Frank Abagnale - Catch Me If You Can

The next morning, a three-man camera crew in a passenger van loaded with photographic equipment called at the hotel and picked up my eight fledglings. I didn’t go with them, but simply told the chief cameraman to use his own judgment and imagination and return the girls in a reasonably sober and presentable condition.

“Gotcha, guv’nor.” He laughed and shepherded the girls into the van.

I had business of my own to conduct. I had embarked on this illicit odyssey well provisioned with sinful supplies: counterfeit cashier’s checks (products of my own handiwork), Pan Am expense checks and regular paychecks (Papa Lavalier’s unwitting artwork) and Pan Am reimbursement authorization forms (pilfered from Pan Am’s own stores department), the last more for bluff than effect.

There were a lot of factors weighing in my favor. London, and most of the other major cities on out itinerary, was dotted with branches of major American banks.

The next morning I gathered the girls in my room and explained the hotel policy on airline crews, then spread out eight phony Pan Am “expense checks” for them to endorse. Each check, of course, was for much more than the hotel bill. “I’ll need your ID cards, too, and while I’m settling the bill, you’ll all have to stand in sight of the cashier,” I said. Not one of them questioned the amount of the check she signed, if any one of them bothered to notice.

The scam went off flawlessly. The girls clustered in a group in the lobby, in view of the cashier, and I presented the nine fake checks in payment for our lodging and other charges. The cashier raised the only question.

“Oh, these are rather high, Captain, I’m not sure I have enough American dollars to make change,” she said, inspecting her cash drawer. “In fact, I don’t. You’re going to have to take pounds in change, I’m afraid.”

I acted miffed, but accepted the decision, knowing the cashier would probably make a profit, or thought she would. The pounds she gave me, however, were real. The Pan Am checks weren’t.

We flew to Rome that afternoon, where, over the next three days, the procedure was repeated. The hotel cashier in Rome, too, questioned the amount of the expense checks, but was satisfied with my explanation.

“Well, I’m sorry about that,” I said. “But we’re on an eighteen-day tour of Italy, and, of course, you can give me change in lira if you like.”

He liked, since it meant a personal profit of some fifty American dollars for him.

I decided against jaunting around Europe by air, not because of the expense but because it would have exposed the girls constantly to other airline crews. That was my biggest problem in implementing my scheme-shielding the girls from other airline people. As I previously pointed out, airline people like to talk shop, especially if they work for the same carrier.

There was, naturally, some unavoidable contact with other flight crews, since the success of my check-cashing scam demanded we stay at hotels which catered to airline personnel. There was always the risk that one of the girls, while in uniform, would encounter another, actual, Pan Am stewardess, and a disastrous dialogue would ensue.

Actual stew: “Hi, I’m Mary Alice, out of L. A. Where are you based?”

My girl: “Oh, I’m not based anywhere. I’m just over here on a P.R. thing.”

Actual stew: “You’re not a stewardess?”

My girl: “Not really. There’re eight of us, and we’re doing some photographic modeling for promotion and advertising purposes.”

Actual stew (to herself): “Like hell. I’ve been with Pan Am for five years and I never heard of any such work. I’d better report this to the chief and see if these people are for real.”

I wanted to avoid any such scenario, so I would frequently reinforce my instructions to the girls with repeat lectures. “Look, when you’re out in civilian clothes and you meet a Pan Am flight attendant in uniform, don’t say you fly for Pan Am, too, because you don’t,” I’d warn them.

“If you’re in uniform and you encounter another Pan Am stewardess, just say you’re here on vacation if your status is questioned. You may feel that’s being deceptive, and it is, but we have a reason. We don’t want other airlines to find out about this venture, because they’d most likely, with some justification, put the word out in the industry that Pan Am isn’t using real stewardesses in our travel ads or promotional brochures. And we don’t really want our line stewardesses to know, as I’ve told you, because it would likely cause dissension. For a working stewardess, this would really be a choice assignment.”

The girls cooperated splendidly in that respect. And I rented a comfortable, almost luxurious Volkswagen bus for our meandering around Europe. At times my scheme seemed more like a leisurely vacation than a felonious venture, for we often spent days, sometimes a week or more, in colorful little out-of-the-way spots in this country or that one and during such detours I curbed my crooked activities. It was not part of my plan to shaft the peasants.

But my scam got back on the track in major cities. Before entering such a metropolis, we’d stop and change into our airline uniforms, and, on our arrival at the hotel of my choosing, the scheme would pick up steam and begin operating again.

Every two weeks I paid the girls with a counterfeit payroll check, then had them endorse the checks over to me in return for cash. Since I was paying all their expenses (although each thought Pan Am was picking up the tab), most of them purchased money orders and sent them home to their parents or their bank.

The girls were entirely guiltless, of course. Not one, during the summer, ever had an inkling she was involved in a criminal venture. Each thought she was legitimately employed by Pan Am. They were completely duped by my con.

Mine was an idyllic intrigue, but often hectic and taxing. Riding herd on eight lovely, vivacious, exuberant, energetic girls is akin to a cowboy riding herd on a bunch of wild steers while mounted on a lame horse-damned near impossible. I had determined at the outset of the scheme that there would be no personal involvement with any of the girls, but my resolve was endangered a score of times during the course of the summer. Each of them was an outrageous flirt, and I, of course, was a prince of philanderers, and when one of the girls was inclined to make a sexual advance (and each of them did on several occasions), I was hardly prone to fend her off. But I always managed.

I did not lead a celibate life during the summer. I had ample opportunities to engage in side liaisons with the girls of whatever localities we were frequenting, and I took advantage of each and every opportunity.

Monique was not one of the liaisons. When we visited Paris and I sought her out, she informed me our relationship was finished. “I’ll still be your friend, Frank, and I hope you’ll still help Papa in his business, but I want to settle down and you don’t,” she said. “I’ve met another man, a pilot for Air France, and we’re pretty serious about our future.”

I assured her of my understanding and, in fact, was somewhat relieved. I also affirmed that her father would continue to get “Pan Am business,” although that statement was a lie. I was beginning to feel some guilt concerning my duplicitous use of Papa Lavalier, and had opted to release him as a pawn in my scurrilous game. Anyway, he’d already provided me with enough supplies to drain a dozen bank vaults if I used them all.

The girls and I ended our tour of Europe in Copenhagen, where I put them on a plane for Arizona. I dispatched them back to the States with their arms laden with roses and a flowery speech designed to allay any suspicions that might arise in their minds in coming weeks.