Frank Abagnale - Catch Me If You Can

I couldn’t avoid him, and of course I couldn’t answer many of his questions. His suspicions aroused, he began to build a res gestae case against me as a bogus Harvard man if not a phony lawyer. It became res judicata for me when I learned he was making numerous inquiries into my background on several fronts, seriously questioning my honesty and integrity.

Like the proverbial Arab, I folded my tent and silently stole away. Not, however, without drawing a final paycheck. I did say good-bye to Gloria, although she wasn’t aware it was a final farewell. I merely told her I’d had a death in the family and had to return to New York for a couple of weeks.

I turned in my leased Jaguar and purchased a bright orange Barracuda. It wasn’t the most inconspicuous set of wheels for a wanted fugitive to drive, but I liked it and I wanted it, so I bought it. I justified the action by telling myself that since the car, if not the driver, was cool, it would probably prove a wise mvestment. Largely it was an astute move, for in the past I had simply rented cars and then abandoned them at airports when I was through with them, and O’Riley, unknown to me, was making good use of this practice to compile a pattern of my movements.

I had posed as a doctor for nearly a year. I had played the role of lawyer for nine months. While I was hardly leading a straight life during those twenty months, I hadn’t passed any bad checks or done anything else to attract the attention of the authorities. Provided Rigby or the AG himself didn’t press the issue of my sudden departure from my post as assistant attorney general, I felt justified in assuming I was not the object of any pressing manhunt. And I wasn’t, save for O’Riley’s dogged efforts, and despite his persistence he was as yet following a cold trail.

I attempted to keep it that way, since I was still in no bind for funds. My flight from my “Harvard colleague’s” inquisition turned into something of a vacation. I meandered around the western states for several weeks, touring Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Wyoming, Nevada, Idaho and Montana, dallying wherever the scenery intrigued me. Since the scenery usually included some very lovely and susceptible women, I stayed perpetually intrigued.

Although the image of myself as a criminal gradually blurred and dimmed, I entertained no thoughts of rehabilitation. In fact, looking to the future, I stopped long enough in a large Rocky Mountain metropolis to equip myself with dual identities as a fictitious airline pilot.

Using the same procedures that had enabled me to assume the alias of Frank Williams, a first officer for Pan Am, I created Frank Adams, an alleged co-pilot for Trans World Airways, complete with uniform, sham ID and counterfeit FAA pilot’s license. I also assembled a set of duplicitous credentials that would allow me, in my posture as Frank Williams, to be a pilot for either Pan Am or TWA.

Shortly afterward I was in Utah, a state notable for not only its spectacular geography and Mormon history but also for its proliferation of college campuses. Having purloined a couple of college degrees, I thought it only fair that I at least acquaint myself with a university campus and so I visited several Utah colleges, strolling around the grounds and taking in the academic sights, especially the coeds. There were so many lovely girls on one campus that I was tempted to enroll as a student.

Instead I became a teacher.

While I was lolling around my motel room one afternoon, reading the local newspaper, my attention was drawn to an expected shortage of summer instructors at one university. The news item quoted the faculty dean, one Dr. Amos Grimes, as being most concerned about finding summer replacements for the school’s two sociology professors. “It appears we will have to look out of state for qualified people willing to teach for only three months,” said Dr. Grimes in the story.

A vision of myself ensconced in a classroom with a dozen or so nubile beauties took hold of my imagination, and I couldn’t resist. I rang up Dr. Grimes.

“Dr. Grimes, Frank Adams here,” I said briskly. “I have a Ph.D. in sociology from Columbia University in New York. I’m visiting here, Doctor, and I see by the newspaper that you’re looking for sociology instructors.”

“Yes, we’re definitely interested in finding some people,” Dr. Grimes replied cautiously. “Of course, you understand it would be only a temporary position, just for the summer. I assume you do have some teaching experience?”

“Oh, yes,” I said airily. “But it’s been several years. Let me explain my position, Dr. Grimes. I am a pilot for Trans World Airways, and just recently I was furloughed for six months for medical purposes, an inflammation of the inner ear that bars me at the moment from flying status. I’ve been looking around for something to do in the interim, and when I saw the story it occurred to me that it might be pleasant to get back into a classroom again.

“I was a professor of sociology at City College of New York for two years before I joined TWA.”

“Well, it certainly sounds like you’re a likely candidate for one of our positions, Dr. Adams,” said Dr. Grimes, now enthusiastic. “Why don’t you come by my office tomorrow morning and we’ll talk about it.”

“I’d be delighted to do that, Dr. Grimes,” I replied. “Since I’m a complete stranger in Utah, could you tell me what documents I will need to apply for a faculty position with your college?”

“Oh, just a transcript from Columbia will do, really,” said Dr. Grimes. “Of course, if you can obtain a couple of letters of recommendation from CCNY, it would be desirable.”

“No problem,” I said. “I’ll have to send for both my transcript and the letters of recommendation, of course. I came here unprepared on either score, since I didn’t even contemplate a temporary teaching position until I saw the story.”

“I understand, Dr. Adams,” replied Dr. Grimes. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

I wrote Columbia University that afternoon, requesting a complete catalogue and any pertinent brochures on the school. I also dashed off a letter to the registrar of CCNY, stating I was a Utah graduate student seeking a teaching position in New York, preferably in sociology. I arranged to rent a box at the local post office before mailing off the missives.

My meeting with Dean Grimes was a very pleasant one. He seemed immediately impressed with me, and we spent most of the time, including a leisurely luncheon interlude in the faculty club, discussing my “career” as a pilot. Dr. Grimes, like many men with sedentary jobs, had a romantic view of airline pilots and was eager to have his exciting perspective validated. I had more than enough anecdotes to satisfy his vicarious appetite.

“I have no doubt at all that we can use you this summer, Dr. Adams,” he said on my departure. “I’m personally looking forward to your being here on campus.”

The materials I had requested from Columbia and CCNY arrived within the week, and I drove to Salt Lake City to purchase the supplies necessary for my current counterfeiting venture. My finished “transcript” was a beauty, giving me a 3.7 grade average and listing my doctoral thesis as a dissertation on “The Sociological Impact of Aviation on the Rural Populations of North America.” As I had anticipated, the reply from the registrar of CCNY was on official college stationery. I clipped off the letterhead and, using clear white plastic tape and high-quality bond paper, created a fine facsimile of the college’s stationery. I trimmed it to regulation typewriter-paper size and then sat down and wrote myself two letters of recommendation, one from the registrar and one from the head of the sociology department.