor and only one of 3 in the Bank.

My relationship with Sylvia began when Terri and I discussed language. It was more of an argument. My wife is an expert on the proper use of the English language.

One of her favorite pastimes is to correct the grammar of sports announcers. I never argue with my wife about the meaning of words, sentence structure, or punctuation. She reads a book a week. I average four books a year. 

I have been able to read music since the age of 6, learning the piano, trombone, clarinet, and saxophone in that order. I still read musical scores when I play the piano or my sax, but I sing by ear. Singing by ear means you hear a sound and mimic it. Mockingbirds must have magnificent eardrums.

While singing, I only use my eyes to memorize the words. And it is being both a singer and a player of instruments my fate was set into motion.

 I believe that the voice is a lot like a musical instrument and can be changed through the proper coordination of the mouth, tongue, throat, and vocal cords. My favorite example of this is the skill of Robin Williams. But our argument did not center on the use of the English language. Still, from a statement she made that ran counter to my theory.

I told her that some Chinese coworkers had trouble pronouncing certain English words. She replied that unless they learn English pronunciation by the time they are 10 or 11, it will be a struggle

Any older they cannot physically master the challenge. I assumed Terri read this somewhere because she remembers everything except where she put her sunglasses. 

I disagreed.

 So, to prove my theory, I asked Sylvia to participate in a little experiment with me. I would base proving my theory on the word “refrigerator” or the word “flower.”

In early American movies, Asian characters were sometimes given lines that caused them to say words that mangled the r and the l. It was at the time considered humorous, today it would be regarded as not politically correct by the meek and racist by the not so meek 

Korean, Japanese, and Chinese each have a sound that combines the L and the R. They do not have an L or an R sound equivalent to English.

 Thus, when they say “refrigerator,” all the r sounds have an l. Lifligelato(rl), and the l sounds have an r in them, “frowerl.”

To complicate matters, our “r” has two sounds, r as in red and r as in ever. And two L sounds, l as in Love and l as in evil. Each of the four sounds uses a different configuration of tongue, mouth, and throat. Later, when I decided to learn Mandarin, I had to learn how to combine the R and the L to say the word for men. My difficulty speaking this word will give rise to a humorous story I will tell later.

However, the reason why it may be difficult for Asians to overcome this challenge surprised me.

I had been with the Bank about two weeks when I asked Sylvia if she would not mind trying to say the word refrigerator. I explained my reason for asking, and she said she would try.

 I felt that having been in America since she was 14, she might not be the best subject to prove my theory.

However, when she tried to say the word refrigerator, she only got part of it. She said (lR)eflige(rl)ator, almost but not entirely.

After I said it several times and she said it several times, she could not get it. So, I asked her to look at my mouth and mimic what I did. At my suggestion, she laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.

Putting her hand to her mouth was the most significant move because it was the clue that eventually led to success. I asked why Asian woman cover their mouths when they laugh, and she said it is considered rude to show an open mouth. That was the Eureka moment for me. I realized she could not say refrigerator because the word required her to open her mouth wider than her comfort zone.

So, I said, Sylvia, please remember you are in America, and it is not rude here to open your mouth. Please open your mouth so I can see the back of your throat. But then I said to her, “I will exaggerate saying the word, and I want you to look into my mouth and see how my tongue moves.”

My suggestion made her blush and laugh with her hand moving in front of her mouth again. But she did begin to look as I exaggerated, saying refrigerator very slowly over and over. Then she would try to pronounce refrigerator by looking at my mouth and copying me. After eight or nine tries, she got it. It was perfect

 I said, “you got it;” She and I smiled and laughed at her accomplishment.

 My experiment with Sylvia began my education about Asian culture. However, her success in pronouncing the English word “refrigerator” was by no means statistical proof of my theory. It does appear that it was not a physical inability to say English words spelled with an L or  R,  but the Asian cultural conformity on mouth manners.

Thus, my experiment would end when Sylvia eventually said the word “refrigerator” as clearly as any American could. At that moment, I felt a vindicated sense of winning the argument with Terri. I also had a slight unexpected emotional rush caused by the smile on Sylvia’s face. It made me feel 21.

Because of my age, experience, stable marriage, and total devotion to my wife and family, I foolishly believed in my immunity to any consequential effect from learning about Asian culture from her. However, the impact of some relationships is like the flu. You do not know you have been exposed until it’s too late.

 She would take me, or, I would allow myself to be taken, I am never sure, through a threshold of enlightenment, euphoria, sorrow, and confusion, over and over again. 

Sylvia was the spark and foundation of each of my Asian experiences for the past 20 years

So, this is the beginning of a story that appears to end several times, like a Korean soap, only to revive and bloom again. And each episode becomes more complex, sometimes involving Sylvia but most times not.

On a personal level, Sylvia is the Lotus, and I am the Rose. In a more significant philosophical sense, The Lotus is the East, and the Rose is the West.

My Sylvia experiment will compel me to explore the reality of that well-known Western expression: “East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.”

So, as I begin from here, Asians can say the word refrigerator, and The Lotus and the Rose have met.

The most baffling regarding my relationship with her is why I remember everything she ever said to me, almost everything I said to her, and every moment we were together when we were not occupied by work.

It is baffling because the total time, either together or communicating by phone or on the internet, is less than 20 hours over 20 years. The amount of time she has been on my mind is 100 times this amount.

For those readers who may be expecting a traditional story of a middle-aged man who falls for a younger woman, has a torrid affair, and then suffers the consequences, I am afraid you will be disappointed.

At any time we were alone together, I never touched Sylvia, made a physical advance, or made comments that would be inappropriate.

My desire for a physical relationship was weak. Likewise, Sylvia never indicated she was interested in me that way, either.

We did touch once, and that was when she touched me. It happened one day at work; she snuck up behind me and grabbed me from behind in front of the view of half the office. I can still smell her perfume.

She was happy to see me, giggled, and said something about her obtained tickets. I do not remember what this had to do with me, but it was the only time she was unguarded in her behavior toward me.

At this point, I need to introduce another player in this story. John Choi was also a trainee at the Bank and was, I believe, at the same level as Sylvia. I did not know John's history with Sylvia, but he seemed to know her reasonably well at the time.

John is not the typical Chinese banker that I came to know. He was a maverick, somewhat unorthodox when structuring a deal, a free spirit regarding conservative moral issues, and a lot of fun.

He was an outstanding financial strategist but needed more experience structuring his presentation. I knew and still do not know anything about his history. However, he will have an essential role in my future.

Since I have introduced John, it seems appropriate to introduce Sylvia now. I will provide as much as I know about her from what she and John have told me. The information from John has not been verified, so some of it may be untrue. However, I believe it to be at least partially true.

When I met Sylvia, she was, I assume, 27 years old, born in the Chinese year of the Pig. She is tall, with very long legs, marble-white skin, and silky black hair with a tinge of red.

Although she goes by the name Lee, her actual name is Li, which means plumb. Sylvia was born in Beijing into a family that appears to have had status, wealth, and maybe both.

 John's story, which he related to me, is that at the time she was born, she had an older sister, and her father was hoping for a son. In 1971 China was under the one-child per family dictate, so when she was born, her father was disappointed she was not a boy. So, he allegedly sent Sylvia to live with her aunt, who lived in Nebraska, hoping the next child would be a son.

Her parents do have a third child, but it was also a girl. How her family was able to have two children during the one-child policy was never explained to me. But John seemed to think it was due to her father's status in China. I found the whole story, if true, to be highly ironic.

The whole subject seemed taboo at the time. Still, it was one of the elements of her past that fascinated me, especially since she graduated from the University of Nebraska and obtained a master's degree from Thunderbird in Arizona.

As my story unfolds, you will see I do not gain much background information. My knowledge of her past was limited. I will eventually meet her mother and one of her sisters.

It might be difficult to believe that only 20 hours of intermittent contact over 20 years would be significant. As far as Sylvia is concerned, it probably was. But for me, each encounter set into motion a flood of irrational feelings about Sylvia that drove me to explore other aspects of Asian Culture.

My only motivation seemed to be a foolish dream that I would be able to share these experiences with her and that she would be in my life.

This realization put me In a confusing moral dilemma. Do I share what is happening to me with my wife? 

Could this be the stuff that every cheap novel exploits? The vulnerability of human nature. When the forces of fate unite with the forces of evil, bringing the participants to a crushing defeat.

The intrusion of fate and evil is a gross exaggeration. Until now, my marital vow to promise to abandon all others had never really been tested.

Despite opportunities afforded by using birth control pills, social changes in women's roles, integration into male-dominated labor pools, and a few not-so-subtle invitations, I stayed loyal.

 And since the violation of the vow usually applies to sex, I felt I could keep my promise.

 As I will learn, the affairs of the heart are much more demanding and powerful, and there is no protection except to get out early and not look back. I could only hope that fate would solve this conflict.

When her smile made me feel 21 again, I caught the "red flu" *. Some aspects of my life at the time made me vulnerable. It was not a bad relationship at home or a feeling of loneliness. Now that I think about it, it was the fall from my status as a banker and a sense of loss of identity. In short, I was struggling again for social confirmation, but now I was old, and resurrection seemed remote.

It has been a long time since I have reflected on those early years of our relationship. Over the past 22 years, we have had three periods of interaction, the 3rd of which continues to date.

*Note to reader" The term "Red Flu" is described in another chapter before this one. Because it is mentioned, I will explain briefly. According to Stephen's s research, it is a term used by British sailors who encountered tall northern Chinese women with a red tinge in their black hair. The British sailors were at the mercy of these women's powers to captivate them. Unfortunately, I was unable to verify Stephen's definition.

Outline of three Episodes Draft

My initial contact was in 1998. It was my first experience of having powerful feelings for another person since my marriage. This period ended when she left the Bank, moved to New York, and married.

At this point, I was sure this was the end of our relationship. I was glad for her and was grateful that I had not done anything foolish. However, this experience did not end my fascination for Asian women or Asian Culture.

There had been no other contact for several years. Then I received a card from her announcing the birth of her daughter. I felt a little strange that she remembered me but was very happy for her.

 In 2006 Sylvia returned to the US with her daughter after getting divorced. Her return is at the beginning of Episode 2. and would have a much more intense influence on me.

I had forgotten about her until I got a call from  Mr. Chou asking me if I would like to work with him at China Trust Bank. He said Sylvia was also coming to work at China Trust, but we would be in different locations. Mr, Chou lied.

EXPAND HERE:

Chou's story here. See notes

Sylvia Joins the Bank

English Lessons for Sylvia's Mother

Under the Jacaranda, a red rose bloomed

by the side of a pond

where a Lotus perfumed

They say that all stories have a beginning middle and an end.

I do not know where or when this story begins. My life seems to be a continuum of one episode to another, with each episode having different degrees of importance as they progress through time.

This story does not have an ending, but I hope to have a resolution or understanding, if not an ending. I was reluctant to start the story without an end, but in my mind, it is integral to a significant portion of my book.

I have made several references to my career in the preceding chapters. How and why I ended up in a Chinese bank, you recall, was caused by a string of bad decisions on my part and outside economic events over which I had no control.

So, I guess this part of my life begins at a new low point late in my career. I have fallen to the Vice President level and commercial loan officer in a Chinese bank.

As a VP, I am expected to obtain, underwrite and increase my loan portfolio; These are the same responsibilities when I first became an officer 25 years ago. No departments report to me, and I no longer have an assigned parking space. At the peak of my career, I had over 100 subordinates. Now I have only one, me,

This part of the book has nothing to do with Chinese or other banking institutions. It has to do with my relationship with a Chinese woman, 27 years younger than me, and my introduction to the ways of Asian thought and the events that intervened every time we were parted.

Her name is Sylvia Li. She had been in America for many about 12 years. I will tell her life story of what I know later. But there is much about her background that I am clueless.

Except as a continuation of muddled judgment on my part and outside events over which I had no control, I have no idea why any of the following occurred. Despite attempting to apply my analytical skills to find some rational explanation, I always felt like a lost child in the fun house.

The only significance of this story to banking was that Sylvia was a trainee at my new Bank. A third party told me Sylvia wondered if I would be her mentor. Although this is not unusual in American business, being asked to be a mentor in China is considered a great honor.

When I learned this from Mr. Choi, one of my male Chinese peers, I took the request with great pride and dead seriousness. I also noted a sense of jealousy in the exchange. Although Sylvia never asked me directly, I decided to assume the role without a formal agreement.

My previous training and experience prepared me well to address this honor. What and how I helped her in her career were relatively minimal and not part of the story. Like all other Chinese I associated with, I can say that they worked their asses off. They were like machines, as I noted earlier in the book.

At my prior Bank, my position came with an office and a secretary; however, my status here was hard to evaluate. If I may repeat myself, Asian banks keep most of their officers and assistants in a large single room. Rows of desks from front to back divided the room. Each row represents a division, and each desk in the row has a designated status. The Chinese Bank I was employed by had a similar structure; however, the highest position in the open room was VP level. Thus, I sat in the back row with my fellow Chinese Vice Presidents. I was the only non-Asian on the floor and only one of 3 in the Bank.

My relationship with Sylvia began when Terri and I discussed language. It was more of an argument. My wife is an expert on the proper use of the English language.

One of her favorite pastimes is to correct the grammar of sports announcers. I never argue with my wife about the meaning of words, sentence structure, or punctuation. She reads a book a week. I average four books a year. 

I have been able to read music since the age of 6, learning the piano, trombone, clarinet, and saxophone in that order. I still read musical scores when I play the piano or my sax, but I sing by ear. Singing by ear means you hear a sound and mimic it. Mockingbirds must have magnificent eardrums.

While singing, I only use my eyes to memorize the words. And it is being both a singer and a player of instruments my fate was set into motion.

 I believe that the voice is a lot like a musical instrument and can be changed through the proper coordination of the mouth, tongue, throat, and vocal cords. My favorite example of this is the skill of Robin Williams. But our argument did not center on the use of the English language. Still, from a statement she made that ran counter to my theory.

I told her that some Chinese coworkers had trouble pronouncing certain English words. She replied that unless they learn English pronunciation by the time they are 10 or 11, it will be a struggle

Any older they cannot physically master the challenge. I assumed Terri read this somewhere because she remembers everything except where she put her sunglasses. 

I disagreed.

 So, to prove my theory, I asked Sylvia to participate in a little experiment with me. I would base proving my theory on the word “refrigerator” or the word “flower.”

In early American movies, Asian characters were sometimes given lines that caused them to say words that mangled the r and the l. It was at the time considered humorous, today it would be regarded as not politically correct by the meek and racist by the not so meek 

Korean, Japanese, and Chinese each have a sound that combines the L and the R. They do not have an L or an R sound equivalent to English.

 Thus, when they say “refrigerator,” all the r sounds have an l. Lifligelato(rl), and the l sounds have an r in them, “frowerl.”

To complicate matters, our “r” has two sounds, r as in red and r as in ever. And two L sounds, l as in Love and l as in evil. Each of the four sounds uses a different configuration of tongue, mouth, and throat. Later, when I decided to learn Mandarin, I had to learn how to combine the R and the L to say the word for men. My difficulty speaking this word will give rise to a humorous story I will tell later.

However, the reason why it may be difficult for Asians to overcome this challenge surprised me.

I had been with the Bank about two weeks when I asked Sylvia if she would not mind trying to say the word refrigerator. I explained my reason for asking, and she said she would try.

 I felt that having been in America since she was 14, she might not be the best subject to prove my theory.

However, when she tried to say the word refrigerator, she only got part of it. She said (lR)eflige(rl)ator, almost but not entirely.

After I said it several times and she said it several times, she could not get it. So, I asked her to look at my mouth and mimic what I did. At my suggestion, she laughed and covered her mouth with her hand.

Putting her hand to her mouth was the most significant move because it was the clue that eventually led to success. I asked why Asian woman cover their mouths when they laugh, and she said it is considered rude to show an open mouth. That was the Eureka moment for me. I realized she could not say refrigerator because the word required her to open her mouth wider than her comfort zone.

So, I said, Sylvia, please remember you are in America, and it is not rude here to open your mouth. Please open your mouth so I can see the back of your throat. But then I said to her, “I will exaggerate saying the word, and I want you to look into my mouth and see how my tongue moves.”

My suggestion made her blush and laugh with her hand moving in front of her mouth again. But she did begin to look as I exaggerated, saying refrigerator very slowly over and over. Then she would try to pronounce refrigerator by looking at my mouth and copying me. After eight or nine tries, she got it. It was perfect

 I said, “you got it;” She and I smiled and laughed at her accomplishment.

 My experiment with Sylvia began my education about Asian culture. However, her success in pronouncing the English word “refrigerator” was by no means statistical proof of my theory. It does appear that it was not a physical inability to say English words spelled with an L or  R,  but the Asian cultural conformity on mouth manners.

Thus, my experiment would end when Sylvia eventually said the word “refrigerator” as clearly as any American could. At that moment, I felt a vindicated sense of winning the argument with Terri. I also had a slight unexpected emotional rush caused by the smile on Sylvia’s face. It made me feel 21.

Because of my age, experience, stable marriage, and total devotion to my wife and family, I foolishly believed in my immunity to any consequential effect from learning about Asian culture from her. However, the impact of some relationships is like the flu. You do not know you have been exposed until it’s too late.

 She would take me, or, I would allow myself to be taken, I am never sure, through a threshold of enlightenment, euphoria, sorrow, and confusion, over and over again. 

Sylvia was the spark and foundation of each of my Asian experiences for the past 20 years

So, this is the beginning of a story that appears to end several times, like a Korean soap, only to revive and bloom again. And each episode becomes more complex, sometimes involving Sylvia but most times not.

On a personal level, Sylvia is the Lotus, and I am the Rose. In a more significant philosophical sense, The Lotus is the East, and the Rose is the West.

My Sylvia experiment will compel me to explore the reality of that well-known Western expression: “East is East and West is West, and never the twain shall meet.”

So, as I begin from here, Asians can say the word refrigerator, and The Lotus and the Rose have met.

The most baffling regarding my relationship with her is why I remember everything she ever said to me, almost everything I said to her, and every moment we were together when we were not occupied by work.

It is baffling because the total time, either together or communicating by phone or on the internet, is less than 20 hours over 20 years. The amount of time she has been on my mind is 100 times this amount.

For those readers who may be expecting a traditional story of a middle-aged man who falls for a younger woman, has a torrid affair, and then suffers the consequences, I am afraid you will be disappointed.

At any time we were alone together, I never touched Sylvia, made a physical advance, or made comments that would be inappropriate.

My desire for a physical relationship was weak. Likewise, Sylvia never indicated she was interested in me that way, either.

We did touch once, and that was when she touched me. It happened one day at work; she snuck up behind me and grabbed me from behind in front of the view of half the office. I can still smell her perfume.

She was happy to see me, giggled, and said something about her obtained tickets. I do not remember what this had to do with me, but it was the only time she was unguarded in her behavior toward me.

At this point, I need to introduce another player in this story. John Choi was also a trainee at the Bank and was, I believe, at the same level as Sylvia. I did not know John's history with Sylvia, but he seemed to know her reasonably well at the time.

John is not the typical Chinese banker that I came to know. He was a maverick, somewhat unorthodox when structuring a deal, a free spirit regarding conservative moral issues, and a lot of fun.

He was an outstanding financial strategist but needed more experience structuring his presentation. I knew and still do not know anything about his history. However, he will have an essential role in my future.

Since I have introduced John, it seems appropriate to introduce Sylvia now. I will provide as much as I know about her from what she and John have told me. The information from John has not been verified, so some of it may be untrue. However, I believe it to be at least partially true.

When I met Sylvia, she was, I assume, 27 years old, born in the Chinese year of the Pig. She is tall, with very long legs, marble-white skin, and silky black hair with a tinge of red.

Although she goes by the name Lee, her actual name is Li, which means plumb. Sylvia was born in Beijing into a family that appears to have had status, wealth, and maybe both.

 John's story, which he related to me, is that at the time she was born, she had an older sister, and her father was hoping for a son. In 1971 China was under the one-child per family dictate, so when she was born, her father was disappointed she was not a boy. So, he allegedly sent Sylvia to live with her aunt, who lived in Nebraska, hoping the next child would be a son.

Her parents do have a third child, but it was also a girl. How her family was able to have two children during the one-child policy was never explained to me. But John seemed to think it was due to her father's status in China. I found the whole story, if true, to be highly ironic.

The whole subject seemed taboo at the time. Still, it was one of the elements of her past that fascinated me, especially since she graduated from the University of Nebraska and obtained a master's degree from Thunderbird in Arizona.

As my story unfolds, you will see I do not gain much background information. My knowledge of her past was limited. I will eventually meet her mother and one of her sisters.

It might be difficult to believe that only 20 hours of intermittent contact over 20 years would be significant. As far as Sylvia is concerned, it probably was. But for me, each encounter set into motion a flood of irrational feelings about Sylvia that drove me to explore other aspects of Asian Culture.

My only motivation seemed to be a foolish dream that I would be able to share these experiences with her and that she would be in my life.

This realization put me In a confusing moral dilemma. Do I share what is happening to me with my wife? 

Could this be the stuff that every cheap novel exploits? The vulnerability of human nature. When the forces of fate unite with the forces of evil, bringing the participants to a crushing defeat.

The intrusion of fate and evil is a gross exaggeration. Until now, my marital vow to promise to abandon all others had never really been tested.

Despite opportunities afforded by using birth control pills, social changes in women's roles, integration into male-dominated labor pools, and a few not-so-subtle invitations, I stayed loyal.

 And since the violation of the vow usually applies to sex, I felt I could keep my promise.

 As I will learn, the affairs of the heart are much more demanding and powerful, and there is no protection except to get out early and not look back. I could only hope that fate would solve this conflict.

When her smile made me feel 21 again, I caught the "red flu" *. Some aspects of my life at the time made me vulnerable. It was not a bad relationship at home or a feeling of loneliness. Now that I think about it, it was the fall from my status as a banker and a sense of loss of identity. In short, I was struggling again for social confirmation, but now I was old, and resurrection seemed remote.

It has been a long time since I have reflected on those early years of our relationship. Over the past 22 years, we have had three periods of interaction, the 3rd of which continues to date.

*Note to reader" The term "Red Flu" is described in another chapter before this one. Because it is mentioned, I will explain briefly. According to Stephen's s research, it is a term used by British sailors who encountered tall northern Chinese women with a red tinge in their black hair. The British sailors were at the mercy of these women's powers to captivate them. Unfortunately, I was unable to verify Stephen's definition.

Outline of three Episodes Draft

My initial contact was in 1998. It was my first experience of having powerful feelings for another person since my marriage. This period ended when she left the Bank, moved to New York, and married.

At this point, I was sure this was the end of our relationship. I was glad for her and was grateful that I had not done anything foolish. However, this experience did not end my fascination for Asian women or Asian Culture.

There had been no other contact for several years. Then I received a card from her announcing the birth of her daughter. I felt a little strange that she remembered me but was very happy for her.

 In 2006 Sylvia returned to the US with her daughter after getting divorced. Her return is at the beginning of Episode 2. and would have a much more intense influence on me.

I had forgotten about her until I got a call from  Mr. Chou asking me if I would like to work with him at China Trust Bank. He said Sylvia was also coming to work at China Trust, but we would be in different locations. Mr, Chou lied.

EXPAND HERE:

Chou's story here. See notes

Sylvia Joins the Bank

Telling my Wife

Quitting my Job.

What have I learned

Conclusion of Episode two.

I left the relationship this time, and again we did not contact each other for some time.

Three years later. I am at the Coffee Bean, having a Chinese lesson from another Chinese national named XiXI. XiXi came to America with her husband and son while he continued his studies in urban planning at UCLA.

Although she was not religious, she wanted to join our choir. One night while leaving the church after practice, I said goodbye to her in Mandarin. My comment started a new relationship as she asked me if I wanted to continue with my Mandarin. If so, would I teach her the words of the songs we sing?

This relationship lasted about six months as she and her husband were about to return to Beijing. She asked me if I wanted to stay in contact with her on WeChat.

WeChat is the most prominent social networking program in China. She showed me how to set up my account, and then she added me to her account. About 10 minutes later, out of the blue, I got a request from Sylvia to add me to her account. How WeChat contacted her is a mystery to me. Still, old feelings were kindled again, and a new chapter was about to begin. The most ironic thing is that XiXi and I were studying the Chinese symbols for fate. It is here where episode 3 begins and continues to this day.

Episode 3

WeChat is an interesting Social media network. Unlike Facebook

Describe WeChat and some of the conversations with Sylvia regarding her vacation to meet her father. At this time, China-US relations seem to be souring………

Dear Reader: If I might interrupt again. Since Stephen stopped writing in 2010, right after he attended the World's Fair in Shanghai, the world order has become unstable. I have in my program to address these issues after posting the "StephenDaneDiary."

                                                xxxxxxxx

Richard did return earlier than he said he would and about 15 minutes before I finished the Material. He just waved at me and went below. When he came on deck again, I told him I had finished the Material and handed the book back.

He said, "The chandlery was closed for some reason, so I just came back

"Did you enjoy the story of Sylvia. ?"

I answered, "After reading your brother's story, 'The Lotus and the Rose.' I can see where the concept of fate might apply, but it is not developed. My guess is he has not finished this story.

