“A DAY WITH DICK”
By: GERALD I. BAUMAN
NOVEMBER 5, 2007
THE
It’s not like I do not have anything to do and it’s not like I get to have time for myself; but this was one of those times when I had decided to, as people say, to be nice to myself.
I had been working ten hours per day for the past several weeks preparing to testify as an expert witness at a trial while reviewing audit reports that members of my firm had prepared. It was hard work because I was doing two completely different tasks; but I loved it. As the Wise Guys like to say: I was on top of my game.
There I was, in my favorite chair with my favorite Scotch reading an issue of American Art Review while waiting for the ten o’clock news broadcast.
My plan was
simple. Drink the Scotch, read the
magazine (finally, it was an old issue) watch the news and then read myself to
sleep with Dubliners. It was a plan
albeit a doomed plan; but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Not only
was the plan about to be disrupted; but forces were at work to ensure that I
would give up not only my evening relaxation but considerably more time over
the next few days.
The first
disruption came in the form of a phone call from Dick. He is about
50+ years old and out of work. His
earlier career was an American success story; but a story he chose to end. Here is how he did it:
Dick walked
into my office about 20 years earlier.
He was selling home air conditioners; making a decent enough living that
he required a C.P.A. to prepare his income tax return. Over the next few years, he moved from door
to door sales to selling international airfreight services. It was while “laying over” in the
As he and
his income grew over these boom times, he acquired the necessary trappings of
middle management success: the
It was a
traumatic fall from grace. In the year
before the fall, Dick earned almost one and a quarter million dollars. Fortified with the savings set aside from
this salary as well as the ego developed while earning the salary, how could he
lower himself to seek another job? These were the bad days for Dick; but he was
too flush with success to realize it.
Instead he
acquired a software application and recruited two tech nerds, who had also lost
their jobs, to work with him on marketing the application.
As you
might expect, as Dick’s accountant my Firm provided income tax and other
financial planning for him. When his job
crashed and burned, he brought his software application and the two tech nerds
to my office for help in setting up the financial projections that he needed
for his business plan. My staff worked diligently and, I might say
imaginatively, to develop the sales and expense projections, as well as make
suggestions for inclusion in his business plan.
Several
months after we had finished our work for him it became obvious that he was not
going to raise the capital investment that he needed to start his software
company. This realization did not sit
well with Dick. The thought of going
back to work, to take a job! To have to
be some place at a specified time and take orders from someone. These were concepts from the Dark Ages. Dick was above all of that.
Not
surprisingly he drifted down through the levels of venture capital Hell
desperately trying to interest potential investors in his idea. His descent went from qualified investors to
friends and neighbors and finally to the lowest level of Hell inhabited by the
fast-talking but broke would be dealmakers.
And so,
Dick found himself far from his glory days in the Fortune 500 world and
excluded from any possibility of re-entering it. Worse, he had become too sated to even think
about it.
So here we
are, Dick is spending his time in meetings, going nowhere and constantly asking
me for my opinions on the various schemes being presented to him. The latest of which is Wi-Fi. Dick is going to light up the City of
1.
He has no money to fund his company and nobody will
invest with him or lend him any money to do it;
2.
He doesn’t have the faintest idea of how the
technology works and how to go about installing it.
Ironically,
Dick has a motto for his new Wi-Fi venture:
“It’s All About Time.”
Time! This is where we came in on this little
dissertation. It’s not like I have time;
but this guy is after all a client and just maybe he might get lucky,
especially if I help him.
So here I
am, home with my Scotch, American Art Review and Joyce; and it is here that my
Day with Dick really began when my telephone rang at about 10 o’clock that
night. It was Dick. I immediately knew that a good half-hour was
about to be shot listening to his latest monologue about his Wi-Fi scheme.
“Good
news!” he declared. “I met this guy who
wants to finance my deal using convertible, callable preferred stock….he is
really hot to go. Can you drive up to
Well there
it was. On and on he went. Extolling how he had connected a modem in
this guy’s new club and gave him a connection via Wi-Fi and how, his old Flying
Tiger Airlines buddy, Yoshi, was going to bring all of his Japanese buddies to
have sushi in this new exclusive private club in
As I hit the remote control on my TV
and began to watch an infomercial, he went on telling me how this guy he wanted
me to meet was setting up this new club; and that he was a financial
sophisticate who was involved with a MAJOR
Why, I asked myself as I watched a
half naked woman in a TV infomercial rollicking on some kind of gut wrenching
machine and tuning Dick down to background noise, would anyone want to start a
private club in a God forsaken place like Rolling Meadows and why would that
person want to finance a wireless start up using something as antiquated as
preferred shares?
I was now
listening to the half naked woman, who was now joined by a man in shorts and
tank top tell me and the world how this gut wrenching machine would trim my
stomach, make me virile and enhance my overall life. All I had to do was pick
up my phone, pull out a credit card and in six weeks I would be a new man. As I
listened, Dick overrode the sales pitch with his enthusiastic description of
this great financier.
