The old banker back in my small hometown was king of a small empire. He was an extremely distinguished gentleman, not unlike the banker on those Monopoly game cards. We all addressed him as “sir”; in fact, he was on a par with our mayor and the minister.
Our banker benevolently granted long-term loans so people would have roofs over their heads and cars to drive. He didn’t slice, dice and roll over mortgages in order to produce toxic assets; he was partnered with his bank customers for the long-haul. Plus, when I opened up my savings account, he kindly gave me a free Toastmaster toaster!
Besides the toaster, I received a passport size savings account book that showed exactly how much money I had in the bank’s huge vault. There was never an avalanche of mailed statements packed with aggressive advertising, and there wasn’t any Internet banking that’s vulnerable to cyber criminals. Back then, a printing machine at the teller window documented each of my face-to-face banking transactions, right in my little book.
Yes indeed; I proudly went to the bank every Friday afternoon to cash my weekly paycheck and make a deposit, knowing that others saw me as a working man reaping the fruits of his labor. And it was a pleasure to socialize with friendly townsfolk while standing in line between long velvet guide ropes. Obviously, the bank’s air conditioning was also a wonderful luxury back in the day.
The bank’s regal splendor was truly a sight to behold: Roman columns outside, thick carpeting inside, and there was marble all over the place. The big sign out front evolved over the years, to include addition of a time and temperature display. Admittedly, the sub-freezing winter temperatures shown in bright red numbers prompted me to move to Florida at the first opportunity.
When our old banker finally retired, his bank was absorbed into a regional banking group that soon went bust. At first the town thought it was a replay of the Great Depression, but then the FDIC stepped in to protect our savings. Still, it wasn’t long before the old bank lost all its customers to a newly established branch of a national banking conglomerate, housed in a cheap looking prefab building. They offered teaser interest rates to lure in customers, but that only lasted until our old bank closed its doors.
The new bank eagerly welcomes customers inside to open accounts and take out loans. Afterwards, they’re encouraged to make their transactions remotely via ATMs and home computers, or even on smartphones while ostensibly watching their kids out on the soccer field. Oddly enough, the few tellers in the new bank are all very young daughters of the old bank’s highly experienced but now unemployed tellers. The new bank’s décor is all young and contemporary too, pretty much like the cell phone store across the street.
Those developments really traumatized some of the townspeople, one of them being my plump pal from schooldays. When I last saw him, he was greedily consuming large boxes of chocolate candy. I cautioned him, “Chubby, you can’t keep gorging yourself with those sinful sweets; you’ll become even fatter than you are now.” He replied, “Don’t worry; I’m right on the verge of becoming too big to fail.”
Well, I for one have come to accept that my money isn’t sitting in a nearby vault anymore. The money has been digitized and, much like ocean tides and currents, it’s shifting back and forth across a global network of computer memory banks. Now my wife complains that I spend too much time on my computer surfing the web. She doesn’t realize that I’m continuously logged into my bank account, staring at the numbers to ensure that no one steals my money.
The town’s old bank ultimately became the sales office for Wild Bill’s Used Cars. There are lots of colorful balloons and bright signs outside -- amazing that every car price ends in 99. There’s even a guy out front dressed in a dog suit, dancing around in an effort to draw in customers. Evidently, viewing that surreal spectacle is what gave my old banker his fatal heart attack.
And so, it seems inevitable that we’ll all eventually succumb to doing business with branches of the big national banks. I suppose I can forgive them for destroying my hometown bank, for taking billions in taxpayer bailout money, and for paying me negligible interest on my savings. But, darn it, where’s my free toaster?
Liburdi's recent book Italian American Fusion: Italy's Influence on the Evolution of America is available at on-line bookstores and the Kindle Reader.