 "There is a simple outline, but he leaves out his relationship with Sylvia after she gets a divorce and returns to the US. He does not tell the "funny" story regarding Sylvia's Mother and starts an Episode 3 section, but it is unfinished.

"I can only guess the crash occurred before he finished. Also, there are some punctuation errors in this writing when he begins to discuss the three episodes.

"So, how does the concept of fate come into the story?"

Richard replied, "I mentioned before I went to the chandlery he was trying to decide how much of the Sylvia story to put into this book. His story of the "Lotus and the Rose" could be a separate book about his relationship with Sylvia.

"Stephen told me recently that he was thinking of deleting the entire Sylvia story from his book. He did not expand on a reason. He was struggling with this decision just before the crash.

"However, if it turns out that he cannot finish the book. I promised to complete it; I will probably limit Sylvia's role to banking issues only.

"He told me about a file in a Safe Deposit Box about two months ago. It contains material he did not want lying around. I do not know if it is about Sylvia or other events that occurred during his career that are sensitive or possibly even potentially scandalous

"I do not believe I told you, but he brought his family to LA because he received a threat at home. I can tell you the events that lead up to the threat are fully covered in the book. I would not be surprised if the material in the box has to do with that.

"He also told me that his attorney has the key to the box and instructions in the event of his death. 

"Only I and the attorney know of its existence, and only his attorney knows the box's location.

 "If I have to take over, I have the attorney's name and his firm's location in my contact file. I hope I never have to make this contact. Stephen also told me not to tell Terri about the box. He did not say why."

"Richard, I want to thank you for your time and cooperation. When you finish your book, I would love to read it.

"Unfortunately, I did not find anything in the chapter that might interest our readers. The part about his relationship with Sylvia does have some potential. By the time he completes this section, our readers will not make the connection to the accident.

"However, you did give me the entire manuscript, and a couple of things popped out inadvertently. The one that piqued my interest the most was the murder of a banker. I will keep my promise and not follow up on that discovery.

"I am optimistic Stephen will recover. I want to talk to him about his banking career. A formal interview upon publishing his book might make a good article for me and be profitable for him.

"You have my number should you wish to follow up."

                                       xxxxxx.

Dear Reader: The above Chapter 'The Lotus and the Rose," is precisely how I first saw it. For the curious, Stephen eventually gave me the material in the safe deposit box.

This material will complete the unfinished outline in that chapter plus, as Richard said, "the information Stephen did not want lying around."

I could now incorporate the whole 25 years of their relationship in one chapter. However, I have decided to introduce each episode when it occurs. So, you will have to wait until he is hired by his first Chinese bank, where he meets Sylvia. This will appear in book 2. 

But when the tree burst

in full blazoned cover

Lotus and Rose will discover each other

Three months had passed, and I had forgotten about my interview with Richard Dane. When I returned from lunch one Friday afternoon, there was a letter on my desk from Stephanie.

April 5, 2016

Dear Mr. O'Brien,

I am with my other brothers, Richard and Ron, in El Cajon.  We have just completed a lengthy interview with our attorney. Unfortunately, our brother Steven has some complications and will require a longer recovery than expected. We were informed that some of his cognitive abilities had been impaired.

We have spent most of the time finding senior home care for our mother. Our father died last month at the age of 98.

Mom has accepted her husband's death, but we remain silent about Stephen for now. Accordingly, we told her Stephen was away on business.

Although we have many legal issues to attend to, Richard is wondering if you would still like to discuss Stephen's book. 

As you know, Richard and Stephen were quite close and had a deal that if one could not get their book completed, the other would try to finish it and attempt to get it published,

Richard was surprised to learn that you are a business reporter and even had an op-ed piece published in the Economist. He feels you would be just the person to help him get it published. He is willing to pay you for your input. 

If you are interested, there are a couple of conditions.

1: There is to be no contact with Stephen's wife, Terri, or his children or grandchildren until the book is finished.

2. You are to sign a confidentiality agreement.

3. Most importantly, you will share all of your notes with our attorney so he can invoke attorney-client privilege if necessary

We do not believe number three will be relevant, except that we never know what the defense will discover.

As you have probably surmised, the family has brought a lawsuit against the trucking company.

4: Terri wants to read the book and have the option to amend it before you send it to a publisher. 

5: Per Terri and by agreement with Richard, all proceeds from the book, less your fee, are to be donated to any charity that educates the less fortunate in financial management. You and the publisher can choose the charity and donate in Stephen's name.

I am writing this letter instead of Richard because I have replaced Stephen as a Trustee on our parent's estate. I am also now the appointed administrator of our mother's will until Stephen can reestablish competency. Even then, he may not be able to function as the trustee. 

I am involved because Stephen's book technically belongs to Terri as community property. Still, his deal with Richard complicates the potential value, if any. 

Richard and Terri are on good terms, and she is okay with this arrangement. However, she asked me to stay involved as I will also handle Stephen's potential inheritance. All proceeds automatically go to his and Terri's children should Stephen not recover.

Richard's email and phone number are

RD1920@Yahoo.com

And (619)964-5050

I remain:

Stephanie Leveroni

You may recall my interview with Richard at Morro Bay did not provide enough facts to write a follow-up article on the Hwy 405 accident. But as I drove home that day, the stories and handwritten comments in the manuscript's margins began to bubble up in my mind.

 A vital account seemed to be buried in the pages. My curiosity about the murder of a banker, the Marcos affair, the discovery of Stephen's two lawsuits, and Richard's halting speech patterns kept circling in my mind. Around and around a musical merry-go-round whirling with ghosts riding horse-drawn chariots 

I asked myself the standard reporter's question. "Is there a connection?"

With one quick decision. I brought the chariots and the pounding calliope music to a sudden stop

"I will call Richard in the morning."

The following day, I contacted Richard and told him that I had received the letter from Stephanie and would be willing to assist if he wished. However, I require him to send me a copy of the manuscript.

 I continued by telling him I wanted to send it to the only publisher I knew who might be interested before I was willing to move forward. If I obtained encouragement, I would continue. If the publisher were not interested, I would have to decline. I assured Richard of the publisher’s integrity and would return the manuscript to him if I received a negative response.

I concluded our conversation on a positive note, saying I looked forward to discussing Stephen’s book with him. I would copy him on any communications I had with the publisher. 

Three days later, I received the manuscript from FedEx. It was the same one I read on the boat. The red paper clips were still attached.

Before I sent the manuscript to the publisher, I made two copies; one to send to the publisher and one I could mark up. I put the original in a drawer to send back to Richard should the need arise.

I remain:

Stephanie Leveroni

You may recall my interview with Richard at Morro Bay did not provide enough facts to write a follow-up article on the Hwy 405 accident. But as I drove home that day, the stories and handwritten comments in the manuscript's margins began to bubble up in my mind.

 A vital account seemed to be buried in the pages. My curiosity about the murder of a banker, the Marcos affair, the discovery of Stephen's two lawsuits, and Richard's halting speech patterns kept circling in my mind. Around and around a musical merry-go-round whirling with ghosts riding horse-drawn chariots 

I asked myself the standard reporter's question. "Is there a connection?"

With one quick decision. I brought the chariots and the pounding calliope music to a sudden stop

"I will call Richard in the morning."

The following day, I contacted Richard and told him that I had received the letter from Stephanie and would be willing to assist if he wished. However, I require him to send me a copy of the manuscript.

 I continued by telling him I wanted to send it to the only publisher I knew who might be interested before I was willing to move forward. If I obtained encouragement, I would continue. If the publisher were not interested, I would have to decline. I assured Richard of the publisher’s integrity and would return the manuscript to him if I received a negative response.

I concluded our conversation on a positive note, saying I looked forward to discussing Stephen’s book with him. I would copy him on any communications I had with the publisher. 

Three days later, I received the manuscript from FedEx. It was the same one I read on the boat. The red paper clips were still attached.

Before I sent the manuscript to the publisher, I made two copies; one to send to the publisher and one I could mark up. I put the original in a drawer to send back to Richard should the need arise.

                                             xxxxxxxx

 Registered envelope to 

Mr. Gerald Ansbach

Green Island Publishers 

Chicago Il.

April 15, 2016

For Your Eyes Only

Dear Jerry, about six months ago, I was asked by my paper to report on an accident that occurred in California about 60 miles south of Los Angeles. 

After visiting the accident scene, I did a follow interview with Richard Dane, the brother of the accident victim Stephen Dane" The interview was conducted on a sailboat located in Morro Bay.  

I discovered that Mr. Stephen Dane is a retired banker and was writing a book titled "Tales from The Vault. The Courier was interested in some aspects of the accident that our editor believed would make an excellent human-interest story.

 Richard believed that the subject matter of my interest might be in one of the chapters, so he gave me Stephen's manuscript. He placed a red paperclip on the section he thought would apply. Most of it concerns Chapter 7, "The Lotus and the Rose." This is how I discovered Stephen was writing a book.

When I returned to my office, I presented my findings. My editor agreed that there was not enough to develop a story.

However, before I left the interview on the boat, I mentioned to Richard that I saw some intriguing material, and when Stephen recovers, I would like to read his book

Three months later I received a letter from Stephanie which explains the reason for this letter to you. see attached

I should mention that Richard and Stephen were both writing books and agreed that if one couldn't finish their book, the other would. This agreement is now relevant because, as you can see from the letter from their sister Stephanie, Richard has taken over.

I agreed to assist Richard if I found a publisher interested in the project, which is why I am sending the manuscript to you.

The book's primary purpose is a technical structure on how to avoid financial stress. The target market is those with little understanding of managing money. The book contains many components, some of which seem unrelated. Some are incomplete or only half-baked.

Stephen quickly points out that this is not a how-to-get-rich book. He creates a system based on what he calls the EconoShell. 

A large part of the book is autobiographical. He begins with his life before banking and how some of his early experiences molded his career. And then life as a banker. Here is where the real drama occurs. Some of his writings seem to originate in the Twilight Zone. I will leave it to you to read the material first then we can discuss what you would like to do.  

I will close by saying that the Courier followed up on a statement by Stephen's sister at the time of the accident regarding irony and fate. As you read the book, currents of irony and fate seem to appear throughout his life. 

I have included the following which is Stephens's original intro to Tales From The Vault . It should provide you with an example of his style and what he considers the major theme of his book. 

There may be a few changes between what I included below and what is in the manuscript, as there have been some edits. Refer to the manuscript for the final intent.

My life has been a series of experiences and events that have flowed like a river for 75 years. Some of the experiences and events continue on and on and remain a constant force and influence in my decisions. From time to time, however, decisions by me or external events over which I had no control caused the river to change course. 

 Some other events and experiences in my life were more like comets. They only come once and are gone. Their memory, if and when they are remembered, adds to the ripples of the water but has little effect on the course or flow of the river. Except maybe when they saved my life.

Navigating the ever-changing dynamics of power and trust would be the currents on which my career would float along or capsize on the rocks. I would experience both.

Tales From The Vault is my observations and personal history of how people are affected by money and how money is affected by people.   The common denominator of this book is money.  The idea of a common denominator is discussed in the Math Chapter.  Sorry, you have to know basic math to understand money.

 The beginning of my book is autobiographical. I include it here to introduce the reader to the author, me. However, it is only relevant because it provides the reader with a timeline. My style is to skip all over the place. The book is mostly about my career in finance. It is both a light technical book on money and a series of stories of some of my clients. 

 I will attempt to explain the difference between theories developed for science and those produced in economics and finance. Knowing the difference between the two gives you a tool for avoiding financial stress.  Although there have been many scientific frauds, most have been debunked because of the purity of rigorous application of proofs. However, based on the vagaries of accounting, economic proposals and financial analyses are not subject to the same virtue of evidence. 

 In my opinion, there is no such thing as a theory of economics using the exact rigorous requirements of science. A number or formula has the same value in any scientific approach. It does not change.  In economics, a number can have more than one value. The knowledge of the various perceptions of importance is the foundation of financial fraud and winning elections. 

The primary culprit in the above premise is MONEY. 

Much of the material in this book has evolved from my growth and development in my chosen profession. While the following experience has little to do with banking, it did occur early in my banking career. And in fact, it may have been the sole event that allowed me to continue in this profession."

Jerry, the "sole event" Stephen  is referring to is in the manuscript on page 21, subtitled Clavey Falls

Regards:

Michael "Mark" Obrien

 P.S.

I can guarantee that I received permission from the family and their lawyer to send this to you. I told them I could trust you and that you would adhere to the same conditions that I agreed to.  Please reference the letter by Stephanie Leveroni embedded in the body of the attached document. We can discuss the details later if you are interested in this project.  

If not, please return the material or tell me that it has been shredded.

xxxxxxxxxxx 

 Mr. Mark O'Brien

26303 Pines Estates Drive

San Pedro, California 90710

May 15, 2016

Mark: I apologize for this late response to your letter of April 15, 2015

I am curious as to why you are interested in this project. I agree that the subject matter of the Sylvia Li affair remains half-baked. I get the feeling from his writing style that Mr. Dane has not resolved the relevance of the Sylvia Li relationship.

I must admit the cultural angle is a unique one. As America expands its international banking influence, especially with China, there may be something of interest here. Also, I think his lawsuits may be the tip of an iceberg, but I question if the iceberg has not already melted. But maybe not

May I suggest you meet again with Richard Dane regarding the other material in Mr. Dane's "almost completed manuscript? And get some clarification on the "Lotus and the Rose" issue noted above.  

Regarding Stephen's style, try to get a little more detail on what he is trying to do. If you are confident that Richard will be able to complete the work should Stephen not be able to.  

Regarding the technical aspects of the book, this may be hard to sell to a mass market, which I assume from your first letter to me is Mr. Dane's main reason for writing this book.

I can see no niche for this book as it is currently presented, so it would have to fly as a one-off.

Let me know what you want to do, and I will keep an open mind

I hope you can get to Chicago someday soon

Regards:

Gerald Ansbach  

P.S.   Please tell Richard I have given his name for prayers of the faithful for Sunday's Mass, and we will keep Stephen and his family in our prayers.

 After reading the letter from the publisher, I decided to follow up on his suggestion and contact Richard. Given the semi-negative tone of the letter, I almost put the whole idea in the round file. But something kept nagging on my curiosity.

I again called Richard's cell number, and after an above-average number of rings, he answered. He said he was swamped and told me he would contact me within two days.

 He seemed distant, and I wondered if he even remembered who I was. I told him I wanted to meet with him regarding Steve's book, but since we last talked, I was unsure if he had done anything since we last spoke. He just said he would call and say goodbye.

At about 4 pm the following day, he called

"Hi, Mark. I am sorry I could not talk to you yesterday. I have moved the boat from Morro Bay to San Diego Harbor. As you may recall, we needed to find some in-home care for mom. We found someone, but Stephanie and I still need to fill in from time to time.

"I hired someone to sail the boat here for me yesterday. I apologize if I seemed a bit short… but I was in the middle of negotiating with the harbor master to allow me to live on the boat. This way, I can easily access my mom and still have my solitude to write. I saw that you were calling, so I decided to answer. Usually, I would have just let it go to voicemail."

"I understand, Ricard; no hard feelings whatsoever. Before I tell you why I am calling, I am very sorry to hear about Stephen's condition. It must have been an unexpected shock, especially falling on the heels of your father's death."

"Dad's death was expected, Mark, and you are right about the prospect of another possible death. But as you know, I promised to finish his book, and he continues to survive on those pages for me: at least for now."

"Well, that is why I am calling. I wish to discuss what you want to do and if I can help."

"I have not done anything, Mark, to date, but I would like to meet with you at your convenience."

"Why don't I drive down to the harbor, and we can continue our conversation on your boat."

"Actually, Mark, I prefer to meet somewhere else until I get the boat cleaned up. How about we meet at my mom's house in El Cajon?

"It is only a little further than the harbor, and If you take the 5 to the 805 and then the 8 East to the Chase turnoff turn off, it is faster. But I suggest you do not schedule a meeting where you must drive during the commute. It will double the travel time. I will email the address, and we can meet any time next week. "

"Thanks for the advice, Richard, but if you remember, I live in Orange County. I am totally familiar with the Orange Crush

"I will send you a couple of days that work for me, and you choose when you want to meet."

"OK"

"Until then, Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

"Oh, one last thing, Mark, mom's dog, George , a neurotic rescue dog of unknown breed and maybe 8 pounds soaking wet, is ferociously protective of the property and mom. I should have him locked up, but mom may let him out. If he escapes and comes barking at you, do not worry. He is all bark. He has never bitten anyone."

A few days later, Richard contacted me and gave me directions to his mother's home in El Cajon. I exited highway 8, at Chase boulevard, to avocado and turned right. Chase boulevard is a mixture of small businesses and old working-class homes with an occasional fast food store. Avocado Blvd. begins to climb along the edge of Mt  Helix. About a mile up, I located Horizon Hills Blvd, and I turned left. This may be an El Cajon zip code, but this is not the El Cajon I just drove through. Again I begin to climb and pass a sign that says Horizon Hills. The homes in this little bit of paradise average 3500 to 6000 feet on large manicured properties.

 I follow google maps to the address and am greeted with a private road sign with three numbers. Richards moms address was on the sign. Her house was at the end of the road, with a full view of El Cajon Valley.

I pulled into the driveway and walked through a small tiled courtyard. As I approached the front door, I could hear George barking behind the door. Despite Richards's assurance, I slowed my approach upon hearing Georges's apparent attitude. I did not have to ring the bell; Richard opened the door holding the dog, who was no longer in protect the premises mode.

"Come in, Mark,  George, go see mom."

Richard put the dog down, and George ran off.

"We don't need electronic security, Mark, night or day; anyone who crosses the driveway sets him off. And he won't stop until someone investigates. One night about 3 in the morning, although locked in mom's bedroom, he went berserk and woke me up. I ran upstairs, thinking something was wrong with mom, then I noticed the front door was partially opened. I have no proof that he scared a burglar away, but our neighbor recently said some of the homeless from El Cajon were scavenging. One morning we noticed mom's wheelchair was missing, and I asked Steve, since he was the Estate Administrator, if we should call the police. His answer was, no, we can buy a new one. They probably had a friend that needed it.

"Let's sit out by the pool, Mark; I have Modelo, Bud Light, and Lemonade fresh from the tree."

"I think I will opt for the lemonade, thanks."

Richard walked me through the house, and I noticed about 20 photos on the fireplace mantel. Each image had one or more names in large letters beneath their faces. I glanced at a photo that showed the three brothers in tuxedos. But before I could get closer, George entered the room at full bark. He strategically placed himself between me and the fireplace. Had I been able to see the photos, I would have avoided the most embarrassing episode in my career as a reporter. But I am ahead of myself. 

"Come with me," Richard said. "George ignores all' do not bark commands' and will continue in protect mode until we go outside."

 We proceeded out of the house onto a sitting area that looked out over the pool and the garden. The backyard was at least half an acre of Avocado, Orange, Grapefruit, and Lemon Trees. In the left corner were two tall palm trees and one colossal tree I did not recognize. A sizeable mature oak next to an even more giant pepper tree about 30 feet apart hid most of the property line fence

"What is that big tree behind the palms?"

"That's a Pecan tree, Mark; I put a few shelled nuts in this snack bowl." Here have some"

"I tasted a few, and they were delightful. "How do you harvest them? The tree must be over a hundred feet high."

"About 125 last time we measured. We have an annual harvesting crew come to help us."

"How do they get up to the nuts.?"

"They fly"

"Come on, how do they get them?:

"Every fall, our crew, a flock of parrots, visit the tree when the nuts are ripe."

"Their frenzied behavior and lack of cooperation probably knock three nuts to the ground for everyone they get. So our labor costs are approximately 25%.

." Last year, however, I saw some parrots getting the nuts from the ground, so they are getting smart. They make more noise than George when they approach: it is easy to know when to go to work. They usually visit the tree 3 or 4 times during the season. I used to wait and harvest once, but now I go after each visit.

"That tree must have been here when your parents bought the house."

"There were only five avocado and four orange trees on the property. Three avocados died of old age, as did one of the oranges.

"Two of the remaining oranges are on their last legs or roots. My parents had the house built on an empty lot. Almost 50 years ago. This property has experienced 50 years of death and renewal."

"What about the Palms, the Oak, and the Pepper, Surely?"

"No, Mark, The Palms are volunteers who grow very fast. I do not know about Pepper. But the Oak tree has a story. Not long after my parents moved into the house, Stephen bought an Oak tree from a nursery in Los Angeles where he was living and gave it to mom on Mother's Day.

"The oak did not grow much for several years but suddenly took off. Oak trees can send roots down quite far in search of water, so we assumed the tree found a source. The oak tree now became a sore subject between Stephen and Dad.

"This argument had been going on for 25 years. Every time Stephen visited because it blocked some of the views of the valley, Dad seemed to think it reduced the house's value, and Steve felt just the opposite. Steve always says, 'OK, cut it down. It was a gift to mom.' "Obviously, dad never had it cut down."

Dear reader, I need to interrupt this story and return you to the pile of Stephen's writings that now cover my apartment floor. After I met with Richard, we set up a schedule to review Stephen's material, and much of the writings were discussed, edited, and rewritten. This process continued off and on for eighteen months and was all documented chapter by chapter. I also pointed out that Green Island Publishers declined to publish "Tales from the Vault"   The following is the letter I received:

 Dear Mark:

I regret to inform you that Green Island Publishing has decided to pass on  “Tales from the Vault.” 

It has been a long road but at the end of the day, we are uncomfortable with some of the material. The murder is unsolved so we cannot in good conscience publish anything while it may still be under investigation.

 Regarding the stories on some of Stephen’s borrowers, we would require releases from most of them.  We believe that his higher-profile clients, or their heirs, will use their lawyers. This will cause a tangle of negotiations, not to mention costs.

Regarding his lawsuits, this could be a can of worms for us since we do not have access to the settlement conditions.

Although we saw some promise with the Chinese experience, it is not enough to warrant a continuation. Stephen’s relationship with Helen Li is interesting but, in our opinion, should not be associated with his more technical material.

I like your idea of the Short Book. We can discuss that if you wish. However, our non-fiction financial specialist will handle this book.

Because you are my friend I will tell you another reason for our decision. However, I would rather we discuss it on the phone.

I remain:

 Gerald Anspach

Green Island Publications.

After receiving the turndown letter I called Jerry to follow up on his other reason. It was the Marcos material that made them nervous. Specifically, they were uncomfortable by the fact that Rolando Gapud, who was one of Marcos' frontmen is now Chairman of the Del Monte Corporation.  i did not argue with him but I did not see the problem. All of Gapud's history is already on the net. 

As I noted in my introduction, Stephen's career has two distinct phases. Chapter 7, read on the boat, titled 'The Lotus and the Rose," is only relevant to the second half of his career. The conclusion of the Helen Li story will be completed in Book Two because that is when the whole Helen Li story begins and continues to the present day. 

The Stephen Dane Diary Book One begins here

                                   Taken from Tales from the Vault

Intro and acknowledgments from Tales from the Vault by Remmars Stephen Dane. 

The words phrases and ideas in this book are a result of what I can remember from my past experiences.  I doubt that any of the ideas that follow have not been written down by someone else before.  I therefore relinquish any credit that I may be honored to those who were the first to create such words phrases or ideas. 

Where credit is known I will site to the best of my knowledge, but given the millions of books which I have not read and the thousands of movies, songs and TV programs I have and have not seen or heard, I cannot possibly remember from whom, where or when I first learned anything. If I do by chance have an original idea, I hereby give it freely to anyone who wishes to use it. I have no way of proving it was an original idea by me.

I will from time to time inject a personal comment or opinion that just pops into my mind. I will leave it up to the publisher’s editor to suggest any surgery that may be required.

I will give up front credit to the American Heritage Dictionary, Black’s  Law Dictionary, Webster’s New World Dictionary and Thesaurus, Webster’s  College Dictionary  and Oxford English Dictionary because most if not all of the words in this book can be found in one or all of  them.

Lastly there are sage aphorisms or cute comments that I have heard from others throughout my life. Why these stayed with me I have no idea but if they seem to support any of my ideas ( or other people’s ideas) I will use them.  

For example, a Danish relative, Niels Skjoldager, started a software company and his mantra is

“Nothing Moves Until Something Happens”

I called him a week after I started this book to ask him if he made it up  or had heard it somewhere else.

He attributed it to Albert Einstein.

So, I also attribute it to Einstein but I thank Niels because I learned it from him and not from Einstein.

It does make sense that Einstein made this comment. Since he was a physicist and was undoubtedly aware of the concept of absolute zero. This is the temperature where (theoretically) all molecular activity (movement) stops. In order to start them moving the molecules need some heat. In short nothing can move until something happens. This could be heat in the form of light waves.  "Thw Light entered the darkness and the darkness understood it not"  ( a paraphrase from the Bible) . Maybe this is Einstein’s explanation of God.

Nothing Moves until Something Happens as it applies to money is a primary tenant of this book.

I will also start with absolute zero. This is the amount of money I have, the number of things I own and the amount of debt I owe one seconded before I took my first breath.

Right now, 70 years later, I am looking at the cursor on my screen move across this page. The page was initially blank. The cursor did not move until I pushed on a key and added something to the page. I will continue to push keys until I finish the book

When I do not push a key, the cursor keeps blinking. Obviously, electrons are moving causing it to move from hidden to visible without my help. However, it is not moving across the page.

