I drove from 1:30 p.m. until 7:30 p.m. to come back to the Bank of America to “activate” the credit card that I signed up for on June 13th. I tried activating the card—which did not arrive by snail mail for a week— from my home in East Moline, but the bot at the special activation number immediately asked me what account I was calling about. This is confusing, since I was calling about a card, not an account. It was imperative that the card be connected to my personal BoA account, so I did not incur late fees when I move among three addresses. I initially typed in the account that the card would be paid from. The bot informed me that it could not find the account and hung up on me.
I tried a second time, this time using the number on the card, alone.
The bot, once again, tried to verify me by sending a code (known as an ADF) to my land line—again. This was what I hoped we had fixed on June 13th, but I was told that it would take SIX WEEKS to fix, so sending me the new credit card and then trying to send “verification codes” to me at a land line a mere week after I went in, in person, to fix this, was a futile doomed move. Once again, the bot attempted to send the code to my land line. (Six weeks had not passed.)
I finally wrote a snail mail account of my unsuccessful attempts to activate this new BoA credit card. I mailed the account to Felipe at the BOA on Roosevelt Road and Canal Street in Chicago. I also made an appointment, in conversation with a HUMAN BEING, to go in in person at 2 p.. today, July 15th.,
APPOINTMENT #2
When I entered the bank, no one “greets” you. You just mill around or get in line. The line for the cashier at the cage was three people deep. I got in it and stood there about 20 minutes. The Black guy in front of me seemed to be talking to himself in some African language, via ear buds. (I thought he was mumbling to himself, at first, like homeless people do.) The woman behind me was speaking Chinese to a companion. I was just standing there and hoping, at age 81, that I wouldn’t have to stand in line too long. I have cancer, Type II diabetes, fibromyalgia, asthma and various lesser ailments. I passed out 4 times recently due to the heat, including Grant Park during the Gold Coast Art Show and Opening Night of SXSW inside the Paramount Theater. It was 97 degrees outside, (although very cool inside) and I now had driven to Chicago twice, 15 hours of driving, to “fix” these issues.
Finally, it was my turn.
I told the cashier that I had a 2 p.m. appointment—hopefully with Felipe, who knew the entire story and met with me on June 13th. Someone named Valentina Bullocks (last name sounded like Bullocks, anyway, which seemed appropriate), while consulting a clipboard, said she had no record of an appointment for me. [I made the appointment with a human being on the phone and it took forever, as does anything involving calling the bank and waiting for a “live” person. My son related waiting 2 hours, recently, to dispute a bank charge.]
We ended up in the very same office that Felipe and I had used, after I explained that now the Big Problem was activating a credit card, which shouldn’t be that big a deal. She agreed.
Valentina had truly long pink fingernails—-Barbra Streisand length. I complimented her on them, but wondered how she managed to use them to text on small phones. We chatted.
Another good question is—since this “verification” problem was going to arrive and again require verification, apparently….why didn’t someone who works at the bank figure out that I was being set up, again, for hours of frustration? It feels so much like the decisions the Trump Administration makes where sufficient planning and forethought do not go into actions taken. Someone should have suggested that I NOT get this great new credit card until six weeks elapsed, since now I was right back in 
Verification Hell.
SECOND BAD DECISION
For that matter, the physical card, itself, is a bad choice. It looks exactly like the regular red debit cards from BoA, except for printing being vertical on one and horizontal on the other—a dubious executive decision. The average elementary school teacher could point out that this would prove confusing for both old people, dumb people and people who assumed that the card would at least be a different color. My enthusiasm for the hunky-dory new card was quickly ebbing.
SUGGESTIONS
So far, there are six things that BoA should take note and try to correct:
1) Make your debit card different in color and appearance from your credit card. The horizontal/vertical thing isn’t enough of a difference.
2) Do a better job on directions on the activation line. Asking the customer “which account” if all that is wanted is for the customer to type in the credit card number is confusing. Reconsider the recorded instructions.
3) If you are having a bot send “verification codes” to a land line and the customer goes in, in person, twice, driving fifteen hours to get to the closest BoA, don’t then send the customer anything that will need to be “verified” before you have fixed the original verification problem (i.e., the change of the cell phone number from the land line number.) I was told that the number wouldn’t be “fixed” for 42 days. It actually can be done manually much sooner, as the Pope found out. But, as also noted, I’m not the Pope. Being a 37-year customer (*which Jennifer credited me with when she came on the phone) didn’t count for much.WHATEVER HAPPENED TO CUSTOMER SERVICE?
[*I actually wonder if Jennifer was right. Could the BoA have made another mistake? My own time-table of when I started with BoA only goes back to 2003, when I closed on my Chicago condo, but I’ll take her word for the length of time I’ve been a loyal customer, which makes this story worse.]
