Arthur Hailey - The Moneychangers

Again there was an appreciative hum. Nolan Wainwright came to Alex, whispered briefly and Alex announced,

"I am informed that two banks have already agreed to our request.

Others are still being contacted."

From among those waiting in the street a male voice called, "Can you recommend a good bank?" "Yes," Alex said. "My own choice would be First Mercantile American. It's the one I know best, the one I'm surest of, and its record has been long and honorable.

I only wish that all of you felt that way too." For the first time there was a hint of emotion in his voice.

A few people smiled or laughed half-heartedly, but most faces watching him were serious.

"Used to feel that way myself," a voice behind Alex volunteered.

He turned. The speaker was an elderly man, probably nearer eighty than seventy, wizened, whitehaired, stooped, and leaning on a cane. But the old man's eyes were clear and sharp, his voice firm.

Beside him was a woman an of about the same age.

Both were tidily dressed, though their clothing was old-fashioned and well worn. The woman held a shopping bag which, it could be seen, contained packages of currency.

They had just come from the bank counter.

"The wife and me, we've had an account at FMA for moretn thirty years," the old man said. "Feel Linda bad taking it away now."

"Then why do it?"

"Can't ignore all them rumors. Too much smoke for there not to be some truth somewhere." "There is some truth and we've admitted it," Alex said.

"Because of a loan to Supranational Corporation, our bank is likely to suffer a loss.

But the bank can withstand it, and it will."

The old man shook his head. "If I was younger and working, maybe I'd take a chance on what you say. But I ain't.

What's in there" he pointed to the shopping bag "is pretty well all we got left until we die.

Even that ain't much Them dollars don't go half as far as when we worked and earned 'em."

"That's for sure," Alex said. "Inflation hits good people like you hardest.

But, unfortunately, changing banks won't help you there."

"Let me ask you a question, young fellow. If you was me and this here was your money, wouldn't you be doing the same as I am now?" Alex was aware of others closing in and listening. He saw Margot a head or two away. Just behind her, TV camera lights were on.

Someone was leaning forward with a microphone.

"Yes," he admitted. 'I suppose I would." The old man seemed surprised.

"You're honest, anyways. Just now I heard that advice you gave about getting to another bank and I appreciate it. I guess we'll go to one and put our money in."

"Wait," Alex said. "Do you have a car?" "Nope. Live just a piece from here. We'll walk."

"Not with that money. You might be robbed. I’ll have someone drive you to another bank."

Alex beckoned Nolan Wainwright and explained the problem.

'This is our chief of security," he told the elderly couple. "No sweat," Wainwright said. "Be glad to drive you myself."

The old man didn't move. He stood looking from one face to the other.

"You'd do that for us? When we've just moved our money out of your bank?

When we've good as told you we don't trust you any more?"

"Let's say it's all in our service.

Besides," Alex said, "If you've been with us thirty years, we ought to part as friends."

Still the old man paused uncertainly.

"Maybe we don't have to. Let me ask you one more question, man to man."

The clear, sharp, honest eyes regarded Alex steadily.

"Go ahead." "You told me the truth once already, young fellow. Now tell me it again, remembering what I said about being old and knowing what them savings mean.

Is our money safe in your bank? Absolutely safe?"

For measurable seconds Alex weighed the question and all its implications.

He knew that not only the old couple was watching him intently, but many others, too.

The omnipresent TV cameras were still turning.

He caught a glimpse of Margot; she was equally intent, a quizzical expression on her face.

He thought of the people here, and of others elsewhere affected by this moment; of those relying on him Jerome Patterton, Tom Straughan, the board, Edwina, more; of what might happen if FMA failed, of the wide and damaging effect, not just at Tylersville but far beyond.

Despite ad this, doubt rose. He thrust it down, then answered crisply and confidently, "I give you my word. This bank is absolutely safe."

"Aw shucks, Freda" the old man told his wife.

"Looks like we been barkin' up a tree about nothing. Let's go put the damn money back."

In an the post-mortem studies and discussions over the following weeks, one fact stayed undisputed:

The bank run at Tylersville effectively ended when the old man and his wife turned back into the FMA branch and redeposited the money from their shopping bag.

People who had been waiting to withdraw their own money, and who witnessed the exchange between the old man and the bank executive either avoided each other's eyes or, if they didn't, grinned sheepishly and turned away.

Word passed speedily among the remainder of those outside and inside; almost at once the waiting lines began dispersing, as quickly and mysteriously as they had formed.

As someone said later: It was the herd instinct in reverse. When the few remaining people in the bank were dealt with, the branch closed only ten minutes later than was normal on a Friday night.

A few FMA people, at Tylersville and in Headquarters Tower, had worried about Monday.

Would the crowd return, the run begin again? In the event, it never did. Nor, on Monday, did a run develop anywhere else.

The reason most analysts agreed was an explicit, honest, moving scene involving an old couple and a good-looking, open, bank vice-president as it appeared on weekend television news.

The item, when cut and edited, was so successful that stations used the item several times. It came through as an example of the intimate, effective cinema verite technique which TV can do so well, but seldom does.

Many viewers were moved to tears.

During the weekend, Alex Vandervoort saw the TV item but reserved his comments.

A reason was that he alone knew what his thoughts had been at the vital, decisive moment when he was asked the question: Is our money… absolutely safe? Another was that Alex knew the pitfalls and problems which still lay ahead for FMA. Margot also said little about the incident on Friday night; nor did she mention it Sunday when she stayed at Alex's apartment. She had an important question she wanted to ask but wisely decided that now was not the time.

Among First Mercantile American executives who watched the telecast was Roscoe Heyward, though he didn't see it all.

Heyward turned on the TV after arriving home on Sunday night from a church vestry meeting but snapped it off in jealous anger part way through.

Heyward had serious enough problems of his own without wishing to be reminded of a Vandervoort success. And quite apart from the bank run, several matters were likely to surface during the coming week which made Heyward highly nervous.

One other postscript developed from that Friday evening in Tylersville. It concerned Juanita Nunez. Juanita had seen Margot Bracken arrive during the afternoon.

She had recently debated whether or not to seek out Margot and ask advice. Now she decided to. But for reasons of her own, Juanita preferred not to be observed by Nolan Wainwright. The opportunity Juanita had been waiting for occurred shortly after the bank run ended, while Wainwright was busy checking branch security arrangements for the weekend, and the day-long pressure on the staff had eased.

Juanita left the counter where she had been assisting a regular branch teller and crossed to the railed management area.