O.K., I
thought. Maybe after two years of sloshing through the minutia of nerdish
technology and things like giga beams and dark fibre instead of taking his
concept to market, maybe-just maybe- this time he has stumbled on to somebody
who can not only finance him but also help me point him in the right direction.
“Where and
what time?”
“Ten a.m. at
this building in
This didn’t
sound promising but what the Hell. It’s only a 35 mile drive to
I spotted
the building as I exited Route 294 and pulled into its parking lot. There was
Dick, talking on his cell phone to yet another potential associate partner.
This time it was to a start up offering music and movie downloads off of the Internet.
“We will
need all of these companies when we are operational; and also, I am buying a
NetSuite program so that our backroom will be up to speed once we start selling
our service to the public” he said.
We entered
the lobby of the building. Except for an Allstate office in the lobby the rest
of it was empty. Riding up to the floor, we entered what looked like a
bordello. Egyptian columns surrounded us, ornate cornices and other pseudo art
deco touches abounded on this floor. We walked through a doorway into another
vacant room that held three dining tables set with restaurant grade silverware
and flatware. Two men stood staring at the place settings. They never
acknowledged us as we walked by them and approached a cluttered desk that had
seen better days. A petite Oriental woman sat at it with a huge sparsely filled
appointment book. She greeted us and told us that her husband would be with us
in a few minutes. “He is the financier I told you about.” Dick said.
Momentarily
Richard Lecroix appeared. Tall-booming voice-cheap shoes and a suit that came
out of a Salvation Army Resale Shop accented with a frayed shirt badly in need
of laundering and polyester tie. A picture of success!
He
immediately summoned the two men from their task of staring at the dining
tables and ordered them to give us a tour of the future private club.
The Commerce
Club of Illinois and The Pacific Commerce Club of Illinois, I’m told, are the
venture that will be housed in two floors of this vacant building which was
previously occupied by a failed dot com company.
I’m shown
where the walk-in cigar humidor will be, the future locations of the sushi bar
and the dining room together with the meeting rooms and executive offices.
Now Lecroix
reappears and booms out that he is limiting membership to only 3,000 members
and that there are only about 200 unsubscribed memberships still left.
“Let’s not
talk here,” he says, “we need confidentiality. Let’s go to The Clubroom Restaurant
and we can discuss our business there.”
We arrived
at The Clubroom and Lecroix immediately ordered vodka on the rocks with a side
of club soda with more ice. He then
launched into a tirade against Dick, telling him that he presented an
unsophisticated appearance and that he should ditch the f*****g notebook that
he was carrying and act like a successful entrepreneur even though he wasn’t
one.
I came to
the point. “How do you plan to finance Dick’s company?” I asked; and in a
polemical burst of double talk, he said “By floating a few million in
convertible preferred shares. We issue a shit load of the stuff and then let
the suckers convert them into diluted common shares after we pull out our end
in undiluted shares and take an underwriting cut from them.” My God, I thought,
he is making this all up. Didn’t Dick tell him that I am a CPA and a registered
investment advisor, or is he stupid enough to think he could double talk me?
Curious to
learn just how far Lecroix would carry on this charade, I asked “What about
voting rights, rate of return and cumulative dividends on the shares?”
“I can see that you guys just don’t
play in my arena. Haven’t either of you heard about subordination of the
minority rights of the initial investors and conversion of underwriting
concessions?” he retorted as he ordered another vodka.
“Let’s eat.”
I said.
As we
prepared to leave the bar Lecroix exclaimed “Shit!!!!!!!!!!! I left my wallet
at the office. Do one of you have a credit card?” Dick looked at me. I looked
at Dick. Then I looked at Lecroix. “Let’s forget about lunch.” I said, “Get the
check Dick.”
“Wait”
Lecroix said. “Let’s go to the DuPage Club for lunch. I have reciprocity with
them and I can sign the lunch check.”
The manager
of the DuPage Club greeted me warmly and then fixed a fairly hostile stare on
Lecroix. The two men disappeared into the manager’s office, leaving Dick and me
sitting in the Club’s lounge. He eventually surfaced from the office and took
us to a table in the Club’s dining room where he promptly ordered his third
vodka.
“You must
have been a member here.” Lecroix said to me. “The manager knows you. When did
you belong here?”
“I dine here
with clients.” I responded. “You mean that you don’t belong to a private club?”
Lecroix sputtered at me. Off guard, bored and irritated with wasting my time,
once again, I shot back: “No, I’m a member of The Chicago Club.” As I said it,
I realized my mistake. Now I’m stuck with him until he gets a lunch or dinner
out of me at my club. Was I ever right!
“Hey, I need
to check out your club. I’m going to be given tours and offers of reciprocity
from the University Club and The Union League Club. Why don’t we have dinner at
your club tonight and I can check it out and see if I want to make a reciprocal
deal with them too?”
“Well, Mr.
Lecroix,” I said “tonight won’t work but maybe we can do something later in the
month. By the way, which investment firms are you associated with?”
