A Sure Thing

Throughout the 90's I was working at a defense contractor that made submarines. One of the employees at the company invested with a guy named Sam DelPresto. Sam worked for the now defunct New York City based brokerage firm L.C. Wegard & Co. Inc.

DelPresto must have convinced someone at my company to part with an employee directory because he was cold calling everyone with a job title that sounded like they had some coin. Sam eventually called me. He was full of optimism about all sorts of investments like business machines in Canada and earth moving equipment in Alaska. After a brief pitch, Sam asked exuberantly,

"So how much money do you think you would like to invest to risk a relationship?"

Large Impressive Buildings

Sam mentioned two things I didn't like to hear in the same sentence, my money and risk. I asked him to call later. He offered to send me a prospectus on L.C. Wegard. He tried to get my home phone number, but I declined. When the mail from Sam arrived, I looked through the glossy folder containing a seemingly inordinate amount of pictures of large impressive buildings and espousing the many great investment opportunities that were just waiting for me to risk a relationship. There were also a lot of intricate charts with heavy black lines, rising spikily from left to right. Sam eventually called back.

"Sam, my boss is at my desk right now. I can't talk," I explained.

"Bob, I have something you would have to move on right away."

Investment Graphic

"Sam, my boss is standing right over me."

"I have a warehouse full of office machines in Canada!"

"I really can’t talk right now."


"And the deal is we can't lose on this one because companies can't go bankrupt in Canada!" Sam explained with a confident laugh.

"That's fascinating, but my boss is right here."

"This is a sure thing we're offering only to a select few. You'll have to move on this right away Bob."

My boss left to chat with someone else. Sam's urgency as well as his complete disregard of what I was saying really put me off so I followed up with,

"Sam, you're like an old woman. You don't listen, and you keep talking."

There was a long pause as Sam absorbed my observation that he was similar to a feminine senior citizen. This may seem misogynistically ageist, but back then there wasn't any social media platforms to express anonymous rudeness so we were openly rude to each other. I was thinking more about my mother and her friends who all spoke in soliloquy when they gathered for tea and biscuits. They would carry on individual unrelated conversations at various volumes in between sips of tea. One of my mother's friends, Nancy, was so adept at steamrolling over the conversation that when she spoke I would mime a clenched fist holding an auger in front of my chest as I spun my other fist in a circle. My sister would laugh as I whispered, "corkscrew,” conveying the idea that when Nancy talked, it was like a corkscrew drilling through your torso.

"When you want to make money, you call me!" Sam angrily recited as he hung up.

Charles Ponzi

At least I got rid of him, and my boss left too so it was an all round win for me. A coworker explained that Sam was likely greatly exaggerating investment opportunities or running Ponzi schemes. He explained guys like him take money from a bunch of investors and give half back as a windfall. Some people lose their shirt while the winners throw even more coin into the sure thing. Sam then works on replacing the losers with even more suckers. I began posting notices in the office warning my colleagues about Sam DelPresto and L.C. Wegard. My boss saw me pinning the message onto the bulletin board.

"I made a lot of money with Sam DelPresto. He's brilliant," my boss exclaimed.

Another coworker's boss said the same thing. We theorized that they figured supervisors earned more money and might be more influential so they made up the first round investment winners. Eventually when the Ponzi scheme folds everyone loses. A few months later, I got a call from a guy named Jerry. He was not as exuberant as Sam. He spoke calmly about a great many investment opportunities.

"Jerry, you work with that idiot Sam DelPresto, right?" I asked.

Jerry respectfully defended Sam and L.C. Wegard. He concluded with,

"The world would be a better place if more people were like Sam DelPresto."

"What does 'L.C.' stand for anyway?" I asked.

"What? Huh? I don't know," Jerry fumbled.

Probably "Losing Chumps."