If the electrons stop moving, or the program has a glitch and the cursor stops blinking, will it be stuck on visible or invisible?  If it is visible it exists as a non-blinking cursor, The cursor still marks a location even though it is neither blinking or moving. However, if it is invisible to the eye, it does not mark a location.  Does that mean it no longer exists?.

This is the curse* that confounds those who do not understand the use, movement, or value of money. By the time you finish reading this book you will have met several of my clients who will help you find answers to where money comes from? what did it do while it was here and, for most of us, where did it go?

*May or may not have a lexiconic link to the word cursor.

Later I will introduce the concept of the EconoShell and its foundation the EconoClock. Two words I made up

The Econoshell will closely parallel Einstein’s quote, as related to me by Niels, “Nothing moves until something happens.”  The EconoClock is the road on which the EconoShell evolves over your lifetime.

What is money?

While most of us think of money in terms of price and value the real purpose of money is to make the economy work more efficiently.  It is a fundamental part of our lives and if it does not move nothing happens.

It is important to understand that money is more than coins and paper. Coins and paper money are called currency.  Money is any common medium that can be used in exchange. Some cultures in the past used shells.

Money is both a tangible object that is represented by a number say $5.00 and a concept that represents a value in exchange. When the value in exchange is equal to the number printed on the dollar the economy is in balance. If the value is lower you have inflation if the value higher you have a recession. This important concept is fundamental to your wellbeing and discussed many times through the book

There was, however, a time before money.

In the Garden of Eden, the entire economy was composed of two people.  All systems were self-sustaining and the inhabitants had no need for books on economics. The manager of the garden worked for free.  The last chapter in this book is on economics and the Garden of Eden will again be studied

Money was invented after Adam and Eve were requested to leave the garden and this is the beginning of my story. I will show you that money is a fiction that represents the real economy.

The number 5 is always a number. It is fixed to represent 5 real things like 5 apples. The Garden used to have six. However, when we attach a number to money, we are changing from a real economy of 5 apples to a fictitious economy. 5 apples are not the same as $5 dollars’ worth of apples. This is the simplest yet most important concept in what follows and is developed in the math chapter and continues in every chapter in the book. What you see is not necessarily what you get.

                                                      PREFACE 

Tales From the Vault

   By:  Remmars Stephen Dane:

During World War II, before my mother married my father, she worked for a company called Telenews. Telenews produced movie shorts that were shown in local movie theaters. They specialized in war stories and brought visual content to people who wanted to know how the war was progressing. After the war, television would eventually replace Telenews as a news source. 

She decided to take a class in journalism. Her assessment was this type of movie-making had much in common with newspaper articles.

She once told me that a well-written piece of journalism answers five questions the readers want to know, whether as a movie news or a printed editorial. The five are the Who, What, When, Where, and Why.

This book is not written for a newspaper or a movie production company, but the Who, What, When, Where, and Why is an excellent place to start.

The Who:

There are several “who” in this book. Some are real people with real names, and others are real people with fictional names. And last are fictional characters with real names. Giving a fictional character a fictitious name seems silly to me.

I am also a “who.”  My pen name is Remmars Steven Dane. I am a natural person with a real name, but Remmars Steven Dane is only one-third correct.

The What:                Stories About..........

Real people who borrow money, Some successful, some not successful and some who slip into jail. They were all familiar with , Numbers, Formulas, Counting, Accounting ( debits and credits and entries: Oh my!) Finance, Economics, Banking and to some extent Budgeting. Most knew how to manage their EconoShells, a word I made up.  

When: 

This is a quasi-autobiographical history of my life from birth in 1944 until I retired from banking in 2010. However, some of the material occurs after 2010.

Where: 

Most of the stories and the people in them are in San Francisco, San Rafael (Marin County), Various locations in  Los Angeles, San Diego County, San Luis Obispo County, Sacramento, New York, and New Jersey. Colorado, Washington, and every European country except Norway and Sweden will be less important.

 Why:

I have no idea: I am retired with a lot of time on my hands. What I have experienced might be attractive to some. A more considerable motivation is to share with the reader my way of keeping from going broke. Tales from the Vault is not how-to-get-rich. That may come later. 

Not included in the five questions is the “How.” I have included How because the How is the primary purpose of my book. How to create and manage your EconoShell (a word I made up)

To tell the Government how to manage money, you need a Ph.D. in Economics; (Alan Greenspan eventually gets his.)   Economics requires knowledge of Finance, and Finance is understood through Accounting.

Accounting is sophisticated bookkeeping that requires a knowledge of Numbers and the holly grail of economic growth and collapse.  Debits and Credits. 

Numbers require Math, which evolved from Arithmetic. To do Arithmetic, you need to know how to Count, So the first thing to learn is how to Count. Please look at your fingers. 

My book will address all of these subjects. Some are more developed than others. These subjects each play a role in the development of your EconoShell. (a word I made up) The EconoShell is my way of explaining how to manage your Money.

You do not need a college degree to understand my book. The most complicated subject will be a bit of first-year algebra. You will need to know how to add, subtract, multiply, and divide. 

Upon reading Tales from the Vault, I hope you discover you know more about Accounting, Finance, and Economics than you realize; and maybe having fun doing it. But you will also have stories about  those who were knowlegibe in these disciplines are still subject to fate.  

Remmars Dane 

I never intended to write a book on my banking career. As I approached retirement, the banking environment began to leave a sour taste in my mouth. But this would change, not the bad taste, but the reason I changed my mind. The motivation to write "Tales From The Vault."

can be summed up in one word, "Russia."

My father, Harold, had a Danish father, William, and a Russian mother, Valentina. During my honeymoon in Europe in 1976, I discovered a contact that provided my father with a documented history of the Dane family from 1750 Jutland. William's record was secure.

 Forty years later, after retiring from commercial banking, I decided to help my father research the Russian side of our family tree.

My Danish grandfather emigrated from Denmark and lived in San Francisco with his mother and two sisters. He became a US Citizen by joining the US Army during WWI.

In August 1918, he was assigned to American Expeditionary Forces and sent to Vladivostok, Siberia. President Wilson appointed General Graves to command the expedition. The port of Vladivostok is located on the east coast of Russia, just north of China, and about the same latitude as Oregon

Sometime in 1917, Valentina Kulakova, who was born in Irkutsk, Siberia, in 1895, traveled east to Vladivostok aboard the Siberian railway. The railroad begins in Moscow and goes east 5,770 miles, terminating at Vladivostok. The last 1000 miles of the Siberian railway connects Irkutsk to Vladivostok.

Her family was beginning to feel the heat of the Russian revolution, and Valentina had to escape. Born on the losing side, her story of escape and the tragic end of her entire family is ripe for a different book. Where and when she boarded the train is a mystery.

William and Valentina met in Vladivostok and were married under military authority. The newlyweds returned to California in1919 on a military ship. There they began a new life in San Francisco with my father's birth on March 31, 1920. Just missing fool’s day by 12 hours. .

By marrying my grandfather, she escaped danger and became a citizen of the US. She left all her memories, documents, and most of her possessions in Russia.

So, at the age of 25, Valentina began her life in America with a husband, a son, a stock certificate of unknown origin,  a samovar, an encyclopedia of famous Russians, two books of Russian poetry, and her recipes for  Piroshki and Beef Stroganoff, She refused to speak Russian or covey any family history to her children.

 Valentina died when I was 12, and William died four years later. My search will prove difficult.

I began my research by contacting people on Facebook who lived in Irkutsk

During my Facebook inquiries, I got lucky when Nadine, a citizen of Irkutsk, became interested in my plight. We began communicating. She spoke fluent English; I knew three words in Russian.  Piroshky, Stroganoff and Babushka.

At the time US Russian relations were good. It was agreed that I would visit Irkutsk, and Nadine would help me with my research.

During our conversations, I told her I was a retired commercial banker. Based on this information, she later asked me if I would be willing to give a lecture based on my banking career.

 I would present it to the undergrad students at the University in Irkutsk. She was friends with the school's principal, and the lecture would be on American banking and the skills required to be a commercial banker. They would set it up for me if I wanted to use PowerPoint. I only had to create the slides.

 I told her I had no training in Russian; I thought this might temper her request; however, she countered that I did not need any Russian. Gulp!! English is a prerequisite to attending the University.

 I agreed, with some reservations, not knowing what I was getting into. But Nadine was sincere and seemed very happy that I would be delighted to accept the challenge. I also felt if she was going to help me, I should at least try to accommodate her request. .

After running the Russian Visa gauntlet, I boarded a plane to Moscow, where I explored for awhile. Then on to Irkutsk.

When I arrived at the end of August, the Russian Capital  was clean, safe, a bit expensive, and very educational. I spent two weeks roaming the streets, visiting several Orthodox churches that escaped demolition, a few art museums, Red Square, and a coffee shop selling $6,00 lattes. I also thought I would try the Moscow McDonald’s, but the line was around the block.

After my Moscow interlude, I boarded a plane to Irkutsk 

Irkutsk airport, unlike Moscow's, reminded me of a US airport from the 1950s. I arrived about 5 pm, and the minute I exited the plane to descend the movable staircase, my lungs filled with clean cold air. The professors who would be my hosts greeted me in English on the tarmac.

 After some orientation, I settled into a cozy, read-small hotel room. And after dinner, I began to prepare my PowerPoint presentation. On my second day in Irkutsk, I was introduced to an American professor of management from the University of Delaware. He explained that he was part of the Siberian American Department of Management faculty at Irkutsk State University. Established in 1991, the school is a joint venture with the University of Maryland, funded mainly by Russia, to instruct Russian students in western management techniques.

Thinking about my promise, I knew I had never given a lecture in my life. My only public speaking experience was two months at Toastmasters 30 years ago. My Toastmasters participation would prepare me as a panel member to make a presentation on the Securitization of Auto Paper to the American Bankers Association. (Remember this  word" Securitization" it will play a significant role in the largest loan of my career and the largest real estate collapse in America’s economy.)

One thing I remember about public speaking is that you are more effective if you know your audience. Realizing I would talk to young Russian students living in Siberia, what did I know about them? : Nada", or more appropriately, "зря" (Russian for Nothing pronounced "zrya").

Knowing my audience would be of little help.

I reasoned that they would have the same perception of me if I knew nothing about who they were or what they had learned. It would not matter what I said or how I presented the material. as long as I felt I was truthful.

I decided to let my imagination fly. I would try to keep the vocabulary simple and the material very basic. But where to start? What simple idea would set the stage for a lecture on banking in America?

 The first thing I did was to deemphasize the word American. banking is banking. While different countries emphasize different bank functions, the fundamentals are the same.

 My lecture would focus on the basics. I anticipated that they might expect something specific to American banking that did not pertain to Russian banking. Since I did not know Russian banking practices, I left it out of my thinking

As noted, my background was in commercial Banking. I am not an Investment Banker. If you do not know the difference , which most do not, you will be pleased to know that a whole page is devoted to this issue.

The original request was to make a presentation on American banking. In preparing my slides, I had to limit my lecture to 45 minutes, with an additional 15 minutes to answer questions. The challenge was to decide what to present and where to include it. During another conversation, the college's principal said the students would be interested in my job within the industry.

These subjects, the industry, and my role could fill an entire semester of lectures.

I believed the students would have little interest in the role of the Federal Reserve system with its 12 Federal reserve banks or the 12 governors who report directly to Congress. Nor, the Federal Open Market Committee that sets bank reserves and controls interest rates

State banks vs. Federal Banks, the role of savings and loans. FDIC insurance,  Fiscal Policy, Fed funds rate, the prime rate. Or should I include Government oversite, the role of bank regulators, or even have social policies like truth in lending, usury laws, and small business loans to minorities I concluded the overall structure of the American banking system was too complex and not pertinent to my audience

I also concluded that the differences between commercial banks and savings and loans or the difference between State and Federal banks and the regulators that audit them would put them to sleep.

Not so dull would be my responsibility to track and report to the regulators laundered money from drug dealers or subversive groups on the "bad boy" list, Since some of the names on the list were Russian exiles I abandon this subject quickly. .

I decided to discuss the Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation and why it came into existence because it directly affects depositors. I can use it as an excuse to explain the difference between my role as a commercial banker and an investment banker. 

Explaining this difference was also a good segway to my role in the American banking sector. Focusing on my daily routine addresses my conversation with the school's principal and should also be easier to capture the student's attention.

Again, I am in a quandary on what to include. I considered my two-year training program, how I market the bank and my skills to prospective clients, and how the various levels approve the loans of authority. Maybe the students would be interested in how a loan is underwritten and how I structure a loan. Commercial lending concepts and analytical tools began to flood my mind. Should I focus on the analysis of financial statements, the Four Cs of credit or to include default conditions.

More elements of my job continued to flood my mind:  Primary and secondary sources of repayment, liquidity ratios, leverage and turnover calculations, cash flow, marginal contribution, etc. Maybe I include the structure of a loan, how to monitor collateral and borrowing covenants.

Will a loan be secured or unsecured? If secured, how is the collateral legally protected? Or even the extensive documentation required once a loan is approved and accepted within its terms.

They might want to learn how risk is assessed through the underwriting process. What financial records need to be obtained, creating the spreadsheet, and the financial analytics like receivables and inventory trends, marginal contribution, leverage, and cash flow coverage.

On and on and on, my mind is flooded with the details of my job. In rapid succession, Blah, Blah, and a few more Blahs. I did not even consider the important function of obtaining deposits which is the lifeblood of all banks.

I was stuck and began to panic a little. I sat back and looked at the light-yellow wall of my room and decided to stop the flood of ideas. I was going nowhere, and I still had to create the slides. The room was warm, and I just about dozed off. Then I remembered a little slip of paper I pulled from a Chinese fortune cookie very early in my career. Buy for a dollar, sell for 2 dollars, happiness, buy for a dollar, sell for 50 cents, misery*

The simple concept I would base my lecture on is a fortune from the fortune cookie. It was so simple yet fundamental that everything about banking flows from this tiny bit of wisdom. I took a risk that ,being close to China, the students would know all about fortune cookies.

(Note to reader: Ironically and apparently unknown to Stephen the fortune cookie was first created in San Francisco, where he was born.) 

Every economy is the sum of single transactions. “Nothing happens until something moves”

 First, the fortune cookie fortune uses a medium of exchange as the primary measure. In this case, it is the dollar that most of us categorize as money. It does not have to be a dollar. In China, it is the renminbi; in Russia, the ruble.

 Second, it incorporates the concepts of purchasing, inventorying the purchase, and then selling it. Lastly, it brings home the reality of the marketplace. For a banker, the existence and viability of the market guarantees the source of repayment for a loan

Bank financing is based on producers of goods needing money to pay for production cost. Providing this money to producers and sellers of goods and services is the foundation of my job.  

Bank financing is also required by the end user who does not have the cash to buy. Most of this lending is retail banking and includes your mortgage, auto loans and credit cards.

 I am going to leave Russia now, and all I need to say is the lecture was a success. I was rewarded with a dinner party that included Russian caviar, a jazz band, a boat trip on beautiful Lake Baikal, a memorable photo book on Siberia, and an expensive bottle of Russian vodka. named after Vladimir Putin  

I enjoyed compliments from the student, some of whom I continue to communicate with. The experience of the Russian culture, and most memorable, the hospitality of the professors I met. 

On my flight home, my thoughts continued to replay my classroom lecture. I realized I had a lot to share with these young, hungry students who were learning business in a former communist country.

Maybe I had something to share with others as well. My experience in Russia could be the subject of another book should I decide it worthwhile; however, the fact that I had to create a slide presentation and present it to a group of intelligent Russian undergrads is why I decided to write about my career. 

This is the origin of "Tales from the Vault." **

Unfortunately, my quest to discover what happened to my grandmother's family proved fruitless. Like many Russians during its troubles, many just vanished like "a cry in the wind. "

I was going to shamelessly quote the famous line from Blade Runner, "Like tears in the rain." Still, I made up my own and bowed to this masterpiece of movie dialogue.

Dear Reader; The trip to Russia may have been Stephen's rationale for writing his book. However, I found another writing he completed while attending the writing class at UCLA. I am including it below because it may more appropriately explain why he needed to create "Tales from The Vault” and the development of the "EconoShell" 

 "The first homework assignment, in addition to certain readings, was to write about an object in our lives that had special meaning. Something we keep, like a talisman or memento. It was an optional assignment that appealed to me, so hereunder I executed the option.

But first I had to look up the word “talisman.” This is the type of word that you think you know what it means until you must write about it. I did not, so I looked it up. Different reference sources had different meanings. One said it was “writings or symbols on objects that warded off evil spirits”, which do not exist; or “protected you from harm”, which does exist. Other sources said it was a ring or stone that brought good luck or protected you from danger. In a nutshell, they all implied that a talisman had magical powers, which of course they do not.

So, I had to look for an object that has meaning for me. One that I still have, that may or may not have magical powers, but remains an essential possession regardless of my rationale. My first thought was a silver cross that I earned as an acolyte at the age of twelve. A cross is a good defense against vampires, so maybe qualified since I have never been bitten. But this idea soon faded.

Then I thought of a Saint Christopher’s medal that you carry in your car to ensure a safe trip. But I never had one as a dashboard passenger, and to date have not ever needed one. I decided that my memory was not going to provide me with the required object, so I went into my man cave and started digging up bones.

At this point, I must digress. I cannot remember ever having an object that fulfills the requirement of this assignment. When I left home to go to college, I never went back. I did not wear jewelry or have a favorite anything. What I had accumulated up to this point was left at my parents’ house. For some reason, my mom kept my Little League shoes which might have qualified as an item that meant a lot to me, but they were lost when my parents moved from Marin to San Diego

From the time I entered college, completed military duty, and began my career, up until I got married 12 years later, I always traveled light. My average length of stay was nine  months in any location. If I could not pack it all into two suitcases, or put it into the trunk of my car, it would be given away. I had no storage space for sentimentality.

Returning now to the present, I am standing in my man cave where I begin my quest. It is a room now filled with “stuff”. Viewing, touching, and moving this stuff has now opened the gate, or more appropriately multiple gates, that lead to countless roads of memory travel

.When I started to collect stuff is hard to say. As I scan the room there is the beer bottle that says “Route 66” that I bought at a diner on guess where? . Or the Steve Sax foul ball I caught at Dodger Stadium. There is a leather wine bota bag from Spain, a life-size crystal ball, a first place dance trophy from a father-daughter dinner dance, a marble collection, miniature trucks, a toy planetarium, a Mickey Mouse clock, a finger puppets, a Fungo bat, a stuffed piranha given to me by my parents from when they sailed down the Amazon. A fake plastic jade carving wrapped and hung by a narrow red rope. ( this by the way would qualify as a talisman because the Chinese believe in good luck symbols and lucky  numbers, like the number 8, and always give gifts in red which is a wish to convey prosperity to the recipient.) I have not had this object long enough to have it qualify, but it is close because it was given to me by someone who became special in my life.

Seeing this object also reminded me of a rabbit’s foot I had as a child and the fact that I keep a lucky penny in my wallet. Keeping the penny started when my wife would find a penny on the ground and then recites this incantation. “Find A penny pick it up and all day long you will have good luck” I got sucked into this one.

But none of these objects seem to meet the requirement of the assignment. As a last-ditch effort, I went into my bedroom and pulled out a plastic box hidden in the deepest recesses of my closet. There under a pile of old sweatshirts was the box that contained all my high school pictures and awards (one)..

Inside the box, lying under my freshman yearbook was the object that is the answer to my prayers. It is a pair of old black shoes. These were my shoes from the darkest days of my early adulthood. This is the object that qualifies. This is the object that has protected me and kept me safe from financial ruin.

Anyone who looked at the top of these shoes would say they were no different than those found in a thrift store. They were very presentable until you turned them over. The soles on each side had holes the size of a small lemon. Every layer of leather and fabric was exposed like steps in an open copper mine. If I did not wear socks my bare feet would have touched the ground.

Once when it rained, I put silver-gray plumbers’ tape over the holes to keep my feet dry. Some of the tape is still stuck on the sides of the holes. The motivation to keep these shoes is very simple. I had reached the end of my money; I had no job, nothing to sell, and only enough food in the refrigerator to last a week. I could not afford to re-sole let alone acquire new shoes, nor could I come up with my share of the rent.

Things were bleak. I even thought of going back to my parents, which to me was the ultimate failure. My roommate at the time said he would cover the rent until I got a job and not worry about going hungry

Fortunately, I did get a job as a waiter, and with the weekend tips I bought a new pair of shoes. I was about to throw the old pair away when a voice reminded me that these shoes represented what happens, and how far you can fall when you do not pay attention to your finances. I put them in a drawer. And occasionally, I think of having them bronzed, but I won’t change a single shoelace. The shoes have become a talisman that achieved magical powers.

Magical powers I gave them."

I have included in Tales from the Vault the concept of the EconoShell. This was developed a year after my Russian experience. The EconoShell is a word I made up. Its purpose is to provide the individual, you, a format to run your finances the same way a business runs its affairs. The only difference is that the individual is not selling inventory but their labor from their fixed-time inventory.

This is not a how-to-get-rich book but a book on how to avoid going broke. It is a simple model to follow and use. I cannot guarantee that using my model will keep you from going broke, but it should reduce the risk.

Because the economy is the total of the billions of daily transactions, your EconoShell is the atom that creates the molecule.

To understand economics, you need to understand finance, and to understand finance, requires some familiarity with accounting, accounting is based on a bookkeeping system, and bookkeeping requires some mathematics. Math is just a sophisticated form of Arithmetic, and Arithmetic is just counting. The EconoShell section of Tales from the Vault begins with counting.

I am going t close the Prologue and begin to take you on my personal journey I hope you find interesting, instructional, and entertaining. However, I cannot guarantee any of these. I will say that throughout my career, many short, memorable quotes, remarks, and advice, similar to the fortune cookie incident, have stuck in my mind. They are

My favorite is

"Every snowflake in an avalanche proclaims self-innocence."

Others include:

"Buy for a dollar, sell for two dollars. Happiness

 Buy for a dollar and sell for 50 cents. Misery:

"If you cannot write about it, so others understand it, you don't understand it."

"Always listen to the little man inside."

"Neither a borrower nor a lender be."

"Those who fail to learn history are doomed to repeat it.

"In a race to the top, it is often a choice between removing the rock in our shoe or continuing  to climb the mountain."

"One peek is worth one thousand finesses."

"It's an itch you can never scratch."

"You guys’ better leave. This place is crawling with Feds."

“Nothing happens until something moves”

“If you cannot dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit. (my second favorite)”

“I have a gun”

"Nothing happens until something moves."

This leads us to the: "The longest journey begins with a single step." This is not one of my favorite sayings, but it ties directly to the quote above. “Nothing happens until something moves”

However, before we begin to move, I should warn you there will be many pages that deal with the subjects of accounting, finance, and economics. This means math, statistics, and using the analytical part of your brain instead of the rest. It will be Spock versus Captain  Kirk throughout the book.

You can understand simple formulas if you can add, subtract, multiply, and divide ( I always hated division). You will have no trouble. But don't give up because of the warning.

 You will learn, for example, why the latte you bought with your credit card costs you much more than you think, why a penny saved is not a penny earned, why it is challenging to balance your checkbook, the beauty of debits and credits, where the money comes from, what causes financial collapse and most importantly why accumulating and managing wealth is complex for many and impossible for most.

If I may repeat, “Tales From The Vault”, with the inclusion of the EconoShell model, is not a study on getting rich. The EconoShell model was developed to help you gain control over your finances.

Addendum to original Prologue.

Note to reader. Stephen's original intent was to sprinkle the development of the EconoShell throughout the book. In "Tales from the Vault, he wrote about his banking career in chronological order but interspaced the technical components of the EconoShell after each change of employment. We discussed this structure at length. I wouldn't say I liked it.

His argument was he wanted to keep the reader interested by telling stories and inserting "the pain of learning financial discipline" a little bit at a time.

His reasoning made some sense if this was to be a published book.

However, since I have converted it to a Google site, I have decided to consolidate the subject of the EconoShell into an independent work and connect it with a link here. You can read this as a completed work if you wish. XXXXXX.

I will maintain his original material in the order written, including the elements of the EconoShell. I do have one exception however, The story of the "Tail in The Vault," as told in "Tales from the Vault."  

I have had several questions regarding the picture of the rabbit and the bank vault.

 Since a significant theme of Stephens's book is money and the Prologue introduces the use of money in the fortune cookie fortune, I will begin Stephen's adventures with the urban legend of this infamous rabbit.

                                               The Tale of the Tail In The Vault:

Bank robbers always believe that banks hold a lot of cash. In fact, in the past, the banks’ vaults carried lots of money to cash payroll checks for the local community.

Some of you have heard the quote by Willie Sutton when asked why he robbed banks, and he replied, “Because that is where the money is”

And that is where the money was on a cold January morning in 1965. In the vault of a Northern California Bank. The bank president, the CFO, and some staff were auditing the cash vault to complete the month-end financial report.

The President was counting the $100 bill when he asked a staff member

“‘Where is Bobby this morning? He is usually here early on cash count days to keep an eye on the lobby.”

“He called in earlier, sir, and said he would be 30 minutes late because he had to do something for his sister. He should be here any minute. Jon is filling in for him.”

About 5 minutes later, Bobby comes into the vault carrying a big cardboard box and says.

