Arthur Hailey - The Moneychangers

"Yes, I do," Margot agreed. 'What matters, of course, is which pressures are important and if they're worth the part of ourselves we give to them."

"Saving a bank is worth some personal strain," Alex said sharply. "Right now if we don't save ours, a lot of people will be hurt who shouldn't be."

"And some who should?" "In a rescue operation you try to save everybody.

Any retribution can come later."

They had covered ten of the twenty miles to Tylersville. "Alex, are things really that bad?"

"If we have an unstoppable run on Monday," he said, "well have to close.

A consortium of other banks may then get together to bail us out at a price after which they'll pick over what's left, and in time, I think, all depositors would get their money.

But FMA as an entity would be finished." "The most incredible part is how it can happen so suddenly." "It points up," Alex said, "what a lot of people, who ought to, don't fully understand. Banks and the money system; which includes big debts and big loans, are like delicate machinery.

Monkey with them clumsily, let one component get seriously out of balance because of greed or politics or plain stupidity, and you imperil all the others.

And once you've endangered the system or a single bank and if word leaks out as usually happens, diminished public confidence does the rest.

That's what we're seeing now."

"From what you've told me," Margot said, "and from other things I've heard, greed is the reason for what's happening to your bank."

Alex said bitterly,

"That and a high percentage of idiots on our board."

He was being franker than usual but found it a relief.

There was a silence between them until Alex exclaimed, "God! How I miss him."

"Who?" "Ben Rosselli." Margot reached out for his hand. "Isn't this rescue operation of yours exactly what Ben would have done himself?"

"Maybe." He sighed. "except it isn't working. That's why I wish Ben were here." The chauffeur let down the dividing window between the front seat and his passengers.

He spoke over his shoulder. "We're coming into Tylersville, sir."

"Good luck, Alex," Margot said. Prom several blocks away, they could see a lineup of people outside the branch.

New arrivals were joining it.

As their limousine pulled up outside the bank, a panel truck screeched to a halt across the street and several men and a girl jumped out. On the side of the truck in large letters was WTLC-TV. "Christ!" Alex said. "That's all we need."

Inside the bank, while Margot looked around her curiously, Alex talked briefly with Edwina and Fergus W. Gatwick, learning from both that there was little if anything more that anyone could do. Alex supposed it had been a wasted journey but had felt the need to come. He decided it would do no harm, and might even help, if he chatted with some of those waiting.

He began to walk down the several lines of people, quietly introducing himself.

There were at least two hundred, a sizable cross-section of Tylersville old, young, middle-aged, some well-to-do, others obviously poorer, women with babies, men in work clothes, some carefully dressed as if for an occasion.

The majority were friendly, a few not, one or two antagonistic.

Almost everyone showed some degree of nervousness.

There was relief on the faces of those who received their money and left.

An elderly woman spoke to Alex on the way out.

She had no idea he was a-bank official.

"Thank heaven that's over! It's been the most anxious day I ever spent.

This is my savings all I have." She held up a dozen or so fifty dollar bills.

Others left with much larger or smaller sums. The impression Alex got from everyone he talked to was the same:

Maybe First Mercantile American Bank was sound; maybe it wasn't.

But no one wanted to take a chance and leave their money in an institution which might collapse.

The publicity linking FMA with Supranational had done its work.

Everyone knew that First Mercantile American was likely to lose a huge amount of money, because the bank admitted it. Details didn't matter

Nor did the few people to whom Alex mentioned Federal Deposit Insurance trust that system either.

The amount of federal insurance was limited, a few pointed out, and FDIC funds were believed to be inadequate in any major crunch.

And there was something else, Alex realized, perhaps even more profound:

People didn't believe any more what they were told; they had become too accustomed to being deceived and lied to. In the recent past they had been lied to by their President, other government officials, politicians, business, industry.

Lied to by employers, by unions. Lied-to in advertising. Lied to in financial transactions, including the status of stocks and bonds, stockholder reports and "audited" corporate statements. Lied to at times through bias or omission by communications media.

The list was endless. Deception had been piled on deception until lying or, at best, distortion and failure to make full disclosure had become a way of life. So why should anyone believe Alex when he assured them that FMA was not a sinking ship and their money if they left it there was safe?

As the hours slipped by and afternoon waned, it was clear that no one did. By late afternoon Alex had become resigned. What would: happen would happen; for individuals and institutions, he supposed, there came a point where the inevitable must be accepted.

It was about that time near 5:30, with dusk of the October evening closing in that Nolan Wainwright came to him reporting a new anxiety in the waiting crowd. 'They're worried," Wainwright said, "because our closing time is six o'clock.

They figure in the half hour that's left we can't deal with everybody." Alex wavered. It would be simple to close the Tylersville branch bank on schedule; it would also be legal, and no one could seriously object. He savored an impulse born of anger and frustration; a spiteful urge to say, in effect, to those still waiting: You've refused to trust me, so sweat till Monday, and the hell with your

But he hesitated, swayed by his own nature and a remark of Margot's about Ben Rosselli. What Alex was doing now, she had said, was "exactly what Ben would have done himself." What would Ben's decision have been about closing? Alex knew. "I'll make an announcement," he told Wainwright. First he sought out Edwina and gave her some instructions.

Moving to the doorway of the bank, Alex spoke from where he could be heard by those inside and others still waiting on the street.

He was conscious of TV cameras directed at him. The first TV crew had been joined by a second from another station, and an hour ago Alex made a statement for them both. The TV crews stayed on, one of their people confiding they were getting extra material for a weekend news feature since "a bank run doesn't happen every day."

"Ladies and gentlemen" Alex's voice was strong and dear; it carried easily.

"I am informed that some of you are concerned about the time of our closing tonight.

You need not be.

On behalf of the management of this bank l give you my word that we will remain open here in Tylersville until we have attended to you all."

There was a murmur of satisfaction and some spontaneous handclapping

"However, there is one thing I urge on all of you." Once more, voices quietened as attention returned to Alex. He went on, "I strongly advise that over the weekend you do not keep large sums of money on your person or in your homes.

It would be unsafe in many ways.

Therefore I urge you to select another bank and deposit there whatever you withdraw from this one. To help you in this, my colleague Mrs. D'Orsey is at present telephoning other banks in this area, asking them to remain open later than usual in order to accommodate you."