Patrick Combs - Stories

Bank Error In My Favor: Collect $95,000 / ORIGINAL version.
© 1995 Patrick Combs

"Cleaning Up the FICAL Matter"

Tuesday, October 3, 1995
Well, today is the day that the O.J. Simpson case finally ends and the day that my junk check adventure comes to a close.

I got the letter I wanted and the settlement agreement and assurances I felt I needed so I've scheduled a 1:30 PM appointment with FICAL to return the cashiers check and safe deposit box keys.

The Associated Press wire services interviewed me about the return yesterday and released it to the wire. There are quite a few reporters who may be accompanying me to the bank today. Big day for me -- tune in later and I'll tell you how it went.

Wednesday, October 4, 1995 - 12:45 AM

As the news widely reported this day, I returned the cashier's check to my bank because I finally got what I wanted -- the letter of explanation and exoneration. I realize that reactions to my returning the check will be mixed. Some will see it as victory for the little person, while others will see this final chapter as a let down.

From my point of view I can only see it as a tremendous victory. Many told me I would never be able to get my bank to do anything I requested -- let alone admit to any mistakes on paper. Today I did just that. Many told me that the results of taking a stand for myself would be jail and not national attention to advertising check issues. Today I am safe from all penalties and I can cite many news stories, that were a result of my incident, that called for changes in direct mail and banking. Maybe most important of all, I walk away from this experience feeling a personal victory, because despite large temptations to stray from my own ethics, values and morals, I am walking away with my honor in tact and strengthened.

For those that are disappointed in my giving back money that I could have legally fought to keep (or given to charity, or used to further embarrass my bank, etc.), my first response is this: For me, the only satisfying victory is one which was achieved without compromising my own integrity. I requested suggestions for what I should do with the money, but only out of curiosity -- my conscience has always dictated that I return money that I did not earn. After an unexpected turn of events, I came to feel that before returning the check it was important to stand up against the bank's fear tactics and so I did. I took a stand for a letter and, after 3 months and a lawsuit, I got it. I beat their fear tactics.

Honestly, I am too tired to fill in this web page TONIGHT with the quite enjoyable and rich details of all that occurred yesterday while returning the check (For instance, I paid them money I owed using checks that I marked with the words, "non-negotiable."). I will wake up tomorrow morning and post the final scene first thing.... I will also post the details of the settlement agreement.

Wednesday, October 4 @ 9 PM

Finally I've got some time to post the story of the cashier's check to my web site. Life is full of surprises. Every time I think I know how something will go, life throws in some zingers. Returning the money yesterday was no different.

The day began with a phone message from the Marshall and Maxwell radio station in Baltimore. Their message said they were disappointed to hear I was returning the money. In a previous interview they had told me I was their hero for cashing the check. It was a tough message to start the day with, but I saw reactions like this coming. As I prepared for my meeting I received phone calls from news agencies who hoped to meet me at the bank for interviews and footage. Meeting me down there was fine, I just wasn't sure I'd be able to get them into the meeting. As I prepared for the meeting I decided to do two things - First off, I decided to leave early so that there was time to go to the safe deposit box and check on my check. Would it still be there? Would I be able to open the box? Secondly, as I was writing out two checks that I needed to give the bank (one for $65 to return the three weeks of interest (@ 2% and another for $175 to close my account), I made a last minute decision to write the words 'non-negotiable' on each of the checks. At 9:55 AM I put my FICAL matters down and sat down in front of my television for the OJ verdict. I stayed glued to the TV for the next two hours -- and the drama of it all actually physically exhausted me. I got off of the couch and dragged myself out of my home to head for the bank.

I entered the bank at just around 12:30 and my eyes were again filled with the magnificent sight of this flagship branch office. It was more awe inspiring and beautiful than I had remembered -- yes it was all ivory columns, gold trim and marble floors, but I had forgotten the most impressive part of all -- the panoramic oil paintings of old clipper ships that hung on all the walls. This is truly a branch I was proud to have my $95,000 in. I approached the special services window and a smiling woman asked what she could help me with. I said that I would like to access my safe deposit box. "Sure," she said, " What is your name?" I've never seen someone's face change so rapidly. When she heard my name her whole face fell to worry and she asked me to say my name again. "Patrick Combs," I said. "C-o-m-b-s?" she clarified. I confirmed and suddenly she was on the move for her boss, a woman far across the bank. "Just a minute," I heard her say as she left. It took her boss about 5 seconds to look at me and pick up the phone. I waited. All I had to do was wait about 3 minutes and then two suits came in through the bank's two front, glass doors.