Recently I googled Sam, and this is what I learned. First of all, that was his real name. I know because 18 years ago he was busted on what was described as a "penny stock scam." Sam DelPresto swindled $3 million from investors in a "boiler room operation" before the Security Exchange Commission caught up with him. He pleaded guilty and was sentenced to three years probation, six months home confinement and barred from the industry for two years. In 2015 he pleaded guilty to a "massive stock manipulation scheme" that netted him $13 million. He was also convicted of paying kickbacks to a Las Vegas investment advisor. This time he faces federal prison.

I also found Sam's blog dating back to 2010. In one post, entitled "Slow Wheels of Justice," he chronicles the fall of Bernie Madoff and asks why so many people never questioned the lack of any reported losses in Madoff's investment portfolio. He writes,

"I admit to a fascination that borders on awe of the enormity of the fraud."

Looks like Sam will be playing backgammon with his idol for the next few years. His light sentence on the first offense didn’t scare him straight. He committed a worse crime a few years later. By the time he gets out of the pen, he'll probably pick up a real education from the Madoff School of Embezzlement.

Jerry was wrong. The world is not a better place with people like Sam DelPresto.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on March 7, 2017.

Midway

In 2012, my son, Aidan and I were researching the remains of a historic building associated with the Central Vermont (CV) railroad in New London, Connecticut. I last saw the roundhouse used to store steam locomotives when I lived in the city in the late 80's. The Central Vermont Roundhouse burned down in 2002, just before Aidan was born. Years later he was homeschooled, and part of his history lesson involved what a friend calls "urban exploration."



Central Vermont Rail Yard                           Edward J. Ozog

Searching the site Aidan and I found tracks, railroad spikes, coal, a lot of what we affectionately called "train junk." In the picture above on the left, Aidan is standing in front of a brick structure known as the "flammable paint shed." The right image from 1956 is from the same angle and shows the turntable, steam engine CV467 (2-8-0) and a coal hopper in the distance. The crumbling brick building is the last structure standing at the site. Online searching led us to a gentleman named, John Paganoni, who built an extraordinarily detailed model of the New London CV Roundhouse. We exchanged many emails about railroad history. One day, Mr. Paganoni asked,

"Do you know where the Midway Roundhouse is located? I read in a book that it was near the town of Groton."

Midway Engine House Circa 1911

Groton is mostly known for submarines due to the defense contractor Electric Boat and the Naval Submarine Base. I wasn't aware that there was anything associated with the railroad industry in Groton. I knew of Midway Pizza, a local Italian restaurant. There was also a neighborhood circled by a road called Midway Oval. Electric Boat had a facility called "Midway" in the same area.

Aidan and I dove into an online search which unearthed a lot of information about the Midway rail yard. It was build in 1904 as a refueling stop for steam engines. The location and name was derived from the fact that it was mid way between Boston and New York City. The large facility had a 20 stall roundhouse with a 95 foot turntable, a coal hopper, and sand depot. Sand is still used today for traction on the rails. The facility closed after a decade of decline. The buildings were razed in 1939 after more powerful steam engines made the stop in Midway unnecessary.



Map of Midway

Although we found a lot of information online, we didn't discover any maps that would have helped us locate the facility. Aidan and I visited the public library in Groton to look for any information on railroads in the area. A very helpful person found a 1981 article about the Midway rail yard in the Shoreliner, a magazine about the history of the New York, New Haven and Hartford Railroad. The article included a hand drawn map from 1935 which yielded only one key geographic feature, a body of water called Poquonnock River.

Aidan and I returned to the internet to orientate our copy of the map to any of the number of available online charts. Before long we determined that the Midway facility was located at Bluff Point State Park. We also discovered that a small land bridge that led to nowhere near the parking lot at the state park was the original railroad bed dating back to 1858. It was rerouted to its present position when the Groton Airport was built in 1929.

Old Rail Bed at Groton Airport

In the image above the land bridge is marked by the left arrow. Midway is located at the lower left, just below Bluff Point State Park. The blue line across the airport is the old railroad bed. The arrow on the right identifies the existing rail line. We discovered an aerial view online which clearly showed the remains of the Midway facility. In the image below the arrow marks the outline of the Midway roundhouse.