“I’m sorry, sir, my sister had to leave town on an emergency, and she asked me to take care of her rabbit. I am afraid I cannot leave it alone in the house because my dog does not get along with the rabbit and she did not have a cage to lend me."

“ I am requesting a two-week vacation to help my sister out. I am late this morning because I had to go to the market to get a box that was big enough to keep the rabbit in.”

“Gee Bobby,” answered the President,” we really need you here this week. Can you bring the rabbit to work with you? “

“I guess so, and I can keep him in this box during the day and let him out when I get home after I lock up the dog. But where should I put the box?”

“Why not here in the vault?   He would be safe and out of the way in here. As long as you keep him in the box and take him out before we set the nightly time lock.”

“Does the rabbit have a name?” Asked one of the staff.

“Yes,  Bucky,” Bobby answered

“Your sister named the rabbit Bucky?” The President queried

Yes, she named him  after his front teeth:

So, each day Bobby brought Bucky to work in the box with a bag of food and another bag to remove the rabbit pellets.

And each night, he left the bank with the rabbit and the bags.

Bobby did not return to work in the middle of the second week. When the bank’s personnel department tried to contact him, his phone had been disconnected. He was also gone from his apartment. And a large amount of money was gone from the vault.

It turned out that Bobby did not have a dog or a sister, and the rabbit, probably not named Bucky, is a total mystery. The rabbit, Bobby, and the money were never found.

No doubt if Bobby is ever caught and asked why he robbed the bank, He would say

“Because that is where the lettuce is.”

I heard this story during my first year as a loan officer. At the time, the tale seemed like an urban legend, although several senior bank officers swore it was a true story and that the President of the bank was forced to retire.

Many years later, I ran into a former bank employee, and she confirmed that someone named Robert worked in the branch. He brought a rabbit to the bank for about a week,  and the President left the bank. She did not know the reason. That is all she knew.

“Because that is where the lettuce is” was a pun l. I could not resist; I could have said Cabbage, Bread, Scratch, or Moolah.

The internet provided me with a list of people’s words for money. I have created a link here.

                                                                             xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 LIFE BEFORE MY BANKING CAREER.

This section is all about me before I became a banker. However, it is not even close to revealing all of me. I don't have that much courage. I only bring my early life into my book because some lessons and experiences will be applied later. You can skip this section if you wish.

WATER

My experience with water, both in my dreams and in reality, has played a significant role in my life.

In my dreams, the danger of water is the theme that warns me of pending trouble. Three memorable ones: I’m on a small yacht with the bank presidents about a mile offshore, and a storm capsizes the boat. I wake up before I get wet. The other one I have had twice, I am driving alone on a flat road, and all the ground around me is flat no other cars on the road. Suddenly, the road disappears underwater, and there is nothing but water as far as I can see. The water isn’t deep, but I am stranded in a vast lake. A month or two following these dreams, the banks collapsed.

With these three management structures, feelings of obligation overcame warnings for self-preservation. However, I never linked the dream with trouble until it was too late to avoid it until it was too late. I cannot remember one incident where my loyalty was rewarded during periods of sacrifice.

Before my swim across the middle fork of the Feather River, I almost drowned four times. I didn’t almost drown swimming the Feather, but I was saved from a fate worse than drowning. 

My first non-dream encounter with water was when I was three years old. My parents took me to the beach. I only have a vague memory of this experience but the bad part I remember vividly. It will be my first experience with the ocean.

 I am standing alone where the waves hit the sand. My parents were busy visiting not too far away. I am not in the water but close. Then it happened a wave came in that put my feet underwater. In the water was green seaweed with strange balls attached to it. The seaweed wrapped around my feet. When the wave retreated, the seaweed pulled me further into the ocean. The top of this wave was level with my eyes. As I struggled to untangle my feet, I did not see the next wave before I could escape.

 The last thing I remember was that wave as tall as I was knocked me down. I remember nothing more until I am on the sand and my parents stand over me. I could smell the saltwater in my nose and some seaweed still wrapped around my feet. I thought they were green snakes.

My second experience was in a public pool. Some big fat kid thought holding me under the water was funny, and I almost ran out of air. Suddenly, he let go, and I saw this kid running away when I surfaced. I was agitated, and I went to the lifeguard to report him. I am about eight or nine years old.

The lifeguard told me they had had trouble with this kid before, But he probably won’t return. Then he said he ran to the nurse’s office because he got bit by a horsefly.

Number three occurred at Lake Tahoe, where a friend and I rented a small sailboat. I was about 20 years old, and we were both experienced with sailboats.

The sale boat, called a sunfish, was about 10 feet long, and we were about 100 yards offshore. The wind was a little stronger than usual, but nothing we were not used to. Suddenly, the boat capsized, and I was thrown into the water. As I tried to surface, I was caught under the sail. I began to panic and randomly grasped for the edge. Luckily, I could close my right hand around the aluminum mast and pull myself to the surface. To say it was a close call is an understatement.

We were both in the water when a lifeguard who saw the incident arrived in a power boat; he righted the sailboat and told us to get back into it. He then towed us back to shore. It is still half full of water.

Because we were both experienced sailors, we investigated what happened. Small boats with a small centerboard keel have limited tolerance for heavy winds. When the sail is in close haul, it might push the boat too fast, and its bow dives under the water. It is called a submarine dive if it dips too far, causing it to flip.

Those were my experiences e] with water. There will be two more later in my career.

Dear reader, I will interrupt here to insert Stephens’s fourth water experience, even though it did not occur during his growing-up years. He initially writes about his Clavey Falls experience when he joined Union Bank in Sacramento in 1972.

I am Inserting it here because Clavey Falls and his swim across the Feather River will, like his water dreams, will each foretell his future.

 The Feather River swim will be told much later after he meets Sylvia Li. However, like his dreams, Clavey Falls will be a warning about the course his career and the future of banking will take.

From “Tales from the Vault:” By Stephen Dane, Union Bank  Chapter.

First, I do not believe in magical forces, para-normal influence, or alien interference in human activities.

I am a retired banker with degrees in chemistry and business with a smattering of physics. My life at the time was steeped in quantitative analysis.

In the early 1970s, I obtained a position at Union Bank as a Credit Officer in Sacramento, California.   Shortly after settling into my new location, William “Tex” Gross introduced me to Lynn Feil.

 Mr. Gross met Lynn while they were both employed at Merrill Lynch. Lynn was still used there as a stock broker.

Tex left Merrill to form his own cleaning company, as he likes to be called. About two years later, Tex sold his company and returned to his hometown in Texas. Tex will be instrumental when I retire from commercial lending.

I just assumed a nice two-day trip in the foothills of the Sierras. During the introduction, Lynn invited me to join him for a run in his new Avon raft on the Tuolumne River. I had never been in a raft on a river in my life.

On this day, Tex, using his smooth Texas drawl, assured me Lynn was an experienced river runner and had never had an accident. I should add that “Tex” is the quintessential salesman.  

It will be a two-day run without going into all the details surrounding my preparation for this adventure.

 I can say that something happened during the run, which to me is unexplainable.

The Tuolumne River begins in the high Sierras and flows West. Due to heavy snow melt, It was at high spring volume but still safe for an experienced raft driver. At one point in the river, another smaller river called the Clavey, joins the Tuolumne

The confluence is called Clavey Falls. The drop at full flood can be dangerous. Several people have drowned here. Most rafters port around Clavy Falls, but the owner of my raft had never flipped and was excited to test his new raft and run the fall. I remember him saying:

 “What could be a better test of my new Avon than running the falls.”

 I had to put my faith in my partner, having no way to judge the danger.

The unexpected event will occur late in the afternoon of the first day.

There is no need to explain how we navigated the raft and what was going through my mind as we approached this somewhat chaotic water course. I will describe the experience just before and after the raft flipped.

I was in the front to maintain balance, and Lynn was in the center, steering the raft using the two oars. As the raft entered the top of the falls, the swift flowing water just launched the boat into midair, causing the raft to fall straight down like a belly flop,

Then the power of an 8-foot waterfall in full flood caught the back of the raft as it was about to clear. Before one could say, Jackie Robinson, the new untested Avon flipped front to back. In seconds the raft was upside down, with its upside-down bow stuck under the falls. The vibrating stern was facing downstream.

I never saw how my partner was thrown free, but somehow, I was trapped on the raft’s side with one of the oars holding my body at the waist against the rubber wall.

Half of my body was under the water facing down the river. The freezing torrent was pushing forward my head and upper body. My left arm is bouncing on the bottom of the raft.

The volume and cold temperature of the water made it almost impossible to breathe. Even worse, I could not move. The venturi effect kept the oar, the raft, and me locked. I tried pushing the oar with my right arm to get some space, but the pressure was too intense, and the roar of the water was deafening. I kept getting water splashing up my nose as I tried to hold my breath. I was beginning to panic and thought this could be the end.

And now, the strange part. Everything went dead silent for a brief second, which seemed like an eternity. No roar, no water splashing. My body went dead calm, and the cold water, the whole river, just seemed to disappear. Then a voice inside my head told me to “twist your body toward the raft, throw both arms straight up, take a deep breath, and slip under the raft

I did not question this out-of-the-blue verbal instruction that had the timbre of a resounding echo. But the prospect of going underwater seemed for a brief second to be a risky move.

“When you surface,” the voice continued.” swim to the right.” Swimming to the right also seemed risky, as the waterfall was only a few feet from the left.

From fear or instinct, I followed the direction without a problem which freed me from the oar. As I slipped under the boat, the backwater kicked me out into the middle of the river.

 Everything remained quiet until I surfaced about 25 feet downstream and gasped a big breath. Then all the sounds and the cold came immediately back into my consciousness. I realized I was back in control and needed to swim diagonally to the right quickly to avoid the roaring white water and rocks not 50 feet away.

 I made it on shore. Had I swum to the left, I would have encountered a 20-foot cliff and no escape from the river.

Shortly after my escape, the raft was free, and it began floating down the river upside down with all our clothes and equipment in the holds. Fortunately, the raft had a trailing rope with a knot in the end. About 50 yards down the river, the knot got wedged between two boulders, and we were able to retrieve the Avon before it stranded us in the middle of the river canyon.

The next day we were able to raft the rest of the river. Because almost everything in the raft was soaking wet, I had to sleep on a small beach in my wet suit. The next day on the river, my heart would race as soon as I heard the sound of white water.

Reflecting on this event, I cannot tell if I or some other voice gave the escape instructions. Perhaps my subconscious accessed a page from a long-forgotten physics book. A page or two that explained how the swirling water that was holding the boat, the oar, and me, would also be the force that would save me.

But that would not explain why the river disappeared briefly.: or the warning to swim to the right.

The voice will revisit me while I am still at Union Bank. That story will be told shortly in one short sentence,

Dear reader, Steven returns to Los Angeles after failing to find affordable housing in Aspen

The stories in “Tails From The Vault “ begin here

Before I continue with Tales From The Vault, I would like to share an email I received from Richard just before we started the editing process.

 I made it on shore. Had I swum to the left, I would have encountered a 20-foot cliff and no escape from the river.

Shortly after my escape, the raft was free, and it began floating down the river upside down with all our clothes and equipment in the holds. Fortunately, the raft had a trailing rope with a knot in the end. About 50 yards down the river, the knot got wedged between two boulders, and we were able to retrieve the Avon before it stranded us in the middle of the river canyon

The next day we were able to raft the rest of the river. Because almost everything in the raft was soaking wet, I had to sleep on a small beach in my wet suit. The next day on the river, my heart would race as soon as I heard the sound of white water.

Reflecting on this event, I cannot tell if I or some other voice gave the escape instructions. Perhaps my subconscious accessed a page from a long-forgotten physics book. A page or two that explained how the swirling water that was holding the boat, the oar, and me, would also be the force that would save me.

But that would not explain why the river disappeared briefly.: or the warning to swim to the right.

The voice will revisit me while I am still at Union Bank. That story will be told shortly in one short sentence,

The following, which I call my censored autobiography, is parceled into periods that may or may not be relevant to my banking career.

I have tried to keep the material related to business. Except for a few stories that probably affected my personality, I have attempted to avoid most events and relationships in my early life that had nothing to do with business. But if I deviate from the path, please accept these stories as my Jackson Pollock moments.

Period one. For the first five years, I was born in San Francisco; on June 17, 1944, we moved to San Rafael.

Period two. Kindergarten through 8th grade

Period Three: High School.

Period Four: College and Vietnam War

Period Five: The Bratskellar. I abandon the idea of working for a major chemical corporation and cut my teeth in the restaurant business.

Transition Chapter Water: to Banking

According to astronomers, the universe is 13.5 billion of our years old. If so, it took the Creator quite a while to create me.

On June 6, 1944. 11 days before my birth, the allied forces began Operation Overlord.

For those unfamiliar with Operation Overload, it was the most extensive military assault force ever assembled. The objective was to make a significant attack against the Nazis and hopefully turn the tide against them and end the war.

While taking my first breath, thousands were lying wounded or dying on the five beaches on the Normandy coast. Utah, Juno, Gold, Omaha, and Sword are now tourist attractions; The war will end with the detonation of the first use of atomic weapons. From that day forward, the entire world will live under the threat of a nuclear cloud. 

Dear reader you have seen a reference to Clavey Falls in my letter to the publisher. In Tales from the Vault Stephen describes his encounters with water in chronological order. I have decided to include all water stories, except his swim across the Feather River now The Clavey Falls incident occurs when Stephen becomes a Union Bank loan officer in Sacramento in 1972. I include it now because it sets the stage as his life as a banker.  

From a blank slate to age five:

Before my first memory, I have no memory. So, events before the first memory have been told to me by my parents or others long after they occurred.

My first encounter with the economic principle of supply and demand occurred right after I was born. Unknown to me until I was in my 50s was a story all my adult relatives knew but never told me.

My mother incurred a breast infection and was unable to breastfeed me. Because it was wartime, she depended on canned milk. She was instructed by a nurse on the proper preparation of the milk to be placed in the bottle. Also, how to assemble the nipple and test the temperature.

 I do not know all the details, but apparently, she called her mother in a panic after getting me home from the hospital. She thought I was sick. She told her mother I had not swallowed milk in two days and was losing weight. She said the milk stayed in the bottle, and although I was sucking, no milk was consumed.

Her mother asked how she tested the temperature of the milk, and my mom said she would try it before putting it into the bottle

Then her mom said maybe you did not make the nipple holes big enough to pass the milk.

"What holes?" was my mother's response. 

She missed the lesson on puncturing holes in the nipple with a needle.

Since I am still here, she must have found a needle.

During my first five years of life.

Although I have a lot of memories from this time, I can say that this period had little to do with anything related to business. Or maybe it did.

 My father had attended the University of California at Berkley, where he studied engineering. He quit before graduating, and I never knew why. Subsequently, he obtained employment to build Victory ships for Kaiser. This job exempted him from the draft.

Ironically he was drafted a month after the war ended.

Before he left, he bought a house in the Sunset district in San Francisco. It was one block from the ocean. I lived here with my mother for two years. When my father returns, I will begin a 94-year-long battle of debates that could be the subject of another book. I will only say that the tug of war started on my fourth Christmas when my grandmother bought me a set of toy drums. I loved them. Dad was not so pleased. He bought me an erector set. The drums disappeared.

I will expand on my father's career later. The short version is he was a civil servant and obtained top-secret classification as the Director of the Office of Naval Research. However, his sideline was investing in real estate, and the purchase of the house in San Francisco will provide an example of how Americans can obtain wealth.

My father will live to be 98, and my mother will survive him by two years and die two months after her 100th birthday.

Move to Bret Hart

If you drove north on the Golden Gate Bridge, you would enter Marin County as you exited the bridge. When I was five, my parents sold the San Francisco home and bought a house in Marin County. They purchased a new small three-bedroom single, bath tract home on the edge of San Rafael called Bret Hart. One bedroom was for me, one for them, and the third for my sister, born in San Francisco one year earlier. When I turn six, Richard will be born, and I will eventually share a bunk bed and a long friendship with my brother.

My biggest challenge was deciding where I should introduce cash in my book. The preface of my book introduced money as the primary theme. I decided to start the topic of money in this chapter because that is roughly when money was introduced to me. Ironically, it was also my introduction to banking.

I cannot remember precisely when I first realized that money was essential to living. It might have been as early as the first or second grade, but I still remember the event from almost 65 years ago, so it must have made an impression on me. 

One morning a man came into our class and gave everybody a small book with a blue cover that said First National Bank of Marin. I know this because he told us what it said. We could read "See Spot run" but had not yet learned to read First National Bank of Marin. The cover was stiff, like a canvas on cardboard, and inside, it only had about five pages. They were all blank except for four vertical lines from top to bottom and .25 written in one of the columns. The first column had a date, the second and fourth columns each had the same number, and the third column was blank. It would help if you visualized how this page looks because it is a basic form of accounting to which we will return.

The man told us that he was a banker and that the bank wanted us all to have a savings passbook. He asked us to take the book home and show it to our parents and ask them to explain what saving money means. He said that passbooks were a particular way to save money and that the bank would pay interest on any money that our parents or we would deposit. He was earnest and impressed with me that saving money was essential to know how to do it.

 Of course, I do not know anyone in the class except our teacher, who understood the words deposit or interest. I remember him saying that over time I would have more money than I put into the account. That sounded good to me; I took the book home and gave it to my mom. She opened the book and said, "Oh, the bank already gave you 25 cents."

Or maybe the importance of money became known when I realized I could exchange it for things I wanted. In those days, I wanted candy bars or to go to the Saturday matinee. Sometimes I bought caps for my toy gun. Caps were small rolls of red paper with tiny explosives glued on them. You loaded them into guns called six-shooters and threaded the caps like a roll of film in a camera. When you pulled the trigger, the gun hammer hit the caps, and the gun would make a popping sound. Anyone who followed the cowboy shows on T.V. had to have a six-shooter. They looked like real metal guns. When I visited Russia, one of the male students asked me: "do you own a gun?". I doubt Russian children had toy guns because they did not have cowboys. I apologize to the selfie-takers for not explaining how to load film into a camera,

I was about 8 or 9, earning a weekly allowance of 25 cents by cutting our front lawn with our new gas-powered lawn mower. It was big, and I was small, so the most challenging part of doing the job was starting the engine. Sometimes on cold days, my dad had to start it for me.

Most candy bars were 5 cents, but some were 10 cents. The 10-cent bars usually had a silver wrapper. The caps were not expensive; I only bought them when I had a little extra. The matinee was 25 cents and always started a 12:30 pm on Saturday.

How to spend my allowance was usually a tough decision because the Saturday matinee always had two feature films, cartoons, and a serial. I liked cowboy movies, so if there was a cowboy film, it was an easy choice between candy bars and the matinee. What made the decision difficult was the serial. Serials always ended in a dramatic fashion with the hero or heroine in some dangerous situation that left you wondering how they would get out of it. So you had to go to the matinee the following week to find out how the dilemma was solved. The choice was even more problematic if it was a Flash Gordon Serial. So each Saturday after mowing the lawn, I had to decide. It was my first experience allocating my limited resources. 

 We lived on a corner with the neighborhood's largest front lawn. When I turned 10, I would be expected to edge the lawn with a hand edger. My dad probably bought a gas-powered mower because I was too small to push a hand mower. Still, there were no power-driven edgers; this work was slow and tedious, and I hated this new responsibility. Maybe my body language sent a message because my allowance was increased to 50 cents a week.

The increase in work was an early lesson in the marginal value of money. The marginal value of money is a fundamental concept to understand because it is an integral part of every purchase decision you ever make. We will visit the marginal value of money soon. I never felt the 25-cent increase was worth the time or effort needed to edge the lawn. If I started cutting the lawn late, I might not finish edging in time to get to the matinee. Time management now became a new skill I had to master.

To supplement my income, sometimes, I would open a lemonade stand. But this was seasonal, and I had to do it on the weekend. Lemonade sales created another variable to my time management issues. The lemonade business also required money to buy sugar, lemons, and paper cups. I used sweat equity to construct a stand and paint a sign. My folk's freezer provided ice. Because ice was given to me, it reduced my labor costs. It eliminated a capital expenditure for a freezer, the fixed cost of financing the refrigerator, and the variable cost of paying for the electricity.   I will revisit the lemonade venture in the finance section, where fixed and variable costs are explained. Understanding fixed, variable, and semi-variable costs are fundamental in managing your money.

Once, I created a carnival in my backyard and had games, prizes, and a puppet show. All my neighborhood friends showed up. This enterprise was to be a two-day event, but it ended on the first day when I got stung by a bee right after the puppet show. I gave everyone their money back. My carnival business was my first loser.

 My most profitable enterprise was my candle sales at Christmas time. About four blocks from my house was a small candle factory, which always had leftover wax that they threw away. Sometimes the discarded wax was all melted together. Discarded multi-colored wax gave me the idea of making multi-colored Christmas candles.  

I was again receiving a grant for a stove and the gas that made it work. The process was simple. I would bring home chunks of wax, put it in a small saucepan and melt it. I would pour the wax into a  greased cupcake mold. Since I did not have wicks, I inserted a birthday candle into the melted wax and let it cool. I removed the candles and wrapped red or silver foil around them so that only about one inch of the candle was showing. Because the re-melted wax had multi-colored swirls, no two candles were alike. I sold them door to door during my Christmas break.

Since my mother let me use her stove pot and cupcake pans, I again avoided capital expenditure. She also paid for the birthday candles and foil paper, eliminating my variable costs.

In short, I got to keep 100% of the sale. The candle venture cost me nothing except my labor time. My labor time was the fundamental source of my income.

 I charged 10 cents and made enough money to buy Christmas presents for my parents, brother, and sister (and some candy bars for me). When Christmas was over, my piggy bank was empty. Still, I realized the power of money and the joy I felt being able to buy gifts for others from my efforts. 

I only made candles for two Christmas seasons because when I turned 11, I got a paper route. I still had to cut and edge the lawn. This job provided a constant flow of money, and my days of seasonal earnings were over. Now my money management skills would be taken to a higher level.

Along with the development of the EconoShell, I also introduce the EconoClock. For most of you, the management of your EconoClock will determine your financial future.

These early lessons in working, earning, spending, saving, and, most crucially, risk-taking remained with me all my life. I am sure that the values my parents instilled in me guided me—prudent spending by my mother and diligent, honest work effort by my father. I seemed to be the only family member who liked to take risks.

During my career, I counseled several clients who could not balance these values for one reason or another. And in the end, they experienced severe financial problems; the saddest were the good people who got into trouble and stepped over the line with tragic results.

Ironically, the few clients I dealt with that relied on marginal morals were very adept at managing their money. You will meet some of these characters later.

 I discuss the subject of taking risks in the chapters on finance and banking. Entrepreneurs do not take unstudied risks; they first identify risk and hedge against it. When they have completed their due diligence, they cast the dice.

 From the age of nine, my family would go on summer vacation, mostly camping in the Sierra Mountains. The trip always started as a long drive in a non-air-conditioned car. Loud arguing or "are we there yet ?" was never well received by the driver. My sister, brother, and I  would search for quieter activities to amuse ourselves. We did not have electronic games or IPads. Instead, we would count out-of-state license plates, which got old fast. My sister Stephanie and I could have read, but my brother Richard was too young to read, so he would feel left out. Besides, reading usually included vomiting if the road started to get twisty.

One of my diversions, when I felt like ignoring my younger siblings, was to read billboard advertisements. I probably read thousands, but only two have stayed with me for some reason. 

One was on Highway 50 next to a roadside attraction called the Milk Farm. It was a menagerie restaurant that served food, souvenirs, and, most notably, ice cream. We would pass it both, going wherever we were, going to camp, and coming home. Several times we stopped to enjoy an ice cream treat. Although they had great ice cream, I remember the billboard the most. You could easily see it from both directions on the highway, but it was not visible once you pulled into the Milk Farm parking lot.  

It said, "Our Cows are Outstanding in their Field."

I laughed every time I read it. Remember, I was 9 or 10 years old

 The double meaning of this line was my first awareness of clever marketing. Every time we traveled on Highway 50, I would look for the sign. As long as I could read the billboard, I never felt disappointed when we did not stop for ice cream. The billboard and the Milk Farm have since disappeared, but I still hope, even after 60 years, to see the sign every time I travel to Lake Tahoe on Highway 50. In the future, the Milk Farm will play a minor role in my introduction to the Mafia.

Another double-meaning slogan was part of a Kaiser Permanente ad campaign. Their advertisement was not on a billboard but a large cement truck on the back. It said, "Find a Need and Fill It."

 You know Kaiser as an HMO. However, they also sold cement and various other product lines. I do not wax nostalgic for this ad every time I see a dump truck. But I do remember it.

There is a third advertising motif that I remember well, and that was the Burma Shave ads. It was not on a billboard.

 Theirs was a unique form of advertising because it reinforced product awareness that was already well recognized. The ad did not differentiate the product, but it did differentiate the ad. It must have been successful for a while because ads were on farm roads all over the country.

For those of you who have never seen a Burma Shave ad, I will explain. The company would put little red signs on ranch fence posts that you would read as you drive down the road. These signs were attached to fence posts on well-traveled back roads. Each sign would be part of a short poem or joke, stretched over 5 or 6 fence posts. The last sign would only say Burma Shave.

 I cannot remember one single poem or joke, but I do remember the little red signs and the word Burma Shave. Since I did not shave when I first read them, it meant little to me. In short, I did not have a "need to fill." However, when I started to shave, I bought a can of Burma Shave. Once.