4) Why is there no Bank of America physical bank in the Quad Cities of Iowa/Illinois? We have 385,000 residents. Why is the closest bank a 7-hour round-trip away?
5) WHY DOES IT TAKE 42 DAYS TO SIMPLY CHANGE A WRONG PHONE NUMBER? Isn’t the point of automation to speed things up? Yet the Pope had to lobby for a manual change of his information, to speed things up (and threaten to take his business elsewhere), so are people actually better at this than bots?
6) I was CEO of two businesses. I made a vow that a live human being would always answer the phone. It probably isn’t a coincidence that the Bettendorf Chamber of Commerce once named us Best Business of the Year. (Sylvan Learning Center #3301 and Prometric Testing Center.) Answer your phones in under two hours—and I don’t mean using a bot.
RESUMING THE STORY
Valentina asked me to open my accounts on my two devices (phone and Ipad), and that went well. I opened the personal account on my Ipad and she suggested we call the very same phone number that Felipe had previously told me to call: 800– 276-9939. I was on hold for well over 30 minutes, waiting for a “real live” person to help us. I would ultimately spend two hours in the bank and closer to an hour waiting for the phone agent.
JENNIFER
While Valentina left for long periods with my new card, leaving me alone in a freezing office while she dealt with ADF codes, Jennifer (who finally came on the line after the better part of an hour) sounded like a mature agent. Jennifer had a sense of humor. All of us were polite and frustrated by modern technology, which has made banking much harder rather than much simpler.
Jennifer, Valentina, and Felipe were polite, as was I. They were employees attempting to work within a system that is flawed Big Time. Such things as picking unnecessarily confusing credit cards (the red vertical/red horizontal thing), not being able to change a phone number in less than 6 weeks, making verification into an endurance test, making the wait time on the phone to get a “live” person run hours, represent huge steps backwards from the banking days of my youth and adulthood. The use of bots is a disaster of the first magnitude, somewhat akin to driverless cars that drive right into flooded streets.
America has to do better. It is getting worse with each passing year. PLEASE FIX THIS STUFF. Give us back the English-speaking live human beings, get the time frame to “fix” the phone numbers down to under 42 days, use some common sense. Somebody should have vetoed the identical card idea along with the idea of getting automated bots that simply hang up on you. And would it kill you to greet your customers and maybe say “good bye” to them rather than simply walking off and leaving them waiting in an office, wondering if the employee was planning on coming back at all?
VERIFICATION, AGAIN
Jennifer (the agent on the phone) was intent on “verifying” me. I certainly understand that it is necessary to “verify” but it shouldn’t take 20 hours of driving and literally hours on the phone. I told Jennifer I was IN THE BANK, in person, and then I handed the phone to Valentina who confirmed this. Jennifer said she would make a note of my presence on the premises, which would be acceptable as “proof” and certainly quicker than waiting around for 42 days to simply get a phone number changed or driving 17 hours with 2 forms of ID.
I was now “verified.” [Woot!] I didn’t even have to surrender my firstborn child or give blood.
I told Jennifer that it had taken me 5 hours to drive from the Quad Cities to Chicago on I-80, longer than usual since 55N is under construction. I have cancer, Type II diabetes, fibromyalgia, and many minor ailments, so driving 14 to 21 hours just to gain access to a bank is not my idea of a good time.
When the hurdles being thrown up could have been anticipated and could be eliminated, you get very frustrated. Is this really the best customer service that one of our largest banks can manage? I’m a longtime customer. The hurdles and obstacles put before me were, for the most part, unnecessary and not problems just because I’m old. They are systemic failings of the bank’s systems.
LOST OR STOLEN
I explained to Jennifer that Valentina and I had been attempting to authenticate my credit card for over an hour.
Jennifer then said that the credit card had been declared lost or stolen.
W-H-A-A-T?
Who declared my card lost or stolen? It did not even reach me until June 20th and today was July 15th, so it had been in my wallet, awaiting help in activating it on this second trip to Chicago. It had not even been a month.Plus I had written to Felipe to tell him of my unsuccessful attempts to activate it, so the bank should have been aware of the situation (if they read their snail mail.) Nobody called or offered to help. A call would have saved me an entire driving trip to Chicago.
I’m guessing that cards put in the mail are declared “lost or stolen” after a certain number of days. Well, I didn’t even GET the card for a week (USPO) and I was supposed to be spending $1,000 in the first 90 days according to this particular credit card’s offer. Not quite a month had passed since I signed up to receive this credit card. It did arrive, but it did not arrive quickly and the cell phone/land line switch had not been implemented. Maybe when Felipe got my snail mail note, he could have called me back to warn me of the time table on declaring a mailed card “lost or stolen” versus the time limit of 6 weeks to make a very simple change of my phone numbers. I would not have had to drive in if the verdict was that the card was not able to be activated (and nobody appeared to care to offer me one when the 6 weeks would be up.)