Remains of the Midway Roundhouse

My wife, Christine, and I recalled exploring the area years earlier and found many of the features identified on the map. At the time we hadn't a clue what any of the structures were.

Tracks Inside the Roundhouse

Now, my son and I had unearthed an answer for Mr. Paganoni. A few days later we explored the site and discovered rails that were once inside the roundhouse and piles of fine sand dotted with lumps of coal which were destined to power steam engines plying the east coast in the 1920's.



Sand and Coal

In a newspaper article from 1939, we read that when a roundhouse was demolished workers often left tools in the pits, used by mechanics to access the underside of the engines. It was an act of respect as they laid the implements of their trade to rest. Aidan and I spent three summers excavating a pit by hand, hoping to find those tools left so many years ago. We found numerous artifacts including, bottles, boots, bits of newspaper, plates and eating utensils. We got down three feet before the pit flooded. The smallest things that Aidan and I discovered were historically significant to us. One of the interesting things we unearthed was a bottle embossed with the following inscription,

FEDERAL LAW FORBIDS THE SALE OR RE-USE OF THIS BOTTLE

Markings on the bottom of the bottle indicate that it was made by the Brockway Glass Company in 1942 at the plant located in Ada, Oklahoma. After the repeal of Prohibition in 1933, some legislators wanted to hamper bootlegging by making it illegal to reuse empty glass bottles. The inscription appeared on all liquor bottles sold in the United States between 1935 and 1964.

In 2015 Midway was designated a State Archaeological Preserve which halted any further investigation on our part. I'm glad someone is looking into the site for historical significance. Aidan is a senior in high school now so he no longer has time for urban exploration. Occasionally, I visit Midway and wander among the ruins and think of the time when I stumbled upon the site with my wife while we were dating, when I rediscovered it with our boys years later, and when people lived and loved a life long ago working for the railroad.

Editor’s Note: Originally published on February 9, 2017, this post marked the halfway point for the Year of the Blog.

Kill Them with Kindness

Scraggly Old Dude

A few years ago, I was late to a doctor's appointment so I did what we all do. I drove like an idiot. As I neared my destination, I turned onto a road with a red traffic light. A beat up, green, Hyundai was waiting at the intersection. There was just enough room for my Honda Ridgeline to fit behind the little, green car. Or so I thought.

When the light changed, the car in front of me pulled into my doctor's parking lot while trailing a plume of dark, grey exhaust. As I got out of my car, I noticed this scraggly, old dude, exiting the banged up Hyundai. He made a beeline right for me.

"You know, it's people like you with their big trucks always getting too close!" he yelled.

My first thought was that a Honda Ridgeline wasn't a big truck. The dude was slightly taller than me by a few inches, but no real threat. He had an impressive beer gut which slowed his progress. When he neared, he smelled of booze and BO. I thought,

"There are tall men, and there are short men, but the Colt 45 made them all equal."

Gun owners are always going on about an armed society being a polite society, but I don't think that's true. People are way more aggressive when they're packing hardware. I didn't have a gun, and my second thought was this guy just might. It was a logical conclusion given his advanced age and gut coupled with his brazen desire to tangle with strangers. So I fell back on a tactic my mother used to say I should employ when I was a kid and about to be pummeled by a bully.

Kill them with kindness.

"I'm very sorry, sir," I said.

"Fuck you!" he yelled.

Okay. It didn't work. I pressed on.

"I should be more considerate."

"It's people like you that drive like assholes."

"Yes, you're right again," I said as I began heading towards the office.

"Don't walk away from me!" the old fart yelled.

"I'm late for my appointment, sir," I explained.

He followed me screaming all sorts of obscenities mixed in with my subpar driving ability. I took the blame for all of it and apologized no less than a half dozen times. It was a long walk. As I neared the door, I held it open for my new, fat friend. He looked at me suspiciously then scooted into the office. His Chubbiness walked up to the receptionist person and started barking at her. I decided I would stand unusually close to my loud companion, well inside the HIPAA zone. The receptionist person informed him that he had an outstanding balance.