The Milk Farm and Kaiser ads pretty much sum up all that a marketing program requires. The first is to identify a need. This need can be filled by any entrepreneur who wants to provide a product to fulfill it. Second, offer a feature that differentiates your product from a competitor.

The concepts involved in advertising are no different than what you need to do to sell yourself. Selling yourself is the primary driver in Zone 4 of your EconoShell.

My early education was the standard Kindergarten through 8th-grade curriculum. I had above-average grades but did not desire to spend time being an A student. I just wanted to explore my surroundings on my bicycle, slide down grassy slopes on waxed cardboard sleds, ride with my buddies to the lake to fish, play kick the can until dark, shoot my bow and arrows at the park range, figure ways to make money, pitch for my little league team, and at age 11  play my saxophone in our rock band. Eventually, I would discover girls. In short, to run free.

Mostly, I liked to play baseball but had a significant fear of ground balls. Little league was a big deal in Marin County in the 50s. San Rafael had a beautiful little league park, and competition was intense to get selected by one of the teams. There were a lot of good players, none of whom were afraid of "hot grounders."

Our league had two components, the Majors and the Minors. Each year players would go to tryouts and, upon completion, would be placed on a team that was losing graduating players. If you did not make the Majors, you would be placed in the Minors. Minors were usually younger players who had not developed the skill set yet.

The age brackets were from 8 to 12 years old. Some younger minor players were good enough to play in the majors, but team limits kept them out in some years. I cannot remember my earliest experiences in the minors; I was 10 when I first tried out. But I was always put on a minor team.

In the summer of my 12th birthday, I was ready to try out again for the Majors. I made a good showing. I caught all the fly balls and had no trouble throwing to home plate from the outfield. My strong throwing arm was my best asset. In addition, I fielded all the grounders from the second base position and had no trouble hitting the ball. Hitting will become my best skill when I graduate from Little League to Pony league.

Marin County Little League was very popular among parents with young "wannabes" like me. Some of the players I played against in Pony League, which is the next step up,  got college scholarships, some went semi-pro, and the pro teams picked two players. But this will be years in the future.

After tryouts, I went home confident I would be picked by one of the Majors. But it didn't happen. I got put on Moore's Stationary, a minor league team sponsor. I was very disappointed, and I did not find out why I did not get picked until I showed up for the initial practice. The first thing I heard from the coach was

"You should be in the majors, but nobody knew who you were. You were not wearing a number."

I distinctly remember taking off my sweater, getting a number, and putting the attached string around my neck. I also remembered I had waited about three hours for my turn. During this time, the temperature dropped, and I was getting cold, so I put on the sweater I had been wearing when I arrived. In my anxiousness, I forgot the identification number buried under my sweater. I kept the sweater on during the tryout. I would have never remembered this mistake if the coach had not told me, "nobody knew who you were." I would have gone through life thinking I just wasn't good enough and would have never played in Pony League.

Although I was now again in the minors, I was probably one of two or three other players on the four minor league teams that were the best players. Because of my tall skinny size, 5'10, and 130 pounds, I was the biggest player on the team. Because of my strong arm, I became the team pitcher and never lost a game. But we did lose a match to the team we were about to play for the Championship.

 I did not play in the one we lost; their pitcher was 12  years old, about 5 foot 10, and 170 pounds. I called him Monster Pants. I often wondered if he buried his I.D. at the tryouts. His team had also only lost one game when he didn't pitch. He could throw as hard as the best little leaguer in the Majors, but his control was erratic. Most batters were afraid to stand in the box against him. By the bottom of the fourth, he had given up only two hits and no runs. He had struck me out twice.

But Monster Pants' undoing came in the top of the fifth inning. With one out, he plunked the first batter. He got rattled and walked the next batter, who had been a high probability out in the past. 

His name was James, something the 3rd; we all called him Jimmie. He was the least experienced player on the team. In little league, everyone gets to play, and why the coach waited until the 5th inning to play him was always a mystery to me. He will play right field at the top of the sixth. 

Jimmie had two advantages: he was tiny and the second-fastest runner on the team. He could really scoot. Although he never got a hit or scored a run, he did manage to walk a lot. Today was no different. Monster pants' first pitch to him was a passed ball, and the runner on first advance to second. Three straight balls followed. I found out later that Jimmie was instructed not to swing at the ball. The next batter, Jerry, was our best hitter. In a previous game had the only out-of-park home run on the team. There were always several in-the-park home runs due to minor leaguers' inability to catch or throw well, making this game fun for the spectators.

The opposing coach knew Jerry's skill and waved his outfielders to move closer to the fence. But Jerry did not hit a screamer; it was a soft single into shallow right-center scoring the lead runner and sending Jimmie to second.

 For some reason, Jimmie must have thought the center fielder would not get to the ball in time, and he began running to third.

Of course, I have no idea what he was thinking. The coach, however, was screaming at Jimmy to go back when he was halfway between 2nd and 3rd. Looking confused, Jimmie stopped running. And as often happens in little league, what should have been an out—results in another run.

 The center fielder had to run up on the ball and had to decide to throw to second or third. Seeing Jimmie was halfway, I assumed he threw to third to keep Jimmie from advancing or, best yet, throw him out. But because the fielder continued to run after corralling the ball, he misjudged the distance. The fielder threw the ball over the third baseman's head. When Jimmie saw this, he advanced to third, and then the coach told him to run for the home plate when the other team got confused about who should chase the ball that hit the bullpen post and ricochet into left field. There would be no more scoring in the bottom of the fifth, and Monster Pants is down 2 -zip for the first time in his life. They would have only one more inning to recover.

The game will have a dramatic ending. One scenario is I give up 3 runs in the top of the sixth, and we enter the bottom of the 6th inning down 3 to 2. Monster Pants is still on the mound and strikes the side, and we lose 3 to 2. In another scenario, I allow a run. Still, after getting two outs and loading the bags, the best hitter hits a high fly ball to right field, and the opposing bench goes wild. But Jimmie makes a spectacular catch. The only time he even touches a ball all season  Which is why all the Jimmies in the world get to play. We win 2 to 1; These Hollywood endings did not occur.

What did occur is hard for even me to believe. We would end up being the champions of the minors, but not before the baseball gods had decided we needed a little more life experience.

The development and outcome of this game will be an example of future events in my life that have no explanation. It is hard to know why the details of this game remain vivid in my mind.

 We always played six innings and, being the home team, were the last to bat. Now it is the top of the sixth inning, and although I had given up a couple of walks and one flyball that left the park, but just foul, I had not given up a hit. We were ahead 2 to nothing, so I had to limit the other team to one run and end the game.

The first batter I faced hit a single and ended my second no-hitter. Now I am not focusing; the second batter, the one who hit the almost homerun foul ball, takes my first pitch deep over the head of the left fielder. My heart sinks. I know I will give up a run and maybe more. But the ball bounces over the fence, which is scored as a ground rule double. The lead runner has to go back to third base. I now have runners on second and third and no outs. But no runs were scored.

The coach calls time and comes to the mound. I wonder if I am going to go to the bench. But no, he says to settle down; the next batter is their best hitter, who I had managed to strike out and walk so far. The coach tells me to intentionally walk him and pitch high and outside to the next batter. Guess who that will be, Mr. Monster Pants, who had struck out and grounded out previously.

 I am now facing Monster Pants with the bags loaded and no outs. The opposing team and its supporters are now expecting a grand slam. And to be truthful, the same thought crossed my mind. The crowd is yelling for Monster Pants, but all eyes are on me; I take a deep breath, grab the rosin bag and scrape the mound with my cleats.

.Because of Monster Pants' size, he liked pitches away and just outside the strike zone. He struck out a lot. I followed the coach's advice with the bags loaded and no outs. So, my first three pitches are high and away. Monster Pants swung and missed the first pitch. Then he took two balls. I continue to pitch high and outside, but this time Monster Pants solidly connects and sends a screaming liner just foul of third. That almost hit drove my adrenaline to race car speed. Had it been fair, he would have cleared the basis.

While catching my breath, our catcher called timeout and visited me on the mound; His instinct was we had outrun the odds, so he told me he would signal me to throw a high inside changeup. I don't know why I agreed with him, but I also felt I had gone to the outside well too many times. If it was high and inside and slow enough, he might swing at a pitch that would be difficult to hit well. I would still be three balls and two strikes ahead if he didn't bite. The coach's instructions crossed my mind briefly, but I ignored them. I have never shied away from following my instincts. I will have many run-ins with authority figures in the future.

Now I am only thinking about how to throw this pitch, and I decide not only on a changeup but with a rotation to make it curve. I had faith my catcher could tell what I was doing since he had caught several of my curves. I was going to throw it shoulder high, as close to Monster Pants' body as possible, with lots of spins. If I hit him, I would still be up one run. But the coach might be mad at me. I bet the ranch on this one pitch.

Before ending this story, I need to take you back to my neighborhood, where I learned to play baseball. Specifically, I will introduce you to the best ball player I have ever played with. A left-hander named Lonnie Bell. Lonnie was almost 6 feet tall and four years older than me. Lonnie taught me how to pitch and how hit, but most importantly, Lonnie showed me how to spin the ball so it would curve. 

Little leaguers were discouraged from throwing curve balls because their arms were still developing, and the torque tended to damage the cartilage in the elbow. I did not throw many curve balls during a game, But I had no trouble practicing them with Lonnie.

This pitch to Monster Pants seemed like the time to do it. Remembering Lonnie's instructions, I put the ball in my glove and aligned my first and second fingers along the seams where they were closest together. Assuming the stretch position, I glanced at first. With significant shoulder action and full overhead delivery, I spun a perfect curving changeup that caught Monster Pants off balance.

The slow speed must have been just too tempting, and he took a clumsy swing. The ball hit the bat on the handle, causing a low, infield popup about ten feet high, and was about to land between me and third base. I instinctively decided not to let the third baseman try to catch it. I ran as fast as possible, held out my glove, and saw it stuck on the edge of the glove webbing two feet from the ground and only three steps from 3rd base. I immediately stepped on third before the runner, who took off too soon, could get back. Then using the bag to pivot, I turned and ran down the runner from second, who had also over-committed. He fell as I tagged him about 6 feet from second base—an unassisted triple play. My head was spinning; I couldn't believe what I had just done. We win 2 to 0.

 Lonnie Bell won that game for me that day; not only did she teach me to play baseball, but she was also the family babysitter, which is how I met her. 

I will never experience a moment like that again in my life. From that moment forward, every team I have ever played on, and every company I have ever worked for will be a carbon copy of the team we just beat. 

The triple play reminds me of one of my favorite Peanuts cartoons. Lucy asks Charlie if in life you can one day be the best you ever had. And Charlie thinks a minute and says yes. Then Lucy says, "What if you already had it."

As young as I was, my experience in the little league minors taught me a few lessons. The most important thing is to stay focused on the details, as a small error can have a considerable impact. Second, being a big fish in a small pond does not prepare you to swim with the sharks. Third, the glory of the moment is fleeting, but the big head it creates can be destructive in the future. Lastly, when you strike out the mayor's son, his mother will start a rumor that you cheated to be a big fish in a small pond and should not be allowed to play.

And finally, when faced with a risky decision, "listen to the little man inside."Listening to the little person inside is the advice Walter "Wally" Bragdon gave me, Vice Present of commercial  lending in the Sacramento regional office of Union Bank. You will meet Wally when I write about Union Bank. My first memorable encounter with the little man inside was deciding to throw Monster Pants a high inside curve. Although I didn't know I had a little man inside until Wally told me I did,

Despite some success in Pony League, my baseball career ended during my first year in high school when I got cut from the Junior varsity team. For some reason, I stopped growing and remained underweight and skinny until my senior year. Everyone else in the group grew to Monster Pants size and larger. Although my curveball was still viable, my fastball never got any faster. And grounders would be my Achilles heel. Now I knew how the minor leaguers felt when I took the mound.

When I completed 8th grade, my family changed neighborhoods. But, before I leave my childhood home and enter adolescence at our new location, I want to relate two more childhood stories.

 My first friend was DJ. He lived across the street from me and was two years older. He will be my friend until he goes to junior high and discovers girls. I had many adventures with him, but this incident will forever teach me about trust. D.J. was a little bit sadistic. Not in an evil way, but he loved jokes at others' expense. 

One day we were in his backyard, and he had a piece of black rubber about one foot long and maybe 2 inches in diameter. He challenged me to bend it. To demonstrate, he grabbed the rubber at each end and grunted and strained to move it. He only bent it a little bit and gave up. Because he was older and bigger, I assume his struggle proved the rubber was hard to bend. He gave me the rubber, and I decided to provide it with the most muscular effort possible. But the rubber was not hard to bend, and I only smashed my knuckles together. D.J. laughed, and I felt foolish.

The second story may be my introduction to the real world.

When I was 7, my electrical engineer father bought a television. We may have been the first on our block if not the neighborhood. Like the iPad today, T.V. was the electronic monster that would corrupt youth's minds and lower reading skills. It is hard to know if it lowered my reading skills because I hated to read.

Until I was 8 or 9 years old, I loved to watch B Bar B Ranch. This program showed cowboy movies in the morning on weekends, Hop along Cassidy, the Lone Ranger, The CiscoKkid  Kid, and Lash Larue. The climax of every film is the good guy chasing the bad guy on horses, and the good guy jumps to knock the bad guy off his horse with the inevitable fistfight. I do not remember the good guy shooting the bad guy off his horse. There would be no fistfight if that happened. Today the bad guy is chased by the good guy in a car. Horses evolved from horsepower and fistfights to gun fights with twenty thousand bullets a minute.   Today B Bar B Ranch is probably a salad dressing.

The movies started early Saturday morning and went on most of the day. As I got older, my viewing experience was only interrupted by my lawn maintenance duties, the afternoon Saturday matinee, and baseball. These activities provided my first encounter with conflicts regarding allocating my time.

Between the ages of 5 and 12, I probably saw a lot of T.V., but I don't remember much. However, Disney's Mickey Mouse Club eventually impacted me as I approached 12.

It was Annette Funicello. Any male who saw this program would know who Annette Funicello was.

She was the first club member who introduced breasts to the pre-adolescent set. A fact not appreciated by Disney executives at the time. I was so attracted to her that I wrote her a letter. A week later, I got a response in the mail. It was an advertisement to visit Disneyland and some other stuff—no response from Annette.

 In addition to watching T.V. and playing outside, I liked to spin fish. My first purchase from my paper route savings was a closed-face Shakespeare spinning reel. By today's standards, it was costly. I also had a box full of lures. I bought a variety of spinners, multicolored flatfish, and two sizes of super dupers. *

My letter from Disney was the best lesson that ever happened to me. Annette was a fishing lure. From that day on, if I am presented with Annett-type opportunities, they would be analyzed for hooks.

·       Footnote for those of you who expected to read I fell for her "Hook Line and Sinker" I am putting it as a footnote not to disappoint. But I have to be honest; only the Hook is relevant here. Adding Line and Sinker only applies to genuine relationships and is responsible for our success as a species.

You may think I am being cynical here. Still, when I move to Los Angeles, I will become involved directly in the Entertainment Industry, which at the time was always referred to as "the Biz."

The Annette lures are a fundamental driver determining this business's success.

 Before leaving Bret Hart, I thought adding a few stories I found in another file might be informative. Later in his career, as you learned from the beginning of this post that Stephen joins a Chinese bank where he meets Sylvia. It is then that he takes Mandarin lessons. The file is titled "How I Taught Myself Mandarin." The opening of this essay begins with his exposure to Asian Culture while he lived in Bret Hart. I include these stories since, although not included in Tales From The Vault; it seems relevant to his development. There is some redundancy in the material, but I left it in to maintain the continuity of his work.

How I taught myself Chinese

Chapter One:

If you are in San Francisco and drive north across the Golden Gate Bridge, you will enter a tunnel with a giant rainbow painted on the arch. It was painted about fifty years ago and created some controversy. The painter was fired only to be reinstated by public outcry.

 Many stories are on the net about the painter's life and why it was painted. But for me, it represented the entrance to the magical place where I grew up, Marin County.

I was born in San Francisco, but my parents moved to a small suburb in San Rafael called Bret Hart when I was five. I would live there until I was 12. Bret Hart was a very safe white middle-class neighborhood. My contact with minorities was minimal.

 My first experience with someone from another culture would be when I was nine. A family up the street adopted a Korean war orphan named Sherman. Sherman was about my age but was a big kid with some emotional issues. My friends teased Sherman because he was different. They labeled him "Sherman the German" for some reason that made no sense to me. He was sensitive and cried when teased but never ran away. He was skilled at physically defending himself, even against the older boys. It was my first experience of racial bias. Sherman's parents left Bret Hart after a very short residence there.

One day each week, I would experience contact with another Asian. He was known as "Charlie the Chinaman” He would drive through the neighborhood in an old Ford truck. The truck was open on the sides from where he would display fresh fruit and vegetables.

 All the kids loved going to his old truck to see what he was selling, and he always greeted us with a wide semi-toothless smile. He looked ancient. He also gave us Chinese candy made of multicolored coconuts and sugar. This candy was unavailable in our supermarket, so we were always anxious to see him and his truck.

  When he died in his late 90s, the local paper told his story and his sacrifices in selling vegetables to Marin residents. His epic work ethic generated enough resources to send his seven children to college.

I have some other memories of Asian Culture

About three times a year, we would go to a Chinese restaurant where my father taught us how to eat using chopsticks. We also learned the names of the dishes. I always thought "Egg Fooey Young," as I would say it, was a humorous name for food.

 Late in my career, I was with my Chinese boss, Mr. Eng. Eng, as everyone called him loved to eat lunch at a specific Chinese restaurant. He would introduce me to authentic Chinese food, including chicken feet and stinky tofu. One day he invited three visitors from Shanghai to eat lunch with us. Only two of the guests spoke English.

The non-English speaking guest leaned over to Eng. and whispered something during lunch.

Eng looked at me and said, "He is impressed with your skill at using chopsticks and wants to know where you learned. "

I don't know what got into me, but I told Eng to tell him that in America, if there is a Chinese Restaurant in town, children when they turn 5, are taken to a Chinese restaurant and learn how. Of course, this wasn't entirely true. It only applied to me and my brother and sister. We are not given utensils, so if we don't master the chopsticks, we don't get to eat.

The second was a girl who was older than I was. Her last name was Olsen; she may have been my first experience with a fluttering heart. Olsen is a Scandinavian name, but she had Asian eyes and was beautiful. I never met or talked to her, but I always assumed she was part Asian. Why she is still part of my memory bank is a mystery.

The third memory is going to Chinatown in San Francisco with my friends. We were about 11 years old, and going there was like visiting a foreign country.

Grant Avenue in Chinatown in San Francisco is a prominent tourist attraction. When we walked down the street, it was crowded with out-of-state visitors and local Chinese merchants.

Grant Avenue is fronted on both sides by small stores selling finger traps, back scratchers, strange-smelling spices, Chinese puzzle boxes, and a thousand other exotic items I had never seen before.

Off the main street, we would see the locals, primarily women, shopping for fruits and vegetables displayed, like on Charlie's truck, from racks on the sidewalk. The men would be in the park smoking and playing board games.

Two images that are hard to forget are the skinless cooked ducks hanging in the windows of the meat shops and the hundreds of street signs written in Chinese Hanzi announcing the store's name.

I could not understand any of the writing, which looked like scribbles. These scribbles originated thousands of years ago and played a significant role in developing Chinese and other Asian cultures; these scribbles are called Hanzi.

Except for occasionally eating Chinese food or going to Chinatown, encounters with Chinese Culture will be limited.

All that will change midway through my banking career when I am hired by a Chinese bank and meet Miss Li.

 If I may interject, the two most significant sentences were his recognition of racism against Sherman and his statement about Charlie "His work ethic was epic." Racism and work ethic, although relevant in his career, are undeveloped themes in his book. He does mention a few stories and the effect of the civil rights movement on banking laws. But it is only the tip of the iceberg

Throughout the editing process, before the book was turned down, I mentioned to him that these subjects were currently significant areas for discussion.

He said he felt the issue of work ethics was sufficiently handled. He also felt expressing his views on racial bias and bigotry would only cause debates and distract from the focus of his book. In short, he tries to avoid political motives that might disrupt the reader's focus on personal financial issues.

My comment, "The tip of the iceberg," reminded me of one of Stephen's jokes. He was in San Francisco, sitting at a bar and eating lunch. At the other end of the bar, Stephen overheard two middle-aged guys in suits taking in what he thought was a New York accent. Why he gave me all this detail, I do not know, but he thought this was the best joke he had ever heard.

A Jew and a Chinaman are eating dinner together. Halfway through the meal, the Jew gets out of his seat and punches the Chinaman. Then he says, "Remember Pearl Harbor."

The Chinaman responded: "Pearl Harbor" That was the Japanese."

The Jew counters," Japanese, Chinese, Taiwanese, What's the Difference.?"

The Chinaman is a little miffed, but he lets it go until the dessert arrives. He then gets out of his seat and sends the Jew to the floor, and says: "Remember the Titanic. "

The Jew responds:" Titanic? That was an iceberg".

"Iceberg, Goldberg, Greenberg, What's the difference."

  I will now return to Stephen's book

High School

Before beginning my first year in High School, my parents bought an Eichler home in Lucas Valley. Lucas Valley is about 10 miles north of San Rafael. The area will become famous when George Lucas buys some property off Lucas Valley Road and builds Skywalker Ranch.

 Compared to our small home in Bret Hart, our home on Cedarberry was roomy.   It had four bedrooms, two bathrooms, and a two-car garage. The Inside was divided by mahogany walls, while radiant heating floated from a slab floor. We had air conditioning and sliding glass doors open to a small backyard in the hot summers.

 There was no front lawn, and I got my separate bedroom. The only negative was the small lot size and virtually no backyard to play or entertain.

A poet would describe the home as a sterile wood, glass, and cement cage. Our furniture did not belong there. No wonder my mother hated it.

 I got a job working in a lumber hardware store not far from our new home. It was called Gallagher's. Mr. Gallagher was amiable and would show me how to stock the shelves with various hardware items. I had little contact with the customers except to help the yard boss load lumber or sheetrock into their vehicles. No front lawn meant no more allowance.

 My primary duty was to assist the yard boss in stacking lumber into the various bins. The yard boss will be my first supervisor. He is also the first African American I have ever met. He was about 6 foot 6 or more, weighed about 250 pounds, and everyone called him "Tiny." I never did know his given name. He taught me everything I needed to know about lumber. He instructed me to recognize kiln dried from green lumber, rough lumber from S4S (surfaced four sides), knotty pine, clear heart redwood, and Douglas fir. What studs were used for, the names of all the types of molding and the sizes of boards labeled, and how to calculate board feet. Then he told me three essential pieces of advice. First, how to properly tie a trucker's hitch to secure a load on a truck; second, always squat and use my legs to pick up anything of weight; and third,  to avoid splinters, wear gloves. Tiny's lessons will give me the necessary knowledge to get future jobs in the same industry.

Feeling isolated from her friends, my mother eventually talked my father into moving back to San Rafael. That summer, Mr. Gallagher sold the Hardware store, and I did not like the new owner. Knowing we would move, I quit my job two weeks before school started. I would miss Tiny and wondered how the new owner would treat Tiny. We left Lucas Valley for greener pastures.

We moved into a large ranch house fixer-upper on an acre of land that overlooked the High School.

 I now have my driver's license. Although many of my friends had their own car, I would save money by driving my mother's car. The availability of a second car on the weekend made it possible for me to commute to my new Job at Goodman Lumber.

 Goodman Lumber was the largest Lumber and Hardware Store in Marin County. I will fully develop my lumber and hardware knowledge while employed here. I reported directly to Mr. Goodman, who spent much time directing me in my tasks. I will work here for two summers and occasionally on the weekends during the school year. Mr. Goodman was very good to me, and I enjoyed the diversity of the work. I was allowed to interact with customers and assist them in their projects. As you can imagine, most customers were male d it yourself types or contractors. Dealing with contractors will be essential training I could get at a young age. Many of my future clients will be builder developers, and I will make millions of dollars for my banks from these clients. Real estate developers will account for 35 to 40% of my responsibilities throughout my career.

To return to High School is where the weeding-out process began. Sorry, weeding out is a wrong term that should only be applied to out-of-control gardens. Even then, a weed is our creation; the Creator has no such category.

 But Jedidiah probably would disagree. One morning while working in the hot sun, his neighbor Amos dropped by and said: "Jed, you and the Lord have certainly done right by your garden." Jedidiah replied: You didn't see it when the Lord worked it alone.

This joke has two critical points. "God helps those who help themselves," some have interpreted to mean second helpings and two, the foundation of the work ethic, which is not a joke.

In addition to all the social challenges to be navigated in high school, there is one major fork in the road. To go to college or not to go to college. *

If you chose college, you had to take a more rigorous academic load. If you decided you had a profession in mind, your courses were scheduled around those skills required to access that path.

For some, this decision was already determined by their academic level. Those with high grades could go to college if they wanted. Middle-graders could go but might have to take a junior college route for those who did not qualify or chose a path that did not require a college education. The only exceptions to this general college entrance process were athletes with exceptional skills, some with outstanding grades, and mediocre students with wealthy parents.