FINALE
I asked for a scissors and cut the prospective credit card in half and left it there, in pieces. There was no way this was going to turn out well.
I never saw the branch bank manger (Jessica Vallela) nor did anyone wish me well or say good-bye to me as I left. (But, then, nobody greeted me as I entered, either.)
I was polite. Jennifer was polite. FeLipe was polite. Valentina, who had left the desk numerous times for various unspecified reasons, was polite. Then she simply disappeared.
I sat there, alone, in the Felipe office for a while. After a short time, I got up and left, thinking to myself that the good years in this country are definitely behind us when systems like this are the way things “work”(or don’t work) in modern-day America.
End of “Bank of America, Ghostly Tales of Route 66” and Me.”
Since things have been going so well with the BoA bank accounts in Chicago, it occurred to me that I should, perhaps, get some cash from the local TBK bank for my upcoming Chicago birthday trip.
I cruised through the ATM lane to ask for some cash. The screen remained very blank. I realized I had not really counted up to see how much cash I might need for my planned Birthday Extravaganza. I opened my wallet and counted my cash and realized—to my surprise— I still have two $100 bills left over from a whirlwind April trip to Reno to watch granddaughter Elise play volleyball. Time between games was spent in the casino.
I don’t know about you, but a $100 bill, for me, is about as useful as an umbrella on a sunny day.
It was clear that I was going to have to go into the bank: (1) find out why my debit card did not work in the ATM (2) to get smaller bills for the Reno hundreds—cash I might actually be able to use.
FIRST HURDLE
I was parked in back of the bank.
It was in the eighties. The back door of the bank was locked. I had to walk around the entire building to gain access to the front door entry to the interior lobby.
SECOND HURDLE
The second hurdle was explaining exactly what had gone “wrong” with the ATM machine and presenting my driver’s license.
My driver’s license—which is from Texas—had fallen into the interior of a purse roughly the size of a large laundry basket. I finally located it. I also dragged out my defunct Illinois driver’s license, even though it has a hole punched in it.
THIRD HURDLE
The clerk wanted to walk out to the ATM machine to see what, exactly, was happening with my card. She made reference to them having “worked on” the machine earlier in the day.
What I primarily wanted to do was to find a rest room. I had just spent 3 and 1/2 hours playing cards and drinking Diet Dr. Pepper. No rest room stop was factored into our trek outside.
Off to the ATM in the eighty-four degree heat we went. (The clerk seemed surprised to find no car at the ATM lane. She said, “Did you walk here?” I explained that I had parked my car and walked the entire circumference of the building to gain entrance, certainly what I was hoping would happen—-(not). I didn’t think other customers behind me would be too forgivig of a car abandoned in the ATM lane, so I drove to the parking area.
The ATM now spit out a message saying my debit card had expired.
FOURTH HURDLE
We went back inside. The bank clerk made phone calls. I was told I would either have to wait 6 weeks or drive to Iowa to the TBK Bank in Bettendorf—a bank I have never even been inside—to pick up my debit card.
So, bright and early today, I drove to the Bettendorf bank in the nearby state of Iowa across the I-74 bridge. After some explanation of the situation, I was given an envelope. The already-opened envelope had apparently been sent to my East Moline home when I was in Texas. Envelopes rarely make it to me in a timely fashion once I flee the Midwest. Usually, this results in a late fee if I don’t use a charge card that is connected to bank moneys (assuming they ever straighten out my bank money accounts, an account which the BofA bot recently told me could not be found at all.)
This envelope was probably one of many such missives that fell into the USPO trap. The post office will not forward credit cards, which is also not helpful.
FIFTH HURDLE
I now had the actual debit card, within the envelope. I was told to take it home and activate it.
[Have you read Installation #4 about activating my BoA card?]
I suggested that we activate the debit card right then and there.
I got the card out of the envelope, dialed the number on it, and followed the bot’s directions. Two times. The bot said it could not activate my credit card.
I suggested that the bank clerk try to activate my credit card.
She, also, followed the bot’s activation directions two times. It would not activate it for her, either.
MORE PHONE CALLS
Eventual diagnosis: the activation period ran out June 30th.
Today was July 7th.
Fortunately, since I had the foresight to try to activate the card BEFORE I left the bank, someone somewhere was able to direct the bank clerk and extend the time for me to activate my TBK debit card. I did tell the clerk that I never use it in Austin, Texas, because they don’t have TBK banks in Texas. She protested that there Are TBK banks in Texas.
