Ponzi's Scheme_ The True Story of a Financial Legend - Mitchell Zuckoff [103]
Another reporter asked, “Shall you go on paying claims tomorrow?”
Ponzi shrugged his shoulders, raised an eyebrow, and smiled once more.
“Why not?” he asked before heading home.
Ponzi returned to work the next day, Tuesday, August 3, more chipper than ever. He arrived to a chorus of “Money boy!” and “Million-dollar daddy!” from the assembled throng.
“Well, they didn’t break me yesterday,” he answered gaily, “and they won’t break me today!”
He joked to the reporters who were now his constant companions that he had just enjoyed a breakfast of coffee and doughnuts because it was all he could afford. Lest the reporters get the wrong idea, he quickly added, “Mountains of money available to pay all claims. All the boys and girls have to do is drop in and get it.” He needled his interviewers, too: “How are your newspapers selling? I ought to have a commission—I need the money . . . to give to charity!”
Ponzi’s combination of sangfroid and spirited defense, described at length on the front pages of all the morning newspapers, had, incredibly, begun rebuilding his support and stanching the flow of money. Sensing the shift, he moved to seize the offensive, suing McMasters for two thousand dollars—the money Ponzi said was left over from the amount entrusted to the publicity agent to buy ads. The sum was insignificant, but Ponzi was delivering a message. McMasters understood the game and snapped back. He sued Ponzi for five thousand dollars and denied that his exposé had been spawned by malice.
Ponzi’s spirits were so high, publicly at least, that even another attack by Barron could not dampen them. The sage of State Street published a story stating that in the three years ending June 1919, the Universal Postal Union had printed annually only about $200,000 worth of reply coupons worldwide. The most recent year’s figures were expected to be no higher. Barron fairly begged for action: “Is no prompt protection to be afforded by the authorities to the poor people in this country who know nothing of finance except as to the promised interest return on their savings?” Ponzi did not even bother to respond, letting his $5 million lawsuit speak for him.
At midday, Ponzi strolled happily through Boston’s Public Garden, walking past the elegant swan boats making their lazy laps around the lagoon. Again he was followed by scores of people drawn to his celebrity. He headed to the grand Hotel Bellevue, in the shadow of the gold dome of the State House, for a luncheon with the Kiwanis Club. Following club custom, each man stood and named his business. “Everybody’s but my own!” Ponzi cackled when his turn came. Lapping up the attention, he amended his job description to: “Dealer in postal stamps and banker’s goats. I’m no financial wizard. I’m a financial lizard and professional goat-getter!” The Kiwanians ate it up.
In a restaurant on Blackstone Street in the city’s North End, a sign appeared that day behind the bar: “God made the world and rested. God made man and rested. Then God made Ponzi. Since then neither God nor man has rested.” Longtime saloonkeeper Pasquale di Stasio showed off seventy-five hundred dollars’ worth of Ponzi notes, the largest of which was for five thousand dollars, maturing on August 21. He boasted that he would never consider cashing them in early. Though skepticism remained high in some quarters, no one was getting more publicity. The Boston American declared that Ponzi was “the most talked of man in America.” The tide had turned again.
While his clerks continued to pay claims, Ponzi paid a visit to the government auditor’s office. An exhausted Pride told Ponzi he had never seen so much cash in one place and never expected to again. Tickled, Ponzi offered Pride a princely salary to become his chief