 I would have chosen baseball or a rock band if it was not for my parent's expectations and the fact that I was not that talented at baseball or the saxophone. I will be the first to obtain a college degree since one of my great-grandfathers achieved this level in Denmark. Only two of my ten or so school friends went to a four-year college, and they, like me, washed out before completing their junior year.

*I need to add a caveat here. I was born one year before the classification of Baby Boomers was coined. I had the advantage discussed in Tamara Drout’s book titled "Strapped" It was written in 2005, about five years before I retired. Her discussion on student debt did not apply to me because I could earn money when my dad stopped paying for my education. But it did to many and still does apply to many of you. The relevance of starting life in debt puts a tremendous burden on managing your EconoShell. Despite being written almost 20 years ago, the fallout of tuition escalation is not over. I leave it to you to read this book if you want to revisit this issue.

My mother, a product of a working-class family during the 1930s depression, and my father, the first son of immigrants in a similar financial situation, would be my role models.

My parent's commitment to each other, just missing their celebration of 75 years of marriage, never wavering in their high standard of honesty and unrelenting perseverance of the American work ethic. Their value system and moral behavior were and still is the foundation that formed the American character's best part. 

I would have chosen baseball or a rock band if it was not for my parent's expectations and the fact that I was not that talented at baseball or the saxophone. I will be the first to obtain a college degree since one of my great-grandfathers achieved this level in Denmark. Only two of my ten or so school friends went to a four-year college, and they, like me, washed out before completing their Junior year.

The Barn Dance. 

During the school year, our high school had several dances in the gym. The two most popular were the Christmas Dance, just before winter break, and the Barn Dance. At all the dances, members of the photography club could take photos of the couples. Two spots were allocated where the photos could be taken. The charge was 25 cents a head. Most shots were of one or two couples who would each get a developed print. To preserve the memory, which would be available for pick up in about two weeks, it would cost 50 cents per couple.

The Barn Dance was a bit different. Many couples wanted to be in the photo together to show off their costumes. The gym and photo stations would be decorated in early American hoe down. Each shot could have 6 or 7 couples looking like the Beverly Hillbillies dressed in 1960s hayseed.

In our senior year, my best friend Tom asked me if I would help him take photos at the Barn Dance. He wanted me to collect the money (we charged up front). He also wanted my date to take down the names of the people on the photo while his date would position the subjects. My date surprised me by being incredibly excited to do her part; there would be no dancing for us that night. Tom offered to give me half the proceeds. Since he was in the photography club, he had free film and development costs. He had to provide his camera. So the school subsidized our variable costs.

He told me he would raise the price to 50 Cents a head. If they didn't like it, they could forget the memory photo. I asked. "What about the other photo station?"

The following was Tom's reply. "I told him the Photo Club only supported one station this time and gave him $20. This amount was more than he usually made from any of the dances. $20 bucks are equal to 40 couples. In addition to the money, he got the night off and had no responsibility to develop the prints."

I might add that Tom was a good salesman. In high school, he raised chickens in his parent's backyard, sold eggs to his neighbors, and made enough money to buy a used car. We drifted apart when he got married, and I went to college. After a tour of duty in the Marines, he married and started a wholesale lightbulb company. He has since acquired several hardware stores.

We had several complaints or questions about the cost increase during the photo shoot. Tom explained to the disgruntled that it costs more to handle group photos, and development costs increased. Although development costs may have increased, they did not increase for him. It was a partial truth to the question of more expensive group photos. It took four of us to manage the flow. But the print costs were less because up to 12 prints could be developed from a single negative. Getting more prints from a single negative is known as" economies of scale.

 As expected, we made a killing, and as promised, he gave me half. It was the most money I ever made for the time spent. He did all the development and distribution of the photos.

 If you have ever finished a game of Monopoly, you know how to classify our enterprise. Fortunately, there were no government officials to bring antitrust charges against us.

How I apply my Barn Dance experience will provide the solution to two significant future credit problems. One saves the owner of the Northern California Coke franchise, and the other avoids a $1,2 million charge, which means a dead loss.

Dear Reader on the Net, recently, was a short video that simplifies the concept. In the open market, there are two sellers of eggs. Seller A has ten cartons of eggs for sale for 50 cents a carton. Seller B has three cartons left for 40 cents a carton. Seller A decides to liquidate his inventory at 30 cents a carton. Seller B buys all of "A’s inventory at 30 cents a carton. The only egg seller in the market now raises his price to 60 cents a carton.

I started my college career with the idea that I might be a dentist. I have no idea from where this idea came. In high school, I had major surgery on an errant tooth that grew in the middle of my upper palate. My orthodontist offered me a part-time job watering the plant outside the office. Orthodontists made a lot of money, so maybe that was my motivation

In high school, I took the required course path of Math, Science, and language courses. High school courses for colleges with a pre-dental program were the same as a premed at that time. (Doctors)

My father wanted me to live at home and attend Marin Junior College. At that time, Marin Junior was a prep school for Berkeley, where my father wanted me to go. My father initially went to Berkeley but had to leave in his junior year. He never discussed the reason, but it could have been money issues, grades, or WW II. He never returned because I was born; ironically, he was drafted into the army at the war’s end. He would become the Head of the Office of Naval Research and retire at 55 as a G.S. 18. This civil service rating is equivalent to a Rear Admiral. But I digress. I wasn’t interested in Junior college; I figured I could go to a State college, have higher status, and transfer to Berkeley from there. But mostly, I just wanted to get out of the house.

I was a lousy student during my first two years. I hated to spend my time studying, and I crammed for finals. The same habits I had in grade and high school continued in college.

 At the end of my sophomore year, I unraveled, having spent time joining a fraternity and mimicking the exploits of Animal House, exploring alternatives to my high school sweetheart, drinking too much, and enjoying my freedom and missing deadlines.

 While I did OK in my science classes, I was a C+ student in general ed. courses, including a D in Philosophy. While my classmates studied Plato and Kant, I was busy anticipating Play Time and deferring to Can’t. I also had two awful experiences and received two Fs. The first F was in Sociology. The professor, for some reason, flucked 75 % of the class. (believe  it or not, I  accidentally typed this word which should have been flunked); I left it in because it is more appropriate. Several students took action against the professor, but he was tenured, and the school would do nothing. Since it was a G.E. requirement, we all had to take the class over again. That grade alone was insufficient to put me on academic probation, but the next F was all on me.

 My decision will be the stupidest, most dishonest thing I ever did, and the consequences will be a disaster. I had a B average in my English composition class. This class was another G.E. requirement. I had not written my final paper, due two weeks before the course ended. I had not done the assignment on the due date and realized I needed an excuse to try to get an extension. I am walking toward class, and lying on the floor is an essay fully typed with no name on it. I picked it up and read it just before class started. It was perfect. All I had to do was put my name and the date at the bottom and turn it in. The paper was written well above my limited English skill, and I got busted by the teacher for cheating. She had me sent to the Academic Council for judgment. Fortunately, the committee put me on probation, and my parents, as far as I know, were not contacted. If they kick me out of school, I will never be able to face my father, whose mantra is “Thou shalt not lie.” Another interesting irony in the essay I turned in was an analysis of a short story. The story is about a man who picks up a piece of string while walking down the road. His picking up the string is used as evidence against him for a crime he did not commit. Only the random act of picking up something which led to consequences is the irony. I was guilty.

In addition to good grades to apply to dental school, they required carving chalk skills. Carving chalk measured your ability to create small detailed creations with your hands, like a perfect replica of an incisor. A skill that I could not achieve nor did I want to sink my teeth into. I had to chalk up my first two years in college as learning how not to learn. Sorry, I have a terrible pun habit besides chewing my pencils.

So beginning my Junior Year, I decided to try to apply myself a little. 

The college had just introduced a new B.S. degree called Science -Business. This degree is a double major that combines science courses with business courses. It required 136 units to graduate rather than 124 units for a B.A. degree. Realizing I had already completed almost 16 units of the needed science requirements, mainly in Chemistry, I decided to change my major. Dental school no longer interested me. Medical school was out of the question as grade requirements increased from a 3.5(B+) to a 3.75 (A-) average.

A job with a major U.S. chemical company seemed like a good goal. Now I had only to complete the Business credit requirements. The additional units needed to complete the degree would require another year of college. A year my father refused to pay for, thus putting a financial burden on me.

The requirement to pay for my last year meant I had to work part-time. The job I obtained as a waiter will drastically change the course of my river.

 Declaring this major also required me to choose an area of concentration for my business studies. I struggled with accounting and disliked marketing or personnel management, so I decided on production management. Production management studies will be applied a lot during my career as a banker. Now comes one of those external forces that changed the river’s direction even before I worked as a waiter—the Coast Guard.

se external forces that changed the river’s direction even before I worked as a waiter—the Coast Guard.

It was 1965, and the Vietnam War was heating up. I had a 2s deferment, which meant that as long as I was in school and maintaining a C average on 12 units or more; I was exempt from the draft. During my Junior Year Fall semester, I enrolled in 16 1/2 units of 4 and ½ more than required. But I was struggling with this study load, so I dropped one of the 3-unit classes and decided to make it up in summer school. This decision would change my fate. Thinking 13 ½ units were sufficient to keep my 2s deferment, I began to hunker down. Not known to me, my local draft board was short on its quota, and during my first years at school, the minimum requirement was increased to 14 units. I am a ½ unit short. Sometime in November, I got a letter from my draft board to register within 60 days—a left hook to the chin. I am going to Vietnam; I am screwed. A good lesson is not verifying the facts. A practice that I will follow religiously and will stand me well as a banker. But it will not always be remembered as the same mistake will be repeated to me in my late fifties. A lack of verification will again change the course of the river.

The preceding is only the setup. It is not the change but the reason for the difference. If someone was watching over me at Clavey Falls, that same guardian was with me in late November when I decided to try to find a reserve unit I could join. A reserve unit would only take six months to complete, and I could continue my studies.

 I had no car, so I took the trolley to the Federal building on Franklin Blvd. All the military recruiting offices were in this building. Despite being 2:30 in the afternoon, the halls were empty, and most of the office doors were closed. High ceilings, a walking labyrinth in matrix form outlined by polished white marble floors in 20-foot-wide corridors, undecorated light tan walls bearing evenly spaced heavy oak doors, all closed. The marble had an unmistakable smell of fresh floor wax. The marble smelled of new floor wax, and no one was on-site, despite being 2:30 in the afternoon.

The only information of who or what was behind those doors were minor wooden signs about 1 foot above the door frame.

Not all the recruiters were in the same corridor, so I had to search randomly. My first stop was the army recruiting office, which had a and ½ year waiting list. Next are the Air Force, the Navy, and the National Guard. All had long lists of applicants. I never found the Marine Reserve Office, so I stopped looking and returned to my apartment.

 I began to walk down the corridor to the exit. I am turned around in the building and have no idea which door I need to get to the trolley. Turning the corner, I saw a sign midway down the hall. It read United States Coast Guard

I had nothing to lose to see if the Coast Guard had a reserve program. I never even considered the Coast Guard as a military unit. I would ask for directions to the trolly.

When I entered the office, a man greeted me dressed in an immaculately pressed uniform of unknown rank. Unlike the other recruiters, he had a friendly smile. He asked me what I wanted, and I said I was looking for a reserve program. He laughed and said with a slight military apology, I am sorry, but we have a 3 ½ year waiting list. I thanked him and asked if he could direct me to the trolly. Before he completed giving me directions, the phone rang. I began to leave, not wanting to stay while he was on the phone, but he jumped up and waved for me to stop. He closed his phone conversation, hung up, and, while still standing, said.

“How good are you at math?”

A little stunned, I told him my background, and he offered to take a test immediately.

Before I even inquired about the waiting list, he said. That phone call was from the person at the top of the list. He got into a 6-month program, and our only opening right now is a 9-month program in Lakehurst, New Jersey. I need to fill this spot immediately, and I have no idea who on the list can qualify. If you can pass this test, you qualify. Are you interested?

I said, “Sure.”

So I sat in a small cubicle, took the test that took me about 45 minutes, handed it in, and waited. 15 minutes later, the recruiter came up to me and said

“You passed; Not only did you pass, but you also achieved the highest grade we have ever gotten. “If he were telling me the truth, it would be the only time I came in first in anything academic.

He then explained the program. It was a nine-month active-duty obligation, including an eight-week boot camp in Alameda, California. Then a four-month training school in Lakehurst, New Jersey, to become a 3rd class meteorologist. Finally, active duty at a location to be determined later.

He then said: “There is one condition.”

My heart began to sink. I never liked any sentence that starts with “there is one condition.”

But I said OK, knowing it could not be worse than getting drafted.

“What is it?”

“We expect you to come in at the top of the class. My CO likes to win. Lakehurst is an inter-service school, and you will be competing with other Coast Guard recruits, Navy recruits, Army recruits, Air Force recruits, and maybe a few Marines,”.

I said, “OK.”

He directed me to report to his office on December 5, 1965. I was sworn in on that day.

So, I arrived at the same office with three other recruits on that date. I took the oath and signed the required documents, photos, and fingerprints. After filling out some forms, I was directed to a military hospital for a physical exam. I had to pass this exam to stay out of the draft line.

I have always been in good health; however, this exam threw me an unexpected curve ball that forced me to bend the truth. As the doctor went through his routine, everything was going fine. Then he asked me to strip down my shorts and sit on an examining table. He kept looking at my right leg and foot.

I was born with a slightly crooked right leg. My foot and knee have a 15 Degree twist. I never thought about it before because it never interfered with any physical activities or caused me to walk with a limp. It did, however, cause my right leg to kick out when I ran, which, kids being kids, teased me and called me Crazy Legs after the Rams football player Crazy Legs Hersh. The doctor, however, looked concerned. He then grabbed my knee and twisted my foot inward. I felt a sharp pain, but I kept my mind focused because I intuitively knew this could be a reason for rejection in the Coast Guard. But maybe not enough to keep me out of the army.

Did that hurt? Did he ask?

Not at all, I responded

OK, you passed.

It would be 3 Months before I was called to report to boot camp. I spent the time living with a friend in Los Angeles and working with the Akron store part-time, delivering purchases made by customers residing in Beverly Hills. My delivery vehicle was a brand-new Jaguar that belonged to the store’s president. Bernie Fields. I would also run errands just before I returned to the bay area to drop Bernie’s shoes off at the shoe repair shop. It would be my introduction to Los Angeles, where I would live off and on for much of my life.

In March, I got a letter from the recruiting office to report to the Alameda Coast Guard base for Bootcamp. So, I returned to Marin and asked my dad to take me to the base.

Marin County sits just north of San Francisco. Alameda is on the Oakland side of the Bay. It takes about 45 minutes to drive there in light traffic. We left about 9:30 in the morning, and my father made very few comments to me on the way. He had the radio on and a serious look on his face. I thought he might be angry, so I just remained silent. We Pulled up to the main gate. I was not allowed to bring anything except my “civies.” There was no wallet, money, photos, books, jewelry, or anything else. Only my Military ID card with my picture on it

As my father stopped the car at the main gate to let me out, he turned to me, put out his open right hand, smiled, and said.

“Just keep your sense of humor.”

I shook his hand and said, “Thanks, Dad.”

As I entered the base, showed my I.D., and got directions on where to go, I realized my dad had set me up for that dramatic moment.

Sometimes, the only thing that tolerates situations is maintaining a sense of humor.

I joined what was euphemistically called the Draft Dodgers Yacht Club. But nothing could be further from the truth. One of the Coast Guards’ duties was to patrol the Mekong Delta. The casualty rate was high. 

The study of weather was fascinating, and the math was not easy. But it is a science, and my major is now Science Business.

 The military was a perfect environment to show me the value of self-discipline and the benefits of 1000 years of organizational management during times of stress. And I began to understand where my father was coming from when I was growing up.

It was 1965, and the Vietnam War was heating up. I had a 2s deferment, which meant that as long as I was in school and maintaining a C average on 12 units or more; I was exempt from the draft. During my Junior Year Fall semester, I enrolled in 16 1/2 units of 4 and ½ more than required. But I was struggling with this study load, so I dropped one of the 3-unit classes and decided to make it up in summer school. This decision would change my fate. Thinking 13 ½ units were sufficient to keep my 2s deferment, I began to hunker down. Not known to me, my local draft board was short on its quota, and during my first years at school, the minimum requirement was increased to 14 units. I am a ½ unit short. Sometime in November, I got a letter from my draft board to register within 60 days—a left hook to the chin. I am going to Vietnam; I am screwed. A good lesson is not verifying the facts. A practice that I will follow religiously and will stand me well as a banker. But it will not always be remembered as the same mistake will be repeated to me in my late fifties. A lack of verification will again change the course of the river.

The preceding is only the setup. It is not the change but the reason for the difference. If someone was watching over me at Clavey Falls, that same guardian was with me in late November when I decided to try to find a reserve unit I could Join. A reserve unit would only take six months to complete, and I could continue my studies.

I was discharged in September 1966. Returning to college after the Coast Guard, I was late registering for a full load. I will miss a few classes, which probably affected my final grade, but I needed the money; learning to drive a UPS truck on Mission Street in San Francisco was equivalent to a Ph.D. in driver’s education. I took six units and got a driving a UPS Truck over spring break to assist in the increased volume of Christmas deliveries. The main focus of the exercise was to anticipate changes several car lengths ahead while watching all the parked cars on the right. The stress to the right was to be ready for a nonobservant driver opening the driver’s side door.A reminder of Semper Paradis.

 The UPS experience will pay dividends when I get my first management job with the Bratskellar restaurant. Up to that point, UPS was the best company I had ever worked for. High pay almost doubles my previous hourly rate, a Christmas bonus, a lot of overtime at 150% of my hourly, and an unbelievably efficient operation. Most importantly, high morale, which I attributed to all their employees, was treated well. It was the first job where management made me feel important. In short, the roots of my management style germinated during the last six weeks of 1966.

Because I changed my major and opted for a B.S. degree, I took five and a half years of classes to get it. After graduating from High School in 1962, I should have obtained my degree by 1966. But I do not graduate until January of 1969. For the additional two years, My father agreed to pay for room, tuition, and food for four years. Everything else was on me.

The restaurant business will play a significant role in my life.

The incident of finding the paper that put me on probation but not being expelled;  and the almost unbelievable luck of getting into the Coast Guard reserve have something in common. An unknown person dropped their essay just before I needed one, and I made a decision. An unknown person at the top of a three-year waiting list makes a phone call 30 seconds before I leave the Coast Guard recruiting office, and I make a decision. These two events will begin a lifelong internal debate of pre-determination (fate) and statistical probabilities. (Luck, good and bad). One of my favorite lyrics by Paul Butterfield is, “Born under a bad sign; been down since I began to crawl. If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all”.

My father refused to pay for my education after I completed my courses in 1967. I was required to use some money saved from my summer job, and I took a few part-time jobs while attending classes. There were three. The first was working in a pharmacy in the village near the college. The second was totaling accounts payable totals for a large retail store. It was here that I got my first taste of real accounting work. I wouldn't say I liked the task. Still, it was the ultimate test in applying speed and accuracy to obtain the correct accounting entry. I mastered it in a week and was soon bored.

When I join a Japanese bank, a ten-key adding machine will play a dramatic role between management and an employee. It will be my first exposure to the Asian cultural norm of losing face. Losing face is foreign to Western values and, in my opinion, will play a critical role in the success or failure of American foreign policy.

I was eventually rescued from my adding machine by an offer to be a waiter. The lead came from a classmate working at the Cooperage restaurant on Union Street. The Cooperage was not just any old restaurant but where the “ in-crowed” gathered to eat, drink and make merry. Since it had a full bar and extensive wine selection, I got an education in the liquor trade. An essential skill of being a good waiter is the elimination of unnecessary moves. Obtaining efficiency provides ample time to do what waiters are expected to do; treat the customers like royalty. The development of this skill will parallel my study of production management.

This job had a reasonably low salary, but we were given free food and had to keep all our tips. Tips are the incentive to work as a waiter. I was able to make a lot of tax-free money. I only worked at the Cooperage for one summer, but it was enough to qualify me for my next restaurant job. The dynamics of the restaurant business are manifold and will solidify the management style I observed at UPS.

THE BRASKELLAR

The delay created my first financial crisis, and I didn’t have enough money to pay my share of the rent. While looking for a job, my roommate carried me for two months and bought the food. I did not need to go hat in hand to my parents. More importantly, I could quickly get to my classes and access the local job market. His unselfish act provided the capital I needed. There will be other financial stresses in my future. One will take me to the brink of bankruptcy. As I complete this section of life before banking, I realize that the origin of this book may not be my trip to Russia but the memory of my financial struggles.

Our apartment was located on Polk Street, not far from Ghirardelli Square. Formerly this was the location of the Ghirardelli chocolate factory. Now it is a tourist attraction with shops and restaurants. One of the restaurants, The Bratskellar, was just about to open, so I went down and asked the owners if they could use a waiter. I got hired on the spot. I will work as a waiter during my last semester and begin to research available positions at a chemical company.

In addition to completing my G.E. requirement, I deferred an advanced production management class. For our final, we were required to find a production function and describe how it worked and if it could be improved. But  I encounter a fork in the road. I completed my final assignment and got a B+. That week I also obtained an interview with Kaiser in Oakland. The job was in quality control at their sheetrock plant. My first interview went well, but I wasn’t sure this job suited me.

I had a lunch shift that weekend, and the president of the Bratskellar, who was working the floor that day,  asked me if I was ready to graduate. I used the opportunity to tell him about my production paper because it involved the restaurant.

My paper focused on a production function called Cueing Theory . Basically, it involves the movent of some parts in a system. A good example is how to time traffic lights so movement is smooth and efficient. An example of cuing theory you are all familiar with is the change in banks on how to line up to the teller window. Historically you picked a line, and it might move slowly or fast. Now you stand in a single line and get to whichever teller is open. A similar function is self-checkout at the grocery store. These are all implemented based on cueing theory.

The Bratskellar presented me with a unique opportunity. The restaurant was huge. The distance from the kitchen to the front of the restaurant was a long walk for the servers. The servers waiting on tables furthest from the kitchen required two round trips to the kitchen. Once to submit the order and once to pick up the food. To alleviate the double trip, the owners of the Bratskellar installed a vacuum tube delivery system located at the coffee station on a side wall in the middle of the restaurant.

 The servers in this area would put the order in a shuttle. Load the shuttle into the vacuum tube and lock it. The shuttle would be delivered to the kitchen, and the cooks would extract the shuttle from the tube,  remove the order and add it to their list for preparation.  

 My paper addressed all the variables associated with this system. The shuttle delivery system was less efficient than requiring the servers to walk to the kitchen twice. In short, it did not work. One of the problems was conflicts between servers needing access to the coffee station and other servers waiting in line to load their orders. However, the biggest problem was the tube itself. The shuttles had to be powdered with white chalk to flow through the tubes. Because the powder was located in the coffee station, the moisture in the air caused the powder to stick to the side of the tube. Wet chalk caused the shuttle with enclosed orders to back up in the tube.

The president asked me if he could read my paper. The next day he offered me a job as assistant manager. I will abandon my pursuit of joining a chemical company and join this group of young Restauranteurs from Chicago. Managing restaurants will be my profession until I become a banker. Once you enjoy the daily challenge of running a restaurant, you are hooked for life. Even today, when I take Terri to dinner, I can tell if the restaurant is running smoothly or not.

 Early in my career, Banks did not like lending to restaurants because of the high failure rate. Because of my bank training and management history in running restaurants, I convinced my bosses that I knew how to evaluate this credit risk. All my future restaurant loans will be profitable. But, ironically, the one I turn down will become the most promising of all. You know it as the California Pizza Kitchen

Dear Reader, Stephen has written many stories about his Bratskellar experience. He decided it was too much for this book. I am inserting a brief resume of his short career as a restauranteur. During the next four years, Stephen will open and manage the La Jolla Branch, Move back to Los Angeles, and help open the restaurant in Westwood Village. He then advanced to the chain's cost controller, working directly with the company's Chief Financial Officer. which had grown to 7 restaurants.

He was offered the cost controller job because he had the lowest labor costs among all the managers. When asked how he did it, he said he gave the employees whatever time off they wanted as long as they could find a replacement. He eliminated jealousy by evenly distributing the stations. Hence, regardless of skill level, everyone had equal shifts to the better tables. He focused on the employees' morale before he was concerned for the customers. If the morale were high, the customers and the stockholders would be the beneficiaries.

In 1970 the chain got into financial trouble from over-expanding and needed to cut overhead. Stephen decided it was time to move on. One of his assistant managers in San Francisco landed a job at the Aspen Highlands in Aspen, Colorado. He offered Stephen a Job running the Apres Ski Bar in the afternoon. The offer was 4-hour shifts, $20 a shift plus tips, free food, and all the skiing he wanted. He only needed a place to rent. He told me it would be a dream job for a single guy like him. He stayed with his friend for an entire month, trying to find a rental unit he could afford. There was nothing. He returns to Los Angeles and moves in with another former  Bratskellar employee living in Manhattan Beach.

Dear reader, Steven returns to Los Angeles after failing to find affordable housing in Aspen

The stories in “Tails From The Vault “ begin here

Before I continue with Tales From The Vault, I would like to share an email I received from Richard just before we started the editing process.

