An Uncommonly Good Man 11

The Journal of Julian Corsair,

An Uncommonly Good Man

Julian Corsair – Chapter Eleven – "Get money to live; then live and use it, else it is not true that thou hast gotten – surely use alone makes money not contemptible." – (Herbert)

Pauley was an early riser, like me, only this morning we rose together, not quite of equal heights since he had me by a couple of inches, and, after some time sharing our morning pleasures, we climbed from our bed and prepared for the day. After breakfast Pauley was off to work. It was going to be a busy week, he explained, since May is one of his busiest times – the other time, September when he closed cottages. There were a couple of resort lawns which needed mowing, a cemetery to mow, and almost a dozen cottages to ready for their owners. The cottage people would be in residence all summer, so it was important that everything was ready for them when they arrived. He figured within the next couple of weeks this first group would be here.

Inquiring if he needed any help, he hesitated a moment, grinned at me and replied, "It'd be nice; if nothing else, for the company."

I helped him as best as I could, running errands, providing our lunch, and doing those little odd jobs that would've taken his time from the work he had to do. Let's face it, I'm a college professor and have damn little skills when it comes to all things mechanical, but I think being around Pauley, I'll learn a lot (bet I can teach him a few tricks as well and not on a mower – that might be dangerous and injure some necessary part of one's delicate equipment). As a result, he was able to complete his tasks more efficiently and faster. Though I felt I'd contributed little, he assured me I had. Every time he swung by on the mower, he'd grin at me and I'd return it!

One afternoon, in between water runs, picking up parts for the push mower, and contacting a plumber to repair a broken water pipe at one of the cottages, I stopped in the Fox Creek Savings Bank to inquire about opening a couple of accounts.

Fox Creek Savings Bank is a small structure from outward appearances, not large and ostentatious such as some banks are, but a well-maintained brick building. Upon entering, four "teller" or "customer service representatives" (depending on what each particular bank calls their employees at the windows) greeted customers. Several smaller windowed offices were located on both sides of the lobby, apparently, if the names on the windows were correct, loan officers, personal bankers, and a couple with just a name on the window, no title. What really impressed me as I entered, however, was the warm and genuine manner the employees treated their customers. I felt welcome the moment I entered, watching the interaction between employees and customers already in the bank.

When the first available teller's window became available to me, I explained to the lady who I was and my purpose. When she asked where I lived and why, her face saddened as I explained the circumstances for my new residence. She breathed deeply, smiled, and asked me to wait just a moment, stepped away from the window, traversed across the lobby to an office, and stepped in. After a brief conversation with the gentleman behind the desk, she and the gentleman approached me.

The gentleman extended his hand in introduction; "Darnell Chandler, Bank President."

"Matthew Burroughs," I responded clasping his hand. Mr. Chandler invited me into his office and offered me a chair. Once we were both comfortable, he offered, "Mrs. Wenzel, the teller who you approached, informs me Dr. Julian Corsair passed away and you are his heir. Is that correct?"

Puzzled concerning his inquisitive approach to my desire to open an account, I merely responded, "Yes," and offered no more, suddenly cautious, on guard, unwilling to offer more than was necessary.

Mr. Chandler evidently expected a bit more from me, sitting waiting for more response. When none was offered, he cleared his throat, and offered, "Mr. Burroughs..."

I interrupted with a slight acridity inflected in my voice, "Dr. Burroughs!" and allowed him to continue.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Burroughs; I mean no offense and hope you don't perceive my next request as such, but do you have any proof of his death and of your claim to be his heir?"

My stomach flipped just a bit, my jaw tightened, and I was beginning to have second thoughts concerning this bank and its apparent friendly attitude. Why would he need all of that information just for me to open a checking and savings account? Pauley's recommendation concerning this bank was certainly excellent and I'd not expected an inquisition regarding the legitimacy of my property and inheritance claims!

"Not with me," I replied tersely, "but I can produce the necessary documents in the morning, if I find your request credible and worthy. However, I find your request to be quite intrusive and unnecessary of me just to open a couple of accounts in this bank."

"Dr. Burroughs," he answered, "it's a bit more complicated than that, but you can certainly open an account or any number of them without them. Yet, would you be so kind as to bring those documents in?"

"That," I bantered back, "depends on what advice I receive from my attorney. I suggest you give him a call also. If there is any reason he feels I should disregard your request, I will do so and take my business elsewhere!" I then offered him one of the business cards Mr. Thompson insisted I take with me when I left his office. With that, I rose, bid him goodbye, and sauntered out of his office, much like an officer of the horse troop after finishing a toss in the hay with a buxom lass or, in my case, a firm, round-bottomed young private whose ass I'd split like a ripe peach.