"I don't got no insurance," the dude whispered.

This was before Obamacare. The guy was one of the 20 million uninsured people that my rates went up to cover. I'm sure the other 19,999,999 are probably way nicer than this disagreeable person (prick).

"I got a agreement with my doctor," he explained.

"Okay, have a seat," the nurse receptionist person said.

Next was my turn.

"How are you on this beautiful day!" I exclaimed cheerfully.

I finished up my business, topped with a copay then entered the waiting area. The scruffy old douchbag with no medical insurance and I were the only two people in there. I sat right next to him.

"You drive like an asshole," he resumed.

"Yes, I know," I said.

The television displayed a story about flood victims in the south.

"Those poor, unfortunate people," I exclaimed.

"Fuck them! They probably deserve it like you," he blurted.

I forged ahead.

"Imagine losing your house and everything," I said as I made the sign of the cross.

The guy looked down to the ground. If there was a shred of decency inside the deep bowels of this turd’s soul, it was playing solitaire by itself. As he looked up, he muttered,

"I guess, I didn't have to be so loud."

"No, you were right. I drive poorly," I said as I resumed watching the television.

A nurse person dressed in an odd mismatch of multicolored floral patterns suddenly appeared.

"Mr. Fitzpatrick," she called out.

The old guy got up. He looked me over and then followed the nurse. As he walked off, he stopped and turned,

"I guess I'm sorry for swearing and all that," he muttered.

"No, you were right, sir. Have a good day," I answered.

He turned solemnly and left and that was the last I ever saw of him. In the end my mother was right. Killing people with kindness works really well and is actually quite a lot of fun. Anyone can succumb to anger. It takes genuine self-control to kill somebody with kindness. So the next time you run across one of these uptight ass hats who played too much contact sports with an improperly fitting helmet, kill them with kindness.

There are tall men and there are short men, but kindness made the short guy taller.

Editor's Note: Originally posted on January 31, 2017.

Debatable Outcome

The first presidential debate of 2020 last week was best described as Bizarro World’s version of the Ice Capades. History does seem to be playing on a continuous loop. Trump reminded me of Dan Quayle during the vice presidential debates in 1992 when Quayle told Al Gore to inhale after repeatedly asserting,

“My turn!”

Biden was reminiscent of Admiral James Stockdale, Ross Perot’s bewildered running mate, who opened with,

“Who am I? Why am I here?”

Trump was prepped by none other than the former governor of New Jersey, Chris Christie, who advised the President to pants Biden if he strays from the lectern. After the debate, Christie said Trump “was too hot” for his numerous interruptions even though Christie showed Trump how to properly execute a weapons grade wedgie. All the President had to do is let Biden drone on about his 110 page plan Bernie Sanders co-wrote since by the third sentence he would’ve been talking about cockroaches, the blonde hair on his legs and loading spaghetti sauce with forklifts. Trump interrupted him so frequently he never gave Biden a chance to drift to that special place where the former Vice President cavorts with his childhood Pooh Bear.

Biden answered very few questions. Instead, he mostly looked into the camera and told the American people to vote. Admittedly, Biden did assert that he was the leader of his party more forcibly than Trump denounced the Proud Boys, a male-only organization that derives its name from the tune, Proud of You Boy, featured in the animated Disney musical, Aladdin. Like the President, I never heard of the Proud Boys before, and I doubt a group named after a song from a Disney cartoon are much of a real threat.