“Marc, thank you for your interest in Stephen’s work. You asked me to provide you with the focus of his book. Instead of telling you what I think I can offer you some material; he wrote,

The following is from his original prologue; he didn’t like it. I found it in the trash file. I don’t know why he trashed it, but it is a good overview of his thinking. Some of the material is included in the new prologue. “

“Tales From the Vault’ is a book about my experience with money, both my money or sometimes a lack of it and other people’s money. In banking parlance, OPM is the coin of the realm (other people's money).

I have a unique point of view about money. I was a commercial banker for 40 years. My career gave me a window from which to observe and sometimes participate in more real human drama than all the reality shows ever produced.   Murder, Suicide, Fraud, Political Shenanigans, Extortion, Organized Crime, FBI Sting, Threats, Bribery, XXXXXXXX,  International Money Laundering, Drugs, Sex, and even Rock and Roll, all in one degree or another, played a role in my career. 

Most of the dramas had to do with money, and that money was OPM. It was your money—the money you deposited into my bank. There will be stories where I was personally involved and will pertain directly to my purpose of sharing my understanding of money with you. Other stories are included to provide comic relief, drama, and engaging human behavior episodes. These stories may even increase book sales.

Access to money that I could lend to others placed me in a position of power. Not unlike a father who controls his children’s allowance. I am also in a profession requiring the highest level of trust from my client and me.

 I am still expected to maintain this level of confidence, so some of the names and locations of the stories have been modified to keep my moral obligation to protect the guilty from exposure and the stupid from embarrassment.

Obscuring some identities should also reduce the probability of my publisher and me incurring a possible lawsuit.

I had just turned thirty-one and had less than one year of experience as a bank lending officer. Being a bank lending officer meant I could approve loans, although small, with my pen. I had scheduled an early morning meeting with the wife of one of the bank's new clients. Her husband was out of town, and she had to come to the bank to sign documents before we could fund the money.

At the appointed date and time, a woman approached my desk, which was located on the platform. She was about 15 years older than me and was quite attractive. I correctly guessed that she was the wife of our client.

The platform, before the coming of the cubicle age, was a big open area in the middle of the bank where junior offices got to sit for about ten years until they earned an office. It was and is very exposed.

Without introducing herself to me, she unabashedly blurted out the following words.

“Steve, I would rather tell you the most intimate details of my sex life than discuss my money with you.”

I immediately offered to discuss the matter at hand with her in the privacy of the conference room. It did not occur then that my privacy offer might have been misunderstood. She was happy to complete the signing at my desk and left without saying anything. I never saw her again, but her comment made me realize two essential aspects of my job. First, my clients depended on my integrity to guard their secrets; second, I had to be wary of their secrets not revealed to me. Nobody shares all the intimate details of their sex lives.

For the next 35 years, whenever I had a meeting where someone would share their financial situation with me, I would remember her words. Her straightforward, straight-to-the-point statement provided me with a foundation on which I built my career. Money is personal power and more sensitive than sex. Building trust is essential in building relationships and is more powerful than money or sex. Thus being discreet and discrete about everyone’s financial situation builds trust. And maintaining this trust is the only way an economy can create and sustain long-term wealth.

 But first, I had to be sure I could trust them because I was at risk. As then President Reagan said about Nuclear Detent with USSR. “Trust but Verify” 

Navigating the ever-changing dynamics of power and trust would be the currents on which my career would float along or capsize on the rocks. I would experience both.

In some ways, this book is autobiographical. It is about my observations on how people are affected by money and how money is affected by people. The common denominator of this book is money. The concept of a common denominator is discussed in the Math Chapter. Sorry you have to know basic math to understand money

The structure of this book is simple. There are only six chapters. After a brief introduction, I start with First-grade math and end the 6th chapter with Macro Economics. The interim four chapters discuss Money Accounting, Finance, and Banking. Like most things, staying strictly on one subject is difficult because everything seems connected to something else. So any chapter may have ideas or elements found in the other chapters. Math is usually an element found in all chapters.  

 Tales from The Vault is not a textbook. It is a book of short stories. The stories are all true. I do not always change names to protect the guilty if I think I can get away with it. If you only read the stories, the book will be entertaining. If you can also learn anything, I will feel happy that I may not have wasted time writing it. If only one person benefits from my experience, then I will have succeeded. If only one person avoided financial losses because of something learned in this book, I will have succeeded. If only one person buys this book, that’s on my publisher. I can still say that I am a published author, but I will have to remain humble.”

“Mark that is it.”

When Stephen wrote this prologue, his vision was narrower than what Tales From The Vault evolved. The Sylvia Li story and using me as a narrator was integrated much later. The six-chapter format was eliminated.

I returned to Los Angeles after striking out in Aspen. I am almost broke again, and I have no idea what I want to do. I am no longer in the restaurant business. I am 8 weeks away from a potential overdraft. My father suggests that I visit Joe Edelstein in San Francisco.

Joe Edelstein was a partner in a small stock brokerage firm called Edelstein Campbell, located in the financial district. Joe went to high school with my mother and became a lifetime family friend after my mother married my father. That is all I know about Joe, but on the day of our meeting, he will open a door I never thought of going through.

There are only a few things I remember about visiting his office. Hardwood floors, connected to plush light brown carpet, panels of dark wood on the walls. And the receptionist, who was a 20-something looker.

Joe met me in the lobby, shook my hand, and asked me how Mom and Dad were. I could tell he was busy, and I first worried that I was wasting his time and mine.

He directed me to a small hallway where we would stand to talk. No tour of the office, no offer of coffee, and no hint of offering me a job. The meeting was brief, honest, and right to the point

Having known me since I was born, he did not think I had the personality to be a stock broker. He did believe I could be a good stock analyst. However, when I told him about my experience with Bratskellar as a controller, I did not know how businesses worked despite having a dual degree in business and chemistry. He gave me a short, quick suggestion

"Get a job in a bank."

I would never see him again or tell him how that short sentence changed my life.

After being turned down for a date by the receptionist, I returned to my apartment in Manhattan Beach. I am down to seven weeks of liquid funds. I do not have any illiquid assets except my Fender Mustang base, a Fender Rhodes keyboard, a Beatle amp, and a four-track Teac tape recorder.".If I did not get a job soon, I would seriously consider robbing a bank rather than selling my "Music Studio

Joe's comment about finding a job in a bank floated in and out of my mind for a few days. I had never thought of banking as a career. I took an elective class in psychology that predicted I would fail as a banker.

We took a test called the Kuder Preference test. The test asked about your interests, likes, dislikes, and habits. Your answers were designed to correlate with other successful people in their professions.

I still remember most of my scores. My highest correlation was the entertainment industry, 85%; next came orthopedic surgeons and social workers, 72%, followed by the military, 55%, and religious leaders, 51%. My lowest scores were farmer, 10%; accountant, 7%; banker, 5%. 

The professor had us discuss our results with the class. I remember one comment he made about my religious score combined with my military score. He was surprised at the equality of these scores. I have no idea why he said this.

I could understand the Entertainment score; I have always gotten along well with musicians, actors, and people who like to tell stories. I did not give much thought to an orthopedic surgeon because of the requirements. Still, I could see myself working as a social worker, helping people in trouble (remember this), except for one negative. I liked to make money. My military and religious scores also baffled me a bit. Each of these professions must require the same personality traits. But I have no clue.

Now for the lowest scores. I don't know why they were low, especially for farmers, because I liked gardening. After my interview remembering these scores bothered me and caused some doubt that banking was the best path.

 I called my father to tell him about my meeting with Mr. Edelstein and what Joe's suggestion was and then told him about my low-interest score in banking.

He responded by saying. "You can make anything interesting if you open your mind to it."

After my conversation with my father, I decided to open my mind before the bank closed my account.

xxxxxxxx

Somehow, I find a recruiter who specializes in placing people in banks. I cannot remember who I talked to when I went there or why he even interviewed me. I remember his comment when I asked him if he needed a photograph. His answer was, "Only if you were black."

As the interview continued, my banking career began with a small lie. Or maybe a large fib. I cannot tell the difference.

I already made a feeble attempt to explain lying in the Statistics * section, but that did not go nearly far enough. What is a lie? It is never black or white. The black truth mixed with a white lie is gray. A black lie combined with the white fact also makes it gray. Here I did not substitute the word dark for black because dark and white do not make gray. All you get is either dray of whack.

*Dear Reader: Stephen’s “feeble” attempt to explain lying is in the Statistics chapter of the EconoShell model. I am repeating it here because of its relevance

One of My mother’s favorite quotes is,” There are Lies, there are Damn Lies, and there are Statistics.” This quote was made famous by Mark Twain but not attributed to him.

According to Wikipedia, the origin of the original quote is not known for sure.   The implication of this quote is obvious. Statistics are worse than Damn Lies. David Huff wrote a book titled “How to Lie with Statistics” in 1954. Because it appears to be a book on recognizing scams based on numbers, it could also be seen as a how-to book, in which case the title could be Liar Liar  Pants on Fire. If I may paraphrase from “Guns do not kill People, People kill people,”  Statistics don’t lie; statisticians do. You can also substitute a statistician with a politician if you wish, as the paper is full of examples during the romancing of voters.

I never did know the difference between Lies and Damn Lies or where other quotes about lies fall in the pantheon of lies. Another of her favorites is “Everyone will forgive a little white lie, but no one will forgive the dark truth*  I could not find the origin of this quote. Maybe my mother made it up. But this did create some confusion in my mind.

Where does the little white lie stand in relation to other lies? Is it before Lies and Damn Lies? And what about the dark truth? Maybe it is worst than statistics, thus implying statistics are ok if they hide the dark truth. But then we are confronted with “know the truth and the truth will set you free.” John 8:23 The Bible New Testament.   Now I need to know the difference between the truth and the dark truth. If I tell the truth and it turns out to be the dark truth, I will never be forgiven. If I do not tell the dark truth, I will not have to worry about forgiveness, but I will remain enslaved because I can never be set free.

*The original quote was “The black truth.” Stephen felt this use of the word black, as quoted by his mother, might be offensive to some. But the word “dark” was used in the past to identify African Americans in film and print. He could not find a third word, so he settled on “dark. “

Some say there are only two types of lies: The lie of commission, when you tell someone something you know is not true, and the lie of omission, where someone is relying on something you know is not true. Whether it is a lie of commission or omission, the liar is the one who benefits from either good consequences or avoids terrible consequences.

So, what is the category of the following.?

I babysat my two young nieces, Amy, age five, and Rose, age three, many years ago. I gave them a cookie on separate plates and went to the bathroom. When I returned, Rose cried and said Amy had eaten some of her cookie.

 I looked at the cookie now resting on one of the plates on the table. The other plate only had a few crumbs on it. Sure enough, someone had eaten part of the remaining cookie. Since only Amy and Rose were in the kitchen, I first assumed Amy had taken a bite. The following dialogue discloses the truth.

"Amy, Is that your cookie or Rose's cookie?"

"Rose’s”

“Did you take a bite out of Rose’s cookie?”

“No”

Now I have a problem, which one is telling the truth?

Maybe Rose took a bite and forgot?

Next question to Rose

“Rose, did you eat any of your cookie”

“No”

Then I asked Amy

“Did you eat any of Rose’s cookie?”

Long pause. “Yes”

“Well, how did you eat her cookie if you didn’t take a bite out of it?”

“I broke it off.”

My first thought was we had a budding lawyer in the family.

Was this a lie of commission, omission, or just clever?

Any Pink Panther fan will remember this exchange:

Inspector Clouseau enters a hotel and encounters a dog in the doorway.

He turns to the hotel clerk and asks

“Does your dog bite?”

To which the clerk answers, “No.”

So Clouseau bends down to pet the dog, and the dog bites his hand

“I thought you said your dog does not bite? “

To which the clerk replies: “It is not my dog.”

Was this a lie of omission since the clerk clearly understood the reason for the question? As did Amy above. In the cookie situation, Amy was trying to avoid the benefit of disclosure through deflection, So it is a lie.

On the other hand, the clerk had no benefit at all, but did he have a moral obligation

I found two quotes that shadow every negotiation.

“There is a sucker born every minute,” Attributed to P.T. Barnham but not proven.

If you can’t dazzle them with brilliance, baffle them with bullshit.” ; W. C. Fields.

There is a story about P.T. Barnham that fits both quotes.

P.T. opened a menagerie tent in a small town. The tent had many exotic exhibits which the inhabitants had never seen. The tent was not very large and soon filled up with the curious. It was so attractive to the town folk that they remained in the tent.

 P.T. realizing there were still many potential paying customers in line outside, asked his attorney for another word for exit. His attorney suggested the term “egress.”

P.T. had one of his employees make a sigh and hang it over the exit.

“THIS WAY TO THE EGRESS”  

Thinking there was more to see, the tent soon opened to more townsfolk.

I have decided that Statistics is the answer to the above puzzle because statistics provides me with the tools to “dazzle them with brilliance or baffle them with bullshit.” Since most people cannot tell the difference until they step in it, they always assume it is true because statistics do not lie.

Although the above examples are verbal, it is possible to tell lies on financial statements. I have encountered both lies of omission and commission throughout my career. Some outright blatant, others as clever as “this way to the egress.” Or “I broke it off.”

If I might digress for a brief comment here. Almost every legal dispute I have been involved in has one or more of the above elements. Banks have always been the target of many frivolous lawsuits.

When the borrower loses money and gets into financial trouble, the claim is the bank's fault. The banks win most of these cases. However, during the last 20 years, the banking industry has changed. The final section of the chapter on banking discusses this change and is, to me, the saddest part of my book. But that is years off from now.

On top of life with my father, who believed lying should be one of the commandments, my training as a banker has given me an acute sense of “smell.” My nose twitches when someone is lying, deflecting, or slightly oozing guilt.

I confess that being able to see and learn by the deflection of others allowed me to bend whatever it was that I felt needed bending.

 I should add that bearing false witness is covered by one of the Commandments. Still, by my father’s standards, it is too narrowly defined. Since Moses came down from the mountain, jurisprudence continues to argue the legal status of “it’s not my dog,” “I broke it off,”:  or “This way to the Egress.”Usually at $500 per hour.

I now return you to the interview.

The employment recruiter did say that the bank usually hires MBAs and that a minimum of a B average in accounting was necessary to get into the training program. GULP. I only had a B.S. degree; while acquiring it, accounting and philosophy were my worst nightmares. Accounting was a C minus average.

My mind wanders to the fact that I got As in Finance and Organic Chemistry and a B plus average in economics. I visualize that accounting did not have the same status as finance or economics. Accounting to me was like practicing piano scales. Finance was playing jazz, and economics was the concerto.

How did you do in accounting?

Huh? Oh, Fine. No problem.” This was the lie. All I could think about was my financial situation and lack of initiative in seeking other options.

But he would get me an interview at Union Bank because I had been a controller at the Bratskellar.

Now I have to say something that may be hard to believe. Since applying for a paper route with the Marin County Independent Journal at age 11 and before applying to Union Bank at age 26, I have always been hired at the end of every job interview.

These jobs included three lumber and hardware stores (remember Tiny).; a waiter in 3 different restaurants, including the Bratskellar, The Akron Los Angeles, Bellach’s Furniture San Rafael, UPS driver during Christmas. Willie Mays was on delivery route for S.F. retail  Pharmaceutical store and two casinos at Lake Tahoe. I realize anybody may have been hired at their initial interview for anyone of these low-level jobs.

Because my initial success rate was 100%, I decided Union Bank would hire me, and I wouldn’t have to explore other opportunities. My evaluation will not go as expected.

The interview with Union Bankers begins early Monday morning after I fill out a lot of paperwork and make a couple of copies of my resume. In the past, I only talked to the person who would hire me. At Union Bank  I had to run the gantlet of four interviews by four people in three different departments. I was also introduced to about four or five other employees who would have no significance in my future career.

The interviews took a week to complete. I am now in the 5th week of the eight weeks I had to find a job. I slowly began to realize that this was not just a job. I am interviewing for something more serious. But I am still confident.

I feel comfortable now that the interviewing process is over. I did not feel any negative vibes from anyone who interviewed me.   Since the weather was nice and my apartment was only three blocks from the beach, I would do some sun, sand, and sea time;  and at night, check out the action at Ponchos.

The LA airport is near Ponchos, and my apartment was only two blocks away. The bar was a popular Manhattan Beach hangout for “stews” hopeful male admirers.

While waiting for a call from Union Bank, I went to Ponchos with a friend at an unusually early hour. Poncho’s was packed. We had to stand quite a way from the courting dances. We ended up next to someone he knew. He asked me if I would like to meet someone who would be a “well-known actor.”

The guy was a little taller than me, about as good looking, but had a chiseled face, perfect posture, and was wearing the whitest, fluffiest  sweater I have ever seen.

 My friend asked him if he would like a drink, and I never forgot his answer, “No thanks, I don’t drink.” I could not figure out why this guy came to Ponchos if he did not drink.

When we left Poncho’s, I asked my friend how he knew Grant Westwood. He asked me, “Who is Grant Westwood ?“ “ The guy you just introduced me to, Mr. Teetotaler.”

 He laughed and said his name was Clint Eastwood. While writing this section, I looked him up to see how old he was. I was surprised. At the time, he was fourteen years my senior. I can only surmise his lifestyle kept him looking young.   At the time, however, he was a tall guy in a fluffy white turtle-neck sweater who did not drink or seem interested in the talent.

When I move to Los Angeles, mid-career, I will be responsible for the bank's entertainment department. It will be 20 years between star encounters.

Another week goes by, and no phone call. I worry that the bank did not call because I was just a beach bum who liked to drink at Poncho’s. Your mind does funny things when you believe you are home free, but no feedback could mean tagged out at the plate. Finally, I decided to pull a bluff. I called the head of personnel and put on my controlled, indignant mode. I had nothing to lose at this point.

I said something like this.

“I have been waiting for a return call from your department for over a week now. I enjoyed meeting the people who interviewed me, and Union Bank is my top choice. Still, keeping a candidate flipping in the wind does not seem professional or prudent. Especially if he has other offers that have put on deadlines for an answer. (this was the implied lie)

This was the response

It is Stephen, right?

Yes, Stephen Dane.

“I have your offer of employment on my desk. I will send it out today. You will report to the accounts receivable department next Monday at Union Bank headquarters at 5th and Figueroa. Do you accept.?”

A slight pause to pretend I have other offers. I say, “Yes, Thank You.”

That he had my offer in front of him at that moment smelled funny. I let it go.

On October 30, 1970, I was officially employed as a banker. Two days later, I got the offer letter, and the salary was $50 a month, more than they discussed at my last interview.

 What I did not know at the time, I was hired by the bank with the best Commercial Lending Training program west of Wall Street. Their underlying philosophy is to hire people who are independent, aggressive, sales-oriented (not my strong suit), and customer-focused. Many Union Bankers will become Presidents and Chairmen of other banks.

There is one little detail I noticed in the letter. The offer date was two days after my last interview. It must have been sitting on the head of the personnel’s desk for a week. Which is why he had it when I called

I can only surmise it was a test to see if I would take the initiative and call them. Phew.

Union Bankers will be cut from a different cloth, so Stephen's concern about his banking score on the Kuder test would not apply to Union Bankers. Stephen was probably correct; they wanted him to sell himself aggressively. A good description of the philosophy of Union Bank was written up in an article  Link Here.

 article  Link Here.

The standard practice for new hires in Union Bank’s 18-month training program, called Loan Analysis, was first assigned to either the Credit Department or the Accounts receivable department for six months.

The pre-loan analysis experience was probably done to evaluate a candidate’s ability to survive a very vigorous 18 months. I was told only 50% of the trainees complete the training program. Not the same attrition rate as the Navy Seals, which is 73%, but It reminded me of boot camp. Five trainees were in my class, and two would ring “the bell.”  When he has had enough, a Navy Seal recruit rings the bell. Our attrition rate was only 40%. So either we were intelligent and challenging, or our instructors were softies. But I am ahead of myself here.

I was assigned to the Accounts Receivable department, which I learned was the best department to get into Loan Analysis. I had no idea what the Credit Department did, but I assumed I would eventually find out.

The Accounts receivable department acts in an auditing capacity to ensure the bank’s borrowers conform to the terms and conditions of their loan agreement. My first job in banking will be as an accounts receivable auditor.

Union Bank pioneered the concept of Account Receivable Financing. The bank was founded in Los Angeles and had, and still has, a large clothing manufacturing sector called the garment district. Union Bank was started by a group of Jewish businessmen who saw an opportunity to lend money to this industry. The owners of these companies were predominantly Jewish at the time, and the market was and still is highly competitive.

The nature of the garment business is fascinating in that much of it is both seasonal and style driven. These challenges require each company to be prepared to adjust to the market quickly.

There are usually three seasons, so the turnover of products is fast. This rapid cycle also requires that the company has enough money to pay its bills. As the company’s sales grow or expand and contracts due to seasonality, more of the company’s current assets are tied up in receivables. Sometimes for a short period due to seasonality or a more extended period due to growth. When this happens, they do not have enough cash to buy new cloth or pay for the sewers. They would sell their receivables to a factor at some discount to solve this cash shortage. The company would then tell their customer to pay the factor directly. The following is the simplest example.

Mr. Garment Man Inc. sells 20 dresses to Macy's for $100 each, creating a receivable of $2,000. The terms of the sale to Macy's are 2% 10 net 30. Macy's can take a 2% discount if they pay within ten days, but the balance is due in 30 days.  

The Macy's receivable is then sold to Factorman at a discount, say 4%. Mr. Factorman now owns the receivable and assumes the risk of default by Macy's. Mr. Garment Man Inc receives $1,920 immediately. If Macy's pays early, Factorman’s receivable due from Mayc’s is reduced to $1,960 because Macy’s took the 2% discount.

 On the surface, this looks like a bad deal for the factor. It is a better deal because Factorman received the payment 20 days sooner.

 $20 on a $1,960 loan for ten days or $60 on an a$1,940 loan for 30 days is the same earning per day. So, what is better, $20 on a 10-day loan or $60 on a 30-day loan? Your answer would be they are equal.

 But they are not equal because the factor got his interest money early when the discount by Macy's was taken. He can now invest this interest money for 20 days. The above transaction exemplifies the “Time value of Money.” Remember this phrase. “The Time Value of Money”

There are many more elements to factoring than just time and rate, which are also subject to negotiation and competition. The factor can offer a cheaper rate if the buyer discount is applied before the factor buys the paper. (paper in the Factoring and A.R. world means the receivable.) In that case, the element might discount the receivable by only 2%. But advance only $1,920. (I rounded). If Macy's pays early (XXX)the 

Other considerations include returned merchandise, buyer disputes, the buyer's credit quality, and the fact that the borrower would probably not sell a receivable to a factor if he knew he could get his money in 10 days. In short, the company will offload the worst receivables if it can get the factor to buy them.  

This risk transfer factor makes this financing costly to the business. The risk to the company is the element will not accept some of the receivables. If the company depends on the factor, the company could be in a financial bind if the factor declines a purchase.

Here is where Union Bank sees an opportunity. Instead of buying the receivables, the bank takes a lien on all the company’s receivables. It analyzes the financial structure of the borrower. No consideration is given to the quality of the buyer. In short, Macy's repayment risk is not analyzed. Neither are any of the company’s clients.

Here Mr. Garment’s company receives a genuine commercial loan. Accounts receivable financing will become the bread and butter of the Union Banks commercial loan division. How these loans are structured and monitored will be the foundation of my training. Everything I learn will grow from this seed.

I will spend six months in the Accounts Receivable Department before getting promoted to Loan Analysis.

My first day on the job was to meet Mr. Daniels, who, according to rumor, was one of the developers of Union Bank’s account receivable financing product. He looked to be in his late 60s, and I assumed he was getting ready to retire. I would not have any more contact with him. The following person I talked to was Henry Drusedeaux. He was the actual manager of the department and my boss’s boss. Henry is a difficult man to forget.

He was about 6 feet tall, with an athletic build, a back straight as an arrow, blue eyes, blond hair, and the spitting image of a German WW II officer direct from central casting. But his name was spelled with a French ending *. His English, however, had an apparent German accent.

Henry was an expert in receivable financing and told me his office was open to me if I had a question or concern. He then introduced me to the man who would train me. I am so embarrassed that I cannot remember his name. Still, he will spend several weeks explaining what to look for when I audit the bank’s customers. It will be several months before I am ready, but two of my cases will be memorable.

·       A background story on Henry was circulating in the bank, but it was only whispered. Henry was a very young Luftwaffe pilot during the war. He did not believe in the regime and risked his life by flying his plane to Canada, where he deserted his unit, melded into the populace, and changed his name from Drusedau to Dresedeaux. How he came to America or got hired by a Jewish bank is a mystery.   Whether this is true or not, his physical appearance, accent, and current age of about 50 add credibility to this story.

·        

My very first visit to a bank client occurred in my third month. I was invited to go with the vice president, the loan officer responsible for handling the account. I was not told anything about the client before we arrived at his place of business somewhere in the Valley. While driving to the client’s location in the Vice President’s car, he told me to observe. He said not to touch anything and maybe give some of the auditors, who were already there, a hand.

He parked the car in front of the company’s warehouse loading dock, and we entered through a side door. It was pretty dark inside the warehouse. Only a few of the lights were on. There were no employees.

Then I saw what would be the human side of financial failure. A man in his mid-fifties, slightly overweight and sloppily dressed, was running around the warehouse like a madman, half screaming, half crying, arms waiving, pulling at his hair. And intermittently between emotional eruptions pleading “No, No, No. “He then disappeared from the warehouse, and the loan officer followed him.