I stewed and fussed about the house the rest of the afternoon until Pauley came home. After he showered and we had dinner, I broached the subject with him, still upset over Chandler's request. Sitting on the floor in the living room, drinks in our hands, Pauley between my legs, leaning back against my stomach and chest, wiggling just a bit to make himself more comfortable (damn, I wish he wouldn't do that; it tickles my tender root), preparing to read some more from Julian's journal, I unloaded, what I felt was an unpleasant experience at the bank, on him.

"Pauley, I thought the man rude and intrusive; I felt there was no need for him to be so snoopy." Pauley just took a sip of his drink and said nothing, fueling my disgust with the banker even more. I sputtered on how I'd called Mr. Thompson and told him the story. Thompson advised me there was really no harm in showing him the documents, as long I selected only the death certificate and that portion of the will naming me as Julian Corsair's sole heir to all property and possessions. Beyond that, it really wasn't any of the bankers business concerning the value of the estate or the extent of it!

"Well, Matt," Pauley cautioned quietly, "I'm certain there must be some importance behind the request. I've known Mr. Chandler all of my life and I can't think there'd be any ulterior motives behind it. Why don't I read a little and maybe that will take your mind off of it, okay?"

What really would take my mind off of the incident with Chandler was me burying myself to the root in Pauley's sweet-looking, beautiful ass, or him in me, but we hadn't progressed to that stage in our relationship yet, so I just murmured my assent and prodded him to begin.

Why those two M.P.'s didn't take off and chase me down, I'll never know! What I did know was they thought they might have a bit of a romp in my rump for free, but I wasn't about to allow that. Once they've tasted stolen fruit, I'd never be able to keep them away from the tree and life would be hell – and unprofitable!

The summer wasn't all work and no play, although Dr. Arnold and I did spend a great deal of time in the garden, there was still plenty of time to go fishing, bicycling, and swimming. The fresh produce from the garden was shared between our house (which included all of us) and his and, at his insistence and Miss Harrison's, the excess with some of the widows, widowers, and some of the poorer people in Prairie du Sac. They both said it was important to share the wealth of the harvest with those who had little or none. We did the same with extra fish Mr. Arnold and I'd catch. Times were tough and families were separated or split by casualties of war, so anything we could do would help ease the pain.

As I rode about town, delivering fresh vegetables or fish to the places I was instructed to, the recipients would often hand over a bag of smashed cans for me to put in my big bicycle basket to add to the neighborhood scrap drive for the war effort. Newspapers and other items were collected also, but my basket just couldn't hold that, so Mr. Arnold drove his car around once a week and collected the heavier items. We stored everything in the lean-to attached to his garage and emptied it once a month.

Once in a while, one of the older ladies or gentlemen would ask shyly if Dr. Arnold might have a couple of eggs to spare, just for breakfast or some special occasion. He always seemed to have a supply of fresh eggs for us and, when I mentioned it to him; he'd smile, gather up some eggs from his refrigerator, and send me on my way. I asked him one time where he got all the eggs he seemed to have. Everything was in short supply and we certainly didn't have chickens in the backyard.

"Well, Julian, my fine young friend, why don't you plan on going for a ride with me on Monday," he responded with a sly smile.

As much as I wanted to beg him to tell me where we'd be going, I held my tongue and resolved to be patient, although it was damned hard! Speaking of hard, Darnell's poker sometimes seems to have lost its energy. When I inquired about that, he wasn't a bit reluctant to tell me why; seems as though, the farmer's daughter, his girlfriend, enjoyed going for a ride whenever her father was not about the place. I cautioned him to cover the pony's head so it didn't spit a load up into the saddle and he assured me he was doing just that. I bet it took a bunch of bucks to buy the all the rubbers he was using.

Monday morning I walked over to Dr. Arnold's house and waited while he filled a thermos of hot coffee for himself and placed two orange soda's in a metal ice chest for me. Sandwiches were retrieved from the refrigerator and put in the chest with the sodas. Once all was loaded in the car, we drove out into the country, enjoying the morning air and speaking little. Dr. Arnold still hadn't revealed the purpose of our ride and I wasn't about to ask. One thing you learn as a street boy is to keep your mouth shut until instructed to open it and provide a lathering of the stiff staff (paid for in advance – no credit here, thank you very much) for the panting customer and then shut up about it afterwards!