He replied
“Forrester & Company in
After a few
minutes, and when Lecroix ordered his fourth vodka, I excused myself from the
table and left the room to call my office with instructions to get me
information on Forrester & Company in
As Dick was
driving Lecroix and me back to
As I
attempted my escape, Lecroix again pressed me for access to my club. “My club
simply will not allow non-members to enter or use the club without a member
accompanying them. Please don’t attempt to use my name as a means for access. I
will call you next week and we can set a lunch date. Excuse me, but I have to
get back into the city for an appointment and if I don’t leave right now, I
will be late for it.” I said.
“I like your style.” Lecroix said. “How much
of a retainer will you need to represent me personally and to represent the
Commerce Club?”
“I don’t
know.” I responded. “Hell then, my
“Gee.” I
said. “I am totally booked through the end of next week; and just so you aren’t
mislead, my club doesn’t provide tours of its facilities under any conditions.
I will be happy to meet with your board after next week. Why don’t I call you
then and we can see when all of your people are available.” This isn’t looking
good I thought- this deadbeat mooch is simply not going to take NO for an
answer.
With this
realization in my mind, I broke the news to him: “We are not meeting at my club
or anywhere else.” His reply was that he was sending me an honorary membership
to The Commerce Club as well as one of the reciprocal memberships he had for
The Union League Club AND an additional $5,000 check.
“What would Clint Eastwood do in this
kind of a situation,” I thought. I
desperately wanted to save at least part of the day and that meant getting away
from Lecroix and getting out of
Oh, I forgot
to mention that Lecroix also smoked cigarettes – lots of cigarettes. I smelled like an ashtray and had inhaled
enough second hand smoke to qualify for the American Lung Association Poster
Boy. That’s when the idea hit me:
In my best
“feeling lucky punk” tone of voice, I glared at Lecroix and muttered “put out
the butt!” I then immediately shot Dick
an “I’ll get you for this you bastard” look while making sure that Lecroix
caught the look too. O.K., now I’ve
insulted him and he will be angry and walk off on us.
Wrong! He just went on talking. I had enough and turned to leave and at which
time an Oriental man walked into the room.
“YOSHI!” Boomed Lecroix. “Hi Yoshi” said Dick “have you met Jerry?” “Jerry this is my old friend Yoshi.”
Yoshi
explained that he had stopped by to pick up Lecroix and take him to Gibson’s
where another of there partners was waiting.
“Excellent” said Lecroix gleefully.
“Dick this is my number one finance man and you and Jerry really need to
meet him.” “I really have to leave” I
said. Dick came up to me. His eyes had the same imploring look as that
of a dog waiting for a scrap of food to fall off the dinner table.
“Oh well” I
thought, “the day is wasted and the rush hour has started on the toll way. Dick will feel let down if I don’t go with
him even though I know that nothing can possibly come from meeting this finance
guy.”
Gibson’s, it
seemed to me, was noisier than usual; and still full from my lunch at The
DuPage Club, I wasn’t hungry. Wrapping
my left hand around a martini glass, I surveyed the financial man. Dick stood in awe at the sight of him. I began having second thoughts about Dick’s
rationality; I had not realized how badly he had lost it.
He was on the verge of pure genuflexion as he described his
vision of connectivity, dark fiber, giga beams and last miles.
“It sounds
like a lot of bullshit” said Mr. Finance, why are you carrying that stupid
notebook and drawing pictures in it while you are talking to me; and why the
Hell are you having dinner while holding your computer? “Send me your business plan’s executive
summary and I will decide if I want to read the whole thing” said Mr. Finance.
Dick was on the verge of breaking into tears. “Let’s eat” he whined.
Lecroix and
Mr. Finance were lavishly ordering food:
Caesar salad for four, steaks, lobster tails, baked potatoes, and
broccoli plus a couple of bottles of wine at $50 each. This is not going to be cheap I thought to myself.
Mercifully
the dinner and inane discussions came to an end. The waiter re-appeared with the check. Shit yelled Lecroix; I left my wallet at the
office. Mr. Finance turned pale. Yoshi laughed nervously. The three of them all looked at Dick and me.
“This is where I came in” I thought. “Excuse me gentlemen” I said as I shot a
surreptitious look at Dick. “I need to
visit the Men’s Room,” I stood up, walked to the restaurant’s door, left the
restaurant and hailed a waiting cab which took me back to my car and the ride
back home.
I did not
answer my cell phone when it rang on my way home. There were several calls. I
ignored all of them.
Dick called
my office the next day to tell me that Mr. Finance had put the $700 bill on his
credit card and that I looked like a fool for having left them in the
restaurant.
“Sorry” I
said. “I hope these guys come through for you.” “They will never talk to you
again.” said Dick, as he ended the conversation.
Lecroix
called me later that day to invite me to a Commerce Club board of directors
meeting. I declined but he remained a persistent caller until he was arrested
for various fraudulent acts.
Dick has
since given up being an entrepreneur to manage the cash and securities that he
has recently inherited on his father’s death.
That is how
it ended. The states attorney protected the public from Lecroix and Dick’s
father protected Dick from himself.