Trump erroneously thought the debate would be like one of his midwestern rallies attended by people taking a break from shooting hogs from a helicopter with an AR-15 to convene on the tarmac of the local airport and listen to the President credit his administration with saving Jesus from crucifixion. There was no screaming crowds waving signs of support like,

Combine Harvester Mechanics

for Trump

The President was expecting everyone in the audience to yell and scream in support even though moderator, Chris Wallace, told the audience at the onset to treat the debate like an Amish funeral. Instead of his mostly reserved family in the audience, Trump should’ve handpicked a few of his rally attendees, preferably those who spend Friday nights swinging from a rope tied to the bucket of an excavator as they soar over lukewarm, pea-green pond water.

Trump interjected more times than a Fox opinion anchor plugging their latest book. The President even interrupted Chris Wallace's verbose questions. Wallace seemed like he aspired to the presidency himself instead of settling on the salutatorian of the Sean Hannity Conservatory. Wallace even rolled out the tired old Charlottesville “both sides” quote and made Trump yet again explain himself. Biden thought they were talking about the Joni Mitchell tune and broke into song,

Rows and flows of orange hair

And ice cream castles in Pelosi’s lair

And pony soldiers everywhere

I've looked at clouds that way

Not to be outdone Trump dove in,

But now they only block the gun

They complain and snow everyone

So many things I would have done

But Schiff got in my way

Trump took the next verse too,

I've looked real loud from both sides now

From up and down, and still somehow

It's Russian collusion I recall

I really don't know Putin at all

Biden cleared his throat then crooned,

Moons and Junes and CornPop fears

The racist things I sometimes sneer

As every sniff of shoulder length hair

I've looked at girls that way

Wallace jumped in for the next verse confirming the rumor that he secretly shits in Sean Hannity’s bathroom and doesn’t flush,

But now it's just another show

I leave 'em gagging when I go

And if you dump, don't let them know

Don't give yourself away

Trump grabbed the next verses,

Impeached by clowns from both sides now

From Schumer to Romney, and still somehow

It’s Teflon Don I recall

I really won’t ever go at all

Germs and firms and feeling proud

To say "I love me" right out loud

Dreams and schemes and casino crowds

I've looked at life that way

Biden pointed to himself and belted,

But now old friends say I’m acting strange

They shake their heads, they say I've changed

Well something's lost, but Harris gained

It’s warming more every day

I've looked for life from both sides now

From shut up and clown, and still somehow

It’s all illusion I can’t recall

I really don't know where I am at all

All three brought it home with,

We’ve looked at polls from both sides now

From win and lose, and still somehow

It’s disinformation we recall

We really don't know truth at all

So who won the first presidential debate? Many news outlets were quick to declare Biden the victor mainly because the bar was set so low. Biden's entire campaign was concerned that he was going to excuse himself for the bathroom only to return with his shirttail poking out his fly and toilet paper streaming from his shoe. Biden refused to answer Wallace's question concerning his party's push to get rid of the filibuster and pack the Supreme Court. He responded that whatever position he takes "that'll become the issue." I think it's already an issue since some in his party want to pack the senate by granting statehood to Puerto Rico and Washington DC and pack the country by granting citizenship to millions of undocumented pole vaulters.

Gone was any of the wit Trump unloaded on Hillary in the 2016 debates. Neither candidate delivered a single, notable quip. The most memorable moments in past debates were always those that made us laugh like in 1984 when Ronald Regan responded to concerns that at the age of 73, he was too old to run for president,

"I will not make age an issue of this campaign. I am not going to exploit for political purposes my opponents youth and inexperience."

Or in 1988 when Lloyde Bentsen responded to Dan Quayle's claim that he had as much experience as JFK,

"I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you are no Jack Kennedy.”

Since neither candidate entertained us with memorable zingers, I have to declare Chris Wallace the winner. Wallace maintained marginal control wedged between two enormous egos and Biden’s also. His questions were often pointed and nearly as long as either candidate’s answers. Also, his hair looked good.

I’m hoping next time we’ll have less squabbling and more clapback. Maybe then people might get enthusiastic enough to vote for someone other than a third party candidate who is on the ballot in only one state. When a live presidential debate is less interesting than reruns of reality TV, you know it's time to reimagine the process of selecting the leader of the free world.