Ponzi's Scheme_ The True Story of a Financial Legend - Mitchell Zuckoff [92]
What is all the excitement folks? Why these speculators?
Ponzi’s notes are good as gold, so why, these black-hearted raiders?
If they should ask you to sell your notes, step forward and exclaim:
“No indeed, I’m sorry, lad, ’cause my notes bear Ponzi’s name.”
Just step in line, and wait with ease, and avoid all sorts of commotion,
For Ponzi has as many dollars, as there are ripples in the ocean.
He will pay you all, and thank you, too, and solicit your funds once more,
And instead of serving you doughnuts and coffee, he’ll serve turkeys by the score.
Ponzi’s efforts at rebuilding confidence began to gain steam. In the afternoon a group of men appeared at the office of Judge Leveroni and announced their intention to form an association called the Ponzi Alliance. They presented Leveroni with a draft of resolutions for establishment of the alliance, including a pledge of unwavering faith in Ponzi and a promise to pool money on his behalf if needed.
By the time the office closed, Ponzi had paid out another half to three-quarters of a million dollars, but the tenor of the crowd had shifted. There were no flying squads of men breaking through the glass doors this day. Before locking up, Ponzi posted a sign written cheerily in crayon on the side of an old egg crate: WILL REOPEN FOR BUSINESS THURSDAY MORNING AT NINE O’CLOCK. But his day was not yet over.
The officers of Hanover Trust had invited Ponzi to join them for a company outing at a resort called the Waters Club. Ponzi eagerly accepted, expecting the same treatment he had received a few days earlier at a bank-sponsored banquet where he was the guest of honor. There, Hanover treasurer William McNary had proposed a toast to the bank’s newest director and biggest depositor. “Three cheers for Ponzi, the greatest wizard and financial genius this country has ever known!” said McNary, at fifty-seven a wily veteran of two terms in Congress as well as the rougher precincts of Boston politics and business. The cheers rang in Ponzi’s ears, and he basked in the acclaim. He was so tickled he surprised the bankers by picking up the $640 dinner tab.
Each day that he survived the run, Ponzi felt stronger. And each day they failed to put Ponzi out of business, Richard Grozier, Eddie Dunn, and the Post staff grew more frustrated. This night, while Ponzi partied with the Hanover bankers, a Post reporter cornered Calvin Coolidge at the State House to get the governor’s opinion on what should be done about Ponzi. On the strength of his no-right-to-strike response to the Boston police walkout, Coolidge had been nominated seven weeks earlier to be the Republican vice presidential candidate on a ticket headed by Warren Harding. Coolidge’s mind was clearly elsewhere. He gave a politician’s answer, vague yet authoritative enough to make it the lead of the Post’s front-page story, set in bold type: “I will direct the attorney general to take action for the purpose of enforcing the law. I have not much knowledge of the affair, but according to the prevailing impression, the matter ought to be investigated by the government.” Of course, Attorney General J. Weston Allen was already investigating, so Coolidge clarified his answer to say he would direct Allen to join the federal and local investigations already under way.
The Post’s young acting publisher wanted to do more than mouth platitudes; he was ready to claim his inheritance. No longer the Harvard layabout, Richard Grozier had quickly grown into the job foisted upon him by his father’s illness. He squared his shoulders, cleared his throat, and exercised the right to speak for his family’s newspaper. Richard had watched from the sidelines just four months earlier as his father bet the Post against Curley. Now, with the stakes even higher, he did the same against Ponzi.
Richard spent the night preparing the Post’s first editorial on Ponzi and the frenzy he had caused, topped with the