He pulled into a long lane and we bounced and jounced our way to the farm house and outbuildings at the end. A high school boy emerged from the barn, smiling and waving at us, apparently pleased to see us. I figured now we were in for a little entertainment of the sexual variety, but I was mistaken! Instead, we were invited into the house and seated at the kitchen table. The young lad produced a ledger book and he and Dr. Arnold talked chickens and eggs, for God's sake! Showing Dr. Arnold some receipts for the sale of eggs, Dr. Arnold nodded his approval, patted the lad on the shoulder complimenting him on what he'd achieved. Then to my surprise, the lad produced a cash box and proceeded to count out some money and give to Dr. Arnold, who, in turn, gave him a receipt for it.

"Dr. Arnold," he said, "I'll be needing feed this next week. This should be enough to last me through the end of the month," and gave Dr. Arnold a feed order all written out and ready for delivery to the feed store. Dr. Arnold accepted it and then asked to purchase two dozen eggs. They were produced and paid for, along with a receipt.

We stopped three more times that morning and the same thing happened each time. We were greeted by a high school boy, they talked chickens and eggs; Dr. Arnold received some money and bought some eggs. The final stop that morning wasn't for eggs; nope, this time they talked frying chickens, ready for marketing after eight weeks of feed and water. Dr. Arnold paid for four of them and received vouchers for them when the rest were marketed on Wednesday. The next flock wouldn't be ready for another three weeks, but the lad also needed feed, which Dr. Arnold would order for him.

All morning is a long time for me to stay quiet, so, when we stopped for our lunch alongside the road where there was a pull off with a picnic table and shade tree, I asked Dr. Arnold what was going on, not that I was curious understand!

He smiled his congenial, comforting smile at meet, and said, "Well, young Julian, the young men you met today are part of a program I started years before war gripped our nation in such a turmoil of death and shortages. When I moved back to Prairie du Sac, I visited with the Agriculture Agent and the high school principal and vocational agriculture teacher about a project I'd heard of while during a summer lecture series in Iowa."

Dr. Arnold proposed a very simple plan; find a high school farm boy who was interested in getting a start in some project and who was a trusted and hard worker, and Dr. Arnold would finance it. The stipulation was very simple; however, the project had to involve chickens or pigs. Dr. Arnold would purchase the chickens, pigs, and feed, but the high school lad would have to care for them and market them. Marketing also meant keeping good records and financial data. For his efforts, he'd keep one-third of all of the profits. In addition, for every little pig born to a sow, the lad would get to keep every third pig as his own to do as he wished; or if chickens, then every third chicken or dozen eggs. The school agreed, the Agriculture Agent agreed, and even the local 4-H leaders became involved.

"We'll be visiting four farms this afternoon, after we finish our lunch, giving you the opportunity to see the hog operations as well. I do have to order a couple of pigs for fall, however. Miss Harrison wants to can some pork for next winter and there are a few people who could use some extra from these pigs."

We finished our lunch and began visiting the remaining farms. I was full of questions then and Dr. Arnold gladly obliged in answering them. My main concern was "how do you make any money at this?"

"It's a win/win for both of us," he answered. "The student gets the experience with stock of some sort and the recordkeeping necessary to determine profit and losses, as well as future planning. He gets some money, I get some money, and everyone is happy. The return is not extremely high on my investment, but it's steady and it's relatively low risk, if the critters don't die. So far we've not had any problems with that."

After I left him that evening, I spent considerable time thinking through what I could do and how I'd do it. I wanted to invest some of my money in the same way that Dr. Arnold did, but I wasn't certain he'd be amenable toward me doing so. During the rest of the afternoon, on our journey throughout the countryside, he spent an extraordinary amount of time speaking with me about investments. I'm certain other adults would've thought me too young, but he said I was a bright lad, with a good deal of common sense, and an acute sense of business.

"You're too smart by half, Julian, and have been exposed to the best and the worse early on life, I think. I'm of the opinion that those of us in the field of education just won't be able to teach you enough!"

"Never, never," he continued, "invest more than you can afford to lose and always hedge your bets."

I learned that "hedging your bets" meant protecting your investment and managing your assets well (in my case, I conjectured it was my ass since that was my main source of income). Invest more in less risky products or ventures when you've invested an in a higher risk venture. Well, pigs and chickens carried some risk, but not as much as prospecting for gold. He'd mentioned that savings bonds (war bonds) were a pretty safe investment for a hedge since my principle couldn't be lost. That also coincided with his advice – the higher the rate of return, the higher the risk and danger of losing your investment. In other words, balance your "portfolio" (now that was a new term for me) with high, medium, and low risk investments. "If it sounds too good to be true," he advised, "it is so, avoid it like the plague."