I just stood there watching other bank personnel, taking inventory of the thousands of wigs that were scattered all over the place. Some were on the shelves, some in opened crates, and a few on the floor. It was a big warehouse, and I would be standing there for a couple of hours just taking it all in.

Much of the warehouse was in disarray, with dirty floors, damaged boxes, several rat traps along the wall, a torn calendar next to the ( legal postings, and an OSHA poster.  It appeared that a garbage truck had used it as a dump site. The bank employees also ran in and out of the warehouse office and performed many tasks I didn't understand. They never asked me to help.

I would later realize that the most important lesson I learned that day, but did not really think about it at the time, was the condition of the warehouse.

Then, almost as fast as this scene developed, the loan officer approached me and said, “Let's Go."

It was almost like a dream sequence. I was watching something significant, but I was not a participant.

We stopped for lunch on our way back to the bank. The Vice President, who worked at the San Fernando Valley Regional Center, told me the client had been transferred to the loan workout department when the account officer left the ban.   

About a year ago, the client filed for Bankruptcy under Chapter 11. Still, his reorganization plan failed, and the courts moved it to a 7. The bank had a lien on the company's Receivables and Inventory (wigs), and we were there to protect our collateral from disappearing.

Henry thought it would be good for you to observe this process. Although it is rare, it is a good learning experience. He said, “Every loan you make or manage could end up like you saw today.”

We then went to lunch, and he asked me a little about myself and where I thought I might like to work when I finished Loan Analysis. He did not say, "If you finish the loan analysis.” That comment was an ego booster.

I did not know it then, but this was a job interview. He went on to tell me additional information about how Union Bank operated. There were no branches, only Regional Offices. I already knew this information but did not know what this meant. 

Union Bank was unique because each Regional Office was assigned a territory and managed by an RVP. It turned out that the man at lunch with me was not just a Vice President. He was the RVP of the San Fernando Valley office. Each RVP was responsible for the profitability of his region. An essential duty was the hiring and firing anyone to work in that regional office. Each regional office was run like a small independent bank. But unlike a small independent bank, it could lend like a big bank. I did not fully understand the significance of his statement about hiring and firing. My lack of understanding of this policy almost cut my banking career off at the knees.

He had a high personal lending limit, which meant he could make a loan under certain conditions without additional approvals. He then said that when I complete the program, I will be given q $25,000 limit to make loans, which would increase as I progressed through the bank; in today's dollars, 2015, that would be equivalent to $150,000

He also told me the bank had a different subculture. There are real estate lenders and commercial business lenders.

 The bank also had installment loans and an International department, but I would not attend one. Everyone wants to get into the Real Estate division out of the training program because it is the darling of the bank. He mentioned that I was probably on the Business loan track because I was assigned to the A.R. Department. I was not too fond of this last sentence; it reminded me of going to the minors.

Each regional office has a head of real estate lending and a director of commercial lending who reports to the RVP. The RVP controls some lending authority limits, but most loans go through a tier of lending limit approvals. The higher loan limit loans go to the Senior Loan Committee.

When the dessert arrived, he looked at me with a smile and said. “The second half of your training will involve financial analysis to assist the lender in charge of his account. It is called a Credit Call. At every level, a banker's real job is to understand the risks of lending money. Although it is not your money, it does not hurt to believe it is. You will be the first soldier on the battle line to obtain the necessary information, analyze it and present it for approval.}

This lunch was probably the best introduction to what I was getting myself into. I did not get all the details, especially about lending limits, approval rules, or what the workout department did. But the road map was briefly presented. The chapter on banking will explain lending limits and authority levels. 

Driving back to the bank, he told me more about the client we had just visited. He had been with the bank for ten years. In the first several years, he was a small wholesaler and struggled to penetrate the market. He had a minimal relationship with a local factor. He only used the bank to make deposits and pay his suppliers. An outside payroll company handled his payroll. He carried domestic and imported wigs and sold them to the retail market. We gave him a small receivable line in his fourth year when his business began to explode. His sales were still mainly in New York and Los Angeles.

But he expanded too fast and overbought just before the last recession. The loan officer handling the account left the bank just as the company began to lose money. The Senior Loan and Credit officer sent him to  the loan workout department because he had violated some of his loan covenants,

Two years ago, he filed for bankruptcy under Chapter 11. Filing under Chapter 11 prevents creditors from foreclosing on their collateral until the unsecured creditors accept a reorganization plan.  

Suppose the plan fails in an 11; the borrower can voluntarily liquidate his assets under court supervision. However, if the Chapter 11 plan fails and he refuses to cooperate, he can be forced into a  Chapter. Moving an uncooperative borrower into Chapter 7 is how secured creditors can liquidate their collateral. You will get the details of the bank's rights during a client's bankruptcy when you go to loan analysis.  

 As you witnessed today, our client did not go quietly into the night when his reorg plan failed. He was forced into a 7. We were there to protect our collateral. It is unfortunate, but the hardest thing to accept is when one of your clients, whom you have nurtured and trusted, turns the corner on you. And it will happen more often than you like by the person you would least expect.

Not long after my lunch with the RVP, he left Union to be the Executive Vice President of a small bank in Northern California. I never knew why he quit; better deal? Better location? Bad loans? All three. I felt I lost someone who could be a good mentor at the time. However, I discovered that most of my bosses were good mentors. They will make me feel that I have finally entered the major.

The second memorable call was my last month before going to Loan Analysis. It was not as dramatic as the first. I was there to do a collateral review. Later on, I will describe a complete loan analysis write-up. But the A.R. department did train me on how to evaluate this one asset. To cut to the chase, I will say that after being at the client's location and following my training, I was sure I had caught a fraud.

First, I present some background and then describe how the fraud was committed. The bank had lent money against all of the company's receivables. For example, assume a company has 100 receivables totaling $100,000. These receivables may have different maturity dates, or some of the client's creditors are just late in paying. So these 100 receivables are assigned to different periods of how far they are past due.

Putting separate totals of receivables due on different dates creates an accounting chart called accounts receivable aging. The bank typically advances 80% of the total on every receivable not over 90 days past due. The $100,000 on the company's books assumes $50,000 are current, $25,000 are 30 days past due, $15,000 are 60 days past due, and $10,000 are 90 days past due. For the above Accounts Receivable Aging, the bank would lend 80% of $90,000 or $72,000. Now there are many ways that the amount of collateral shown on the aging does not match the actual receivable owed to the company, which is why I am there.

 One way is to put a receivable on the aging that is no longer there; this may or may not be a fraud but just an accounting error. Then there could be a receivable on the aging that was never a real receivable in the first place. A thorough audit will catch this fraud.

 However, there is another more subtle way to borrow for short periods that self-corrects and is rarely caught. This is done by using a credit memo. A credit memo documents an item you sold on day 25 of the current month for $15,000 and is due in 30 days. The receivable will be on the books at the end of the month at $15,000 and listed on the accounts receivable aging when submitted to the bank.

.But assume the customer returns the item sold on the 5th day of the following month. The borrower no longer has a receivable, but he has increased inventory. But we are not lending against inventory. We have made an advance of 80% on $15,000 or $12,000 on collateral that does not exist. A credit memo documents the return of the item. Credit memos are an everyday occurrence in business. But a conscious effort to exploit this process is fraud.

While I was going through the company's files, I noticed a lot of orange credit memos. I smelled something fishy. I decided to investigate these further and documented what I found. I did not say anything to the owner because I was still a rookie and not sure. And two, if I am correct, I did not want him to know I knew.

When I returned to the bank, I told my boss what I had found, and he ushered me into Henry's office. After my presentation, Henry looked at me and said.

” I believe you have uncovered a possible fraud, do not worry about completing the analysis; I will take it from here."

I never got any feedback, but the customer left the bank before being promoted to loan analysis.

There are many reasons the receivable on aging is not what it appears. Besides returning the merchandise, the customer may have paid the receivable early. The accountant does not remove the receivable from the aging even though the company has the cash. Another example is the invoice amount being in dispute for one reason or another, wrong pricing, damaged goods, etc. 

I should mention that banks often will not bring legal action when fraud is discovered. It is a decision usually based on a cost-benefit analysis or some socio-political reason. In some cases, the fraud is a benefit to the bank. Later in my career, I will have one that turned a possible charge-off into a good loan. 

 possible charge-off into a good loan.  

Loan Analysis: 

I Planet Earth entered several millenniums of chaos when the Babylonians eliminated Ophiuchus from the Zodiac. The removal reduced the number of Signs from 13 to 12 and allocated stars to the wrong sector. It also shifted the corresponding dates that now overlap the old allocation.

Interpreters of the Zodiac have unintentionally used the wrong Sign in their craft when creating some charts. In addition, many believers have adapted their behavior to the old blueprint of their Signs personality traits.

Those assigned the wrong sector of the universe may have chosen the wrong profession, entered a marriage doomed to divorce, indulged in extramarital affairs, and continued to march to more devastating wars. The highest impact would be on the financial fate of the believers.  This confusion continues to feed the chaos. The integration of the original Zodiac has only recently been addressed but is it too late?

                                                                                       xxxxxx

December 21, 1971

Mr. Ted Langdon

PO Box 8997

Bijou California

Dear Ted: I am sorry you left the loan analysis training program. Our group is now down to four and we are being transferred to San Francisco with yet another instructor. My gut tells me to watch out for this guy, but what can I do?

 I hope your decision to become a ski instructor at Lake Tahoe works out for you. Send me your address, and maybe I can visit you someday. My family has a cabin at South Shore.

You may have made the right decision to leave banking. I just saw a movie called "THX1138, " and a scene made me think banks may be gone before I retire. Assuming I get that far. I won't tell you the plot or the scene, so you can judge yourself should you wish to see it.

Maybe I should investigate becoming a ski instructor. But first, I will have to learn how to ski.

Warm Regard

Stephen.

I only print the word God if it is in a quote. I will use the word Creator in its place. As explained below, I will also use the letter E when using a pronoun for the Creator.

 E also seems appropriate because the entire Universe exists in some form of energy. E=MC^2. . In this, Einstein’s most famous formula is where M is mass (you, me, and the lamp post), which has potential energy, and C, which is the speed of light. Since C has a speed, it can be measured. Since it can be measured, it must exist. But as noted above, the darkness (probably a jealous black hole floating in a sea of dark matter) does not understand it. So by association, the Creator is light who begins his job creating the Universe as we know it in complete darkness.

Moving on to the old testament

First Book of Moses 

Called Genesis

Chapter 1      …verse 31

“And God saw everything that he had made, behold, it was very good. And the evening and the morning were the sixth day.”

Chapter 2

 Verse 1;

“Thus the heavens and the earth were finished, and all the host of them.”

Verse 2; “And on the seventh day God ended his work which he had made, and he rested on the seventh day from all his work which he had made.”

All the above leads to the big proclamation paraphrased from verse 3: He blessed and sanctified the Seventh day, which is why we have Sunday School followed by everything that isn’t work. I guess Moses felt if the Creator could rest, so could we. Well, it used to be.

Thinking about Moses leads me to a joke.

When Moses was summoned to a conference on the mountain, he seemed to be gone for a long time. When he returned to his followers with his famous tablet, he said with some pride. “I have good news and bad news.” The good news is I negotiated from 15 down to 10. The bad news is adultery stays.

I have spent my entire career analyzing information;

For some reason, the above statement “and on the seventh day He rested” just did not hang together for me. 

My first inkling something was amiss occurs in Chapter 1, verse 31, “….And the evening and the morning were the sixth day”.

What happened to the afternoon? This description of a full day baffled me, but I will let it slide.

Next, There is a bit of a contradiction in “the work ended on the seventh day, and He rested on the seventh day.” If  E rested the entire day, the work ended on the 6th day, not the seventh.

My doubt is confirmed by verse 1 of Chapter 2, which directly follows verse 31 of Chapter 1. “Thus the heavens and the earth were finished.”

It would make sense if the preposition “on” were replaced by the preposition “by.” The preposition “by” implies the beginning of the 7th day but “on” could mean during the seventh day. “On” could be modified to “beginning on,” confirming that work ended on the 6th day. But the preposition “on” creates a loophole in the logic.

If E ended it on the 7th day and not the sixth day, then E did not get a full day’s rest which may explain why some religious services take up only part of the blessed seventh day.   Some practitioners of the Jewish faith keep holy the whole day on their seventh day, while in the Christian faith, on the 6th day. This fact may explain why the afternoon of the sixth day is missing. More on this later when I discuss commerce. Whatever the facts, I am only concerned with the content of ..” on the seventh day He rested.”

Take the opening title of this section, for example. Someone with no astronomical facts wrote it. From the outset, I have a problem using “day.” A day is a measure of time, universally accepted as one complete rotation of the Earth on its Axis. We can assume the Creator’s work is the creation of the Universe, The Universe, and by extension, the Earth was not created in 6, or 6 plus a little, of our days. But we know the Universe is billions, if not trillions, of our rotational days in creation. It may even be infinite. Further, the concept of Infinity is not something that I can completely comprehend because my brain does not have an endless number of cell connections.

Some human brains can store not an infinite number of variables but enough that they may actually be able to communicate with the Creator. I put Albert Einstein and Eric Clapton as two possible candidates here. 

One of Einstein’s statements will contribute to a significant part of my analysis of economic behavior. I would have included some guitar riffs by Clapton, but they travel close to the speed of light, alter the time-space continuum, and would be difficult to chart. I did find it coincidental that one of his album titles is “E Was Here.”

However, the traditional concept of time as measured by the rotational cycle of Earth will play an essential role in the following analysis of why you are not rich. I have devoted a whole 10% off a chapter on time.

This concept is not incorporated in my EconoShell (AWIM) for those familiar with Einstein’s space-time theory. The reason for this is simple. The space-time continuum is way over my head. As far as I can tell, we are not traveling at the speed of light, which, according to Albert, must be approached before Space-time can be usefully measured.

On the other hand, now that high-speed computers can calculate financial variables approaching the speed of light, Space-time may become a factor in today’s economic theories and calculations.

Since the word “Day” above is an inaccurate measure of time as a variable in the creation of the Universe and, by extension, the Earth, I eliminate the word “Day from the above sentence. Further because the words “the Seventh” modify a word that has been eliminated. I find it necessary also to strike these two words  The original sentence, which is now missing the (object of a prepositional phrase), becomes “On …… He Rested. “

The next word I have a problem with is “He.” This word troubles me because one of my clients, a doctor whose opinions I respect, told me over lunch that in life, “there is only male and female.” This concept is somewhat supported by the story of Adam and Eve. But suggests another conflict in logic and another target for analysis. The word “He” follows a religious tenant: we were created in the Creator’s image. I say this because I am sure a biased male wrote the subject sentence to curry favor with the other males in his tribe. If we are created in the Creator’s image, then the Creator must be male and female or neither. My use of E as the pronoun for the Creator is based on the fact that the only commonality in both he (male) and she (female) is the letter E.”

I eliminate the word “He” on this technicality.

We now arrive at the word “Rested.” Many other phrases now flood my mind when I justify a resting Creator. “No rest for the weary," “God's work is never done," and "The devil never rests" ( probably preparing to meet Eric at the Crossroads). My money is on Eric.

The quote that he ended his work and rested implies that the Creator had at one time stopped working on creating the Universe because there was nothing more to do.

 So the options are, the Creator never stopped, thus the "7th Day" never occurred: stopped and then restarted, but there is no comment and no proof or stopped and is now resting.

The last option supports the work ended. But we know now, because we now have the Hubble telescope, that the Universe is still being created, which could also mean the "day" of rest, using a euphemism for the word day, has yet to arrive. This suggests that I now eliminate the word Rested  

Suppose all the work has ended, and the Creator is now resting. In that case, it leads me to conclude that everything that happened in the past, is now and ever shall be, is on automatic pilot. Thus all future events from the time you complete this sentence are predestined.

So I am left with the word "On," which implies a beginning point of time in the above sentence, not something placed on the dinner table.

I leave this word as it is. Genesis starts verse Ch 1 Vs. 1 "In the Beginning…",   which means at time zero,  or to the paraphrase, "to begin on

Why did I include this somewhat stream-of-consciousness story of Genesis? Some decisions are based on false, inaccurate, or misleading information. The origin of lousy information can come from anywhere. Sources include the press, advertising, media sales pitches from investment bankers, political rhetoric, CPA-prepared financial statements, and the Internet. The most egregious is information from people we trust but shouldn't.

The training in loan analysis is to recognize trends in financial data. To acknowledge and document the information for both positive and negative risk factors. 

After five months of auditing accounts receivables, I am qualified to join loan analysis. I will begin my loan analysis training "on" my 6th month at the bank. There will be no resting on the 7th day for 18 months.

There are 5 of us in the group, three will complete the course, and only two will find a position within the bank.

We had three different instructors. Our first instructor, Dave, lasted three months and then left the bank to take the CPA exam; he will eventually become a CPA in Sausalito. I never saw him again. The second instructor, also named Dave, will quit to Join Wells Fargo Bank. One of the loan analysis program graduates, who became Chairman of Wells Fargo Bank, hired Dave away from Union Bank to run one of their divisions. Our last instructor was Doug.

 Before we were blessed with Doug, the bank's president, decided to establish a loan analysis program in San Francisco as the bank was expanding to Northern California. Some of the bank's top executives and recent stars of the loan analysis program were already in San Francisco and Sacramento. There were rumblings within the bank that some were not pleased with this decision. I know the Northern loan analysis program only trained one more class before being shut down.

Our class will be the first to graduate from the new location.

If you remember, I overstated my accounting skill at my interview. Because the training course would begin with an extensive review of accounting, I took an intermediate accounting course offered at a UC extension. Enrolling was a decision forced by fear.

Fortunately, I had an epiphany while taking a shower. I was always confused by a straightforward concept in accounting. I could not understand how you could have a sale on the income statement and still show what was sold on the balance sheet as money due. Unpaid money owing, which is recorded as a current sale, is called an account receivable.

The epiphany was figuring out the difference between two fundamental concepts in accounting. One is the cash method, and the other is the accrual method. Without this new understanding, I would never have survived loan analysis. This realization cleared all the confusion I endured during my college days. I got a B in the class and felt confident I would have little trouble with the loan analysis classes.

 For me, it was a cruel lesson that needed to be mastered.

The concept of accrual accounting will be shown later. This concept is more relevant to companies and their tax obligation strategies. However, it will apply to some of your decisions even if you do not own a company.

The following is an outline of the loan analysis program

A:     Review of Accounting principals

Accounting Test

B:     The Spread Sheet

Numerical accuracy

Conceptual Accuracy

C:     Pre Credit Call analysis

Analysis

The write-up:

D:     The Credit Call

         Sales pitch

         Interview

Data Gathering

E:     Loan write-up and presentation; Screened by

Immediate supervisor

RVP

Senior Loan and Credit Officer

Immediate supervisor

RVP

Senior Loan and Credit Officer

Senior loan Committee

The program begins with a review of accounting. I will present some accounting later after I introduce the EconoShell (AWIM), which from here on means "a word I made up"

After reviewing accounting, most of our first six months will be spent mastering the spreadsheet.

The spreadsheet is the tool used to create the data to evaluate a company's financial condition. Today this is done with data entry into computers. I could write a book on how the computer changed risk analysis parameters. The short version is here are the pros ( speed and accuracy) and cons (garbage in, garbage out, and formulas in place of an individuals character )

Because computers are available to almost everyone in America, I will use computer models to develop my EconoShell (AWIM).

There were no computers at the time, and calculators were not allowed,

We had to do all of our calculations on a slide rule.

The spreadsheet.

I do not have a copy of a spreadsheet. However, the concept is quite simple. Spreadsheets are formatted to correlate with two reports on a company's financial statement.

 Information is taken from the company's balance sheet and income statement and placed on the appropriate line on the spreadsheet.

Most entries are similar to a cut-and-paste function on the computer. Some entries on the company’s accounts must be reallocated on the spreadsheet. The reallocation of accounts is where the analytical process begins.

The company’s financial statements also include notes on the last pages of the report. These notes usually modify the risk associated with the account.

Two examples: The company shows cash on its balance sheet of $126,578. On the surface, this looks like a lot of available money to cover expenses or liabilities. But the notes say the company has pledged $100,000 as surety to a legal judgment on appeal. On the spreadsheet, this is considered restricted cash and is removed as an asset to cover current expenses of other debt.

A second example: The company’s financial statement shows an account receivable total of $1,467,985. The notes have two caveats. The first shows that $385,000 is over 90 days past due, and the second states that $ 124,000 is being disputed as damaged merchandise. These notes impact the earnings on the income statement and the available assets on the balance sheet.

The reallocation of account totals is the first task to complete. The second task is comparing accounts from period to period and applying financial tools to evaluate risk. During our training, we learn to identify these types of modifications.

I will provide a simple example of how financial statements are evaluated in the finance chapter.

Once the spreadsheet is filled in, our instructor then looks for errors. There are two types: One is math errors. Math errors occur if we total wrong, make calculation mistakes on the slide rule, make an entry on the wrong line, or put the wrong amount on the proper line. Posting the wrong amount is usually a transposition error.

The second is analytical errors. These are the most critical errors to avoid.

An example of an analytical error is putting the entire $126,578 on the cash line of the spreadsheet.

To graduate from loan analysis, you had to submit spreadsheets with no more than one math error and no analytical errors for each spreadsheet submitted for review. There was some tolerance for the math entry because slide rules are hard to read.

I should point out again spreadsheets are used to analyze companies, not individuals. However, the development of your EconShell will use some of the same financial tools that apply to companies.

The first assignments are completed on financial statements that provide the best challenges to our knowledge. The next step is to take the information on a spreadsheet and write a formal analysis in a 10 to 12-page report. We get the final test when the instructor is confident we are competent in spreading, analyzing, and presenting our findings.

The next step is to analyze the financial statements of clients currently with the bank and deliver the results of our analysis to the loan officer in charge of the account. We must also make a recommendation in the report based on our risk analysis of the borrower’s financials. The final paragraph is a recommendation on how the loan might be structured.

We never recommend that a loan be turned down, but we include all the negatives discovered so the loan officer can follow up with his client. I cannot have “her” because I cannot remember a single woman as a loan officer or in the loan analysis program.

The final test is the credit call

Up to this point, all instructions have been in the classroom. The final phase of loan analysis is the most critical. It is called the credit call.

The credit call happens in two phases. The first phase is to accompany the loan officer to the initial meeting with a prospective client. Initial contact is the most challenging part of the training. It entails convincing a new client to bank with Union Bank. Then after gaining interest, walk away with all the information required to perform a risk analysis.

The last phase of the credit call is to go out alone.

The objective for existing customers is to obtain financial information from an interview and up-to-date financials. We are preparing a report for the loan officer from interview notes and spreading the financials.

The final test is to make a credit call set up by a marketing office, not a loan officer. The marketing officer's sole job was to find potential customers. These are usually companies run by the owner. And the owner already has a bank. Success in this role will determine my success in the bank. My first interview with a nonclient was a disaster. I almost quit the bank that night.

Another negative was my relationship with the bank's Senior Loan and Credit Officer. (SLO) He was held in high regard, and he did not like me. Or he did not like my level of skill. I never knew which.

On one occasion, I made a report on one of the bank's significant credit risks. I was to accompany the SLO on his loan presentation to the Senior Loan Committee. He would use my report as a script for his presentation.

The Senior Loan Committee is the highest level for loan approval. They can grant loans up to the bank's legal lending limit. No single officer, not even the bank president, can approve large loans.

Although the presentation went well, he said my write-up was confusing. If he couldn’t understand it, neither did I. Because of his status, I assumed I must not be very good at analysis.

After the presentation, I was not confident that I would make it. Although I knew the material, I decided to review my report and compare it to other representations to the Senior Loan Committee. These were provided to me by Dave number two.

Everything I put in my report was correct except for one detail. My write-up was all over the place. It was a Jackson Pollack analysis. It did not flow along a nice easy path. 

My conclusion was The Senior Loan Officer (SLO) did not understand my presentation because it did not follow a format that most analysts used. He didn't want to take the time to unravel my mess.

His comment was the best advice I have ever received in my career. Unfortunately, sometimes I know the answer, but I do not know how I got it. Even if I know the answer, I must present it so my audience will understand it.

To solve this possible career killer, I noticed that all the presentations I studied had a similar format. All I had to do was learn the design and then put my analytical work into this framework. It is a process I will refine year after year. Just before I left Union Bank, my RVP said I had the best write-ups of any officer he had reviewed. I thank SLO Donn Moen for his observation. He may have saved my career

 But I survived loan analysis training and was completing my last assignment before looking for a commercial loan lending position.

Graduating from loan analysis did not guarantee me a job in the bank. I will have to sell myself to open positions.

Dear Reader: Stephen told me a story about finding a job within the bank. He did not elaborate on the details of his search in his book, but it is worth telling an unwritten detail here because it seems to follow a pattern of fate.

He told me his third instructor, Doug, was unhappy about being transferred to San Francisco. He wanted to be in Los Angeles, so he eventually got the new Northern loan analysis closed up. Doug was supposed to find openings in the bank so the trainees could obtain interviews. Doug told Stephen no one in the bank was interested in him. Stephen does explain what happens so that I will return you to Tales from the Vault.

Senior loan Committee