I.M. Seryus

"MODERN TIMES"

I. M. SERYUS

Lloyd Garver

"Three Stooges Fraud Earns Him Prison Time" was the headline of the newspaper article that caught my attention the other day. Patrick Michael Penker was sentenced to nearly four years in prison for scamming over a million dollars from banks, credit card companies, and casinos. For more than two years, he swindled people while claiming to be affiliated with the law firm of "Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe." As any intellectual historian will tell you, the Three Stooges introduced these mythical lawyers to America in one of their film shorts. A banker in Lubbock, Texas felt that the firm's name sounded a bit odd, so Penker's crime rampage finally came to an end. Considering how long he got away with it, the number of stooges out there today obviously far exceeds three.

He wouldn't have succeeded for that long when I was a kid. Back then, if somebody had asked me if I had heard of "Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe," I would have answered just like any other red-blooded American boy: "Soitenly!" At that time, the Three Stooges were a much more important part of our culture. But now it seems that they have gone the way of other societal icons like writing letters and dropping them in the mailbox, like families eating dinner together, and like talking to your neighbor over the backyard fence. One might say that the Three Stooges were the silly putty that held the fabric of America together. (One might say that, but he'd be a little crazy).

The ability of Penker to perpetuate his scam for so long is not nearly as interesting as the fact that he went for it in the first place. He must have known that by choosing the joke name for his law firm, he was more likely to get caught. Apparently, it was worth the risk to him. He knew if he didn't get caught, it would be a much greater -- and funnier -- triumph than if he succeeded using a mundane name. In other words, he couldn't resist going for the joke.

I can identify with that. When I was a kid in school, I can't tell you the number of times I knew that if I just kept my mouth shut, everything would be okay. But I couldn't do it, I went for the laugh, and I ended up in the principal's office. Even today, if I'm at an important meeting and the big executive says, "Now this is probably a stupid idea," before I realize it, I'm saying, "I think you can drop 'probably' from that sentence." Sometimes I just can't resist going for the joke. But compared to Penker, I'm an amateur. I've never once been tempted to go for a joke that might get me thrown in jail.

Penker seems to be a compulsive joke-aholic. If he were advised to join a 12-step program, he'd say, "I'd rather take the elevator." The article said he used several aliases. I wouldn't be surprised if they included names like Ike N. Foolya, Les Muney, or Cassius Gawn. I didn't see a transcript of the trial, but I can imagine him saying, "I want to throw myself on the Mercedes of the court."

Even though he's in jail, he probably feels it was worth it because of the laughs he got. After I finish writing this, I should bake him a cake. I'll hide a file inside of it. Of course, the kind of file I'll give him won't be the kind that can cut through metal. It will be the kind that goes in a file cabinet. Do I think he'll appreciate the joke? Soitenly!