"But how do you make enough money on just chickens and pigs?" I asked, concerned there might be enough in it for me, but how did he make it?

"Julian, this farm venture I've undertaken is just a hobby with me. Oh, I earn some money at it, but I taught Economics and Investment classes at the University for years and I took my own advice. I invested well and as a result, I'm able to live off of those investments."

By morning I'd made up my mind, gathered up my big dictionary and volume of Shakespeare's works and trotted over to Dr. Arnold's. He greeted me warmly, as always, and asked, "What brings you over so early, books in hand? I hope you don't have some insurmountable problem we have to solve before breakfast?"

I laid my books on the table and waited patiently while he poured himself another cup of coffee and sipped a bit of the hot brew. When I felt he was sufficiently settled, I posed the question; "Dr. Arnold, if I decided I wanted to become involved in investing in chickens and pigs and maybe some war bonds, would you help me?"

Dr. Arnold was clearly pleased I'd asked him and even more elated that I'd taken our discussion the day before seriously. He nodded and asked, "Do you have some money you would like to invest?"

"Yes, but, Dr. Arnold, no one, not even Miss Harrison can know how I got it, okay? Because if she knew, she might get upset with me knowing the soldiers were paying me for the use of my butt? Okay?"

"Why do you think she'd get upset with you, Julian?"

God, I wished he'd never asked me that! My throat choked up and my eyes began to water, "Because she's like the grandma I never had," I sputtered, "and she is so good to me and I don't want her to be disappointed in me."

Poor Dr. Arnold, I don't think he'd ever had to deal with a young lad crying in his kitchen before – at least under those circumstances. He waited until I gained control of myself and asked, "Julian, do you know about the brown cookie jar she keeps on the top shelf of her cupboard?"

I nodded, fearful of where he was going, because I was all too familiar with it.

"Well, do you know how an extra ten dollars shows up in that cookie jar every couple of weeks for Miss Harrison to use for her bills?"

Again, I nodded and was going to respond, but he held up his hand, signaling me to be silent.

"Yes, Julian, she knows you put it there and more if you think she needs it."

"She knows?" I squeaked. "Even how I earn it?"

"Yes."

I was going to say, "Desperate times call for desperate measures," but I refrained.

"She also knows," he said confidently, "last April and May somebody bought school lunches for the Garvey kids after their daddy was killed while serving in the navy and times were tough for them."

"She also knows some young man hung a May Basket on the Widow Jackson's doorknob May first with a five dollar bill in it and one on Mr. Delaney's with a fiver in it as well. She also knows when you go fishing you share your catch with others in town who might need some fresh fish. Yes, Julian, she knows a great deal about you and loves you for it!"

I was found out!

"But," I said secretively, "she doesn't know where I store my stash of cash," and pushed the two books forward across the table. Now it was his turn to sit quietly, anticipating my next move.

Deliberately, carefully, I thumbed through the first fifty or so pages of the dictionary until I came to a section of pages, glued together and with a large, deep pocket carved out of them. The pocket was large enough to hold two stacks of greenbacks, neatly tied together with kite string. I lifted them out and placed them on the table.

Holding up my hand to silence his question, observing his mouth was now hanging open in amazement, I reached for the volume of Shakespeare and opened it, again revealing a hollowed out section containing two more stacks of paper money.

"My God, Julian," he exclaimed, "how much money do you have there?"

"One thousand, five hundred and sixteen dollars in these two stacks," I responded pointing at the bills from the dictionary, "and two thousand two hundred and twenty dollars in these," pointing at the stacks from the Shakespeare.

"You've certainly been a busy boy, Julian or your rates are terribly high," He exclaimed. "Did you earn all of this?"

"Well, actually, Dr. Arnold," I responded, "five hundred and thirty-six dollars is what I have left from my earnings after I shared some of it – as you well know! The rest came from Tony."

Perplexed, he looked at me expectantly so I told him the story of the F.B.I. agent coming to our apartment with his search warrant. Tony thought he was clever, hedging his bets by secreting some money away in case of emergencies. Well, he didn't count on a little boy who loved to read and was curious about all things. So when the apartment was raided, I picked up the books like a good little student should, and trotted away with the printed word and a wealth of knowledge, among other things.

Dr. Arnold never breathed a word in response, but just smiled and nodded. I was on my way to being an entrepreneur and entering the investment world.

To be continued:

***

Thank you for reading Julian Corsair- Chapter - Eleven–"Get money to live; then live and use it, else it is not true that thou hast gotten – surely use alone makes money not contemptible." – (Herbert)

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