The suits introduced themselves in a very friendly manner. One was the branches manager. The other was from FICAL's risk management. I signed in to access my safe deposit box, and four of us (the teller included) headed into the vault. Once inside, I immediately picked out my box without even remembering the number. It was easy because it was the only box with two red dots covering the key holes. The teller removed the dots (they pry out easily) and inserted her skeleton key and then mine. She slid the slim box out and stepped aside for me to open it. I lifted the lid wondering if my cashier's check would be inside. Sure enough, there it was, still folded in half like I had left it. I picked up the check and gave it a long long look. It looked so real, so rich, so pretty (pretty because of the fine red and green lined background). It looked like money. I scanned it for an expiration date. Nothing. Then when I said a silent good-bye, I slipped the check back into the box.

The man from Risk Management broke the silence and cut through the air ,which was so thick you it made movement stiff, by asking me if I was going to return the check now and relinquish the box. I said that I was not going to because it was my understanding that I was supposed to sign the settle agreement first. I exited the vault and the bank and headed for my 1:30 meeting. The meeting place was only one block away at 345 California Street, in the huge skyscraper called First Interstate Plaza. When I arrived at the building, there was a photographer waiting. He was from AP Press Services. We hung out in the lobby downstairs for 15 minutes in case other people from the press would show up, but none did, so at 1:29 it was time to go up to the 8th floor. We didn't make it to the elevator. We were stopped by a lobby guard, uniformed in a maroon blazer, who informed us that we could not go up without permission - because of the photographer. I went to a pay phone and called Charles Ward, the man I was meeting with to ask him if the photographer could come up. He politely said no, even after I passed along the photographer's words of advice, "It'll look bad for the bank if the photo is just of Patrick with a caption that says, First Interstate said denied photographers from taking pictures." But he did tell me that we could take all the pictures we wanted outside of the building. And he told me that I DID need to first return the cashier's check and close out my safe deposit box. So back to the other bank I headed.

Outside the building, the photographer asked me to pose for the some pictures standing in front of the First Interstate logo. As I was standing there with the two safe deposit box keys in hand, suddenly we were rushed by the lobby guard. He persisted to yell that we did not have permission to take pictures here - I persisted to stand smiling - and the photographed went into rapid fire shooting mode. I felt like I was in a David Lynch film. The photo's must look absolutely absurd. The lobby guard lunged toward the photographer and leaping backwards the photographer yelled, "You can't hit me man! You can't touch me, I'm on public property!" It was time to disburse.

I went back to the branch office, got the check and handed it over to the suit from Risk Management. He said thank you. Then I closed out my safe deposit box. My business was almost done here -- I had one more thing I wanted to do. I approached the branch manager politely and gave him a 9 page letter I had written to the President of FICAL. I explained to him that it began with an apology for the original mistake that I made -- thinking that depositing a junk check would cause a bank no trouble at all -- and continued with an account of the mistakes the bank had made that resulted in me having the money for so long. He very politely said he would read it and respond to me. Then I asked him my question, "First Interstate has a policy that I have always loved: a $5 service guarantee. (Any mistakes on the banks part and all the customer has to do to get $5 is ask. On many occasions where the ATM wasn't working I collected an easy five bucks.) Since my settlement agreement with the bank admits to First Interstate's mistake, may I please have five dollars?" The branch manager earnestly said back to me, "I'm sorry, we canceled that service a year ago. You'll notice we took down the Service Guarantee sign." "OK," I replied, while thinking to myself that it was probably a very smart financial move for a bank like First Interstate.

I headed back to 345 California Street, but when I entered the building and took a step toward the elevator, again the maroon suited man got in my face. "What now?" I thought. He told me that I couldn't go up to the 8th floor because they didn't want me up there. I said they clearly wanted me up there - what they didn't want on the 8th floor was a photographer. Nope, he still refused to let me pass and then he said words that sent chills down mine spine, "Robert Gage, from First Interstate Security is coming down to speak with you." Robert Gage!!!!! The same man who threatened me with police and called me a fraud?!! Robert Gage who probably wanted revenge?!! Without any consideration, I blurted out, "I cannot and will not see Robert Gage." I dashed to the phone booth and yelled back to the lobby guard who was trying to follow me, "Don't you dare tell Robert Gage where I am. I will not see him." I got Charles on the phone and quickly explained my anxiety. His immediate response was, "I'll come right down and escort you up personally." I waited.

The elevator door opened and out came a very large man, dressed in black slacks, and a T-Shirt. By large I mean, like the Incredible Hulk. "Who was this?" I wondered. Was this Robert Gage? He called me by name and asked me to enter the elevator with him. I didn't move. I said, "I was told Charles was coming down. Who are you?" "I'm Tom Johnson. We've met before," he said with an odd smile.

Almost Done"