She was right, but I am also right.
There are 2 TBK banks in Texas in Dallas. There are no TBK banks in Austin. That’s another reason I don’t just tell the BoA to “take this card and shove it.” BoA is my cash lifeline when we are in Austin.
I hope this is the end of my having to deal with bank bots and misleading directions , but somehow, I doubt it.
Wish me luck on July 15th in Chicago—again— with Felipe.
“The Last Picture House,” July 4, 2026, “Jaws” under the stars…and the fireworks.
Cognizant of the fact that DJT has pretty much f****ed up the 250th anniversary of the United States, which, further hampered by sweltering weather nationwide, meant the Fourth of July was likely to be a wash, we decided to do something different.
That something different was a movie on the roof of the Last Picture House, after a dinner at a local restaurant (Bass Street Landing, Moline, Illinois) with great friends. While our friends are “regulars” and even have their own booth, we drove to the wrong location—one they moved from years ago. (Our bad.)
A lot of restaurants shut down on the Fourth of July. (Who knew?) We thoroughly enjoyed dining with our companions, but my ability to eat much was zilch, courtesy of Mounjaro. In honor of the occasion I drank 2 glasses of muscato (they didn’t have white zinfandel by the glass) and, post meal, shared a creme brulee. The restaurant has recently changed owners and has some options for smaller appetites, which is good if you’re me.
“Jaws” plays like a brand-new movie after 41 years (1975). Roy Scheider, Robert Shaw and RichardDreyfuss were great. The John Williams score emphasized, again, how vital music is to set the mood of any film. I missed a similar signature theme in “Disclosure Day,” even though it was the Maestro who scored that one, too. The movie is set around the Fourth of July, so, a perfect choice.
One of the best things I ever did as a member of the Chicago Symphony was to invite my cousin Lois to come to Chicago back in 2008 and join me as John Williams directed the Chicago Symphony playing the themes from the famous films he scored.
My only non-positive remarks: there is no bathroom on the second floor/roof. It is 28 steps down to the lobby area rest rooms. Yes, they have an elevator. It is very slow; takes 70 seconds to get from floor #1 to floor #2 by actual second-hand on my watch. I noticed another old guy (who probably has diabetes, like me) who made 2 trips to the rest room, also. Shame on us.
If you spent 6 months unable to walk, climbing 120 stairs is not on your bucket list of “things you want to do.” Is it even on the list of “things I am ABLE to do? Well, yes. Although I spent 5 minutes in the elevator (2 trips up and down), I successfully climbed the 28 steps at the end of the movie, none the worse for wear. Initially, I was fearful of dehydration, since I passed out on the Red Carpet opening night of SXSW (2025), but by the time the movie began (8:45 p.m.) it was a balmy evening, perfect in many ways, one of which was being able to see the movie and at least four sets of fireworks simultaneously.
I highly recommend taking in a movie under the stars at the Last Picture House. Only caveat: I should have scaled down my intake of beverages. (Ahem).
Saw that Sam Rockwell (and Juno Temple and Michael Pena) were in “Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die!” now streaming on Hulu (directed by Gore Verbinski) and we took it in.
I agree with whomever complained that the third act sort of ruined what was, up to that point, a charming and funny film written by Matthew Robinson. The cast was certainly a big part of my decision to give it a go, because I’m not a fan of Verbinski’s other movies, [like the first three “Pirates of the Caribbeans” films.] But ALL of the actors were spot-on and the dialogue was witty and entertaining.
Here is a synopsis of the plot from IMDB: “A ‘Man From the Future’ arrives at a diner in Los Angeles where he must recruit the precise combination of disgruntled patrons to join him on a one-night quest to save the world from the terminal threat of a rogue artificial intelligence.”
Sam Rockwell’s outfit, alone, was worth the price of admission. The take-down of the cell phone generation was hilarious.
I admit that the cloning of members of one’s family who have been killed in classroom shootings was crossing the line, but it crossed a line with some pretty funny stuff, even though the humor is predicated on one of the most tragic situations imaginable. The family that says they have lost FOUR children to classroom shooters—well, one was really a clone of the first child victim—was funny in the way that you wish the underlying horrifictruth di d not exist in reality. I still laughed, because the couple describing the loss of their children to school shootings pulled it off so well. All of the actors did—even the weird little kid that weakens the end of the Hulu offering.
I admit to liking almost everything that Sam Rockwell does, and, yes, I agree that there are echoes of “Twelve Monkeys,” a Bruce Willis/Brad Pitt film I thoroughly enjoyed.
This one requires you to think about the satire and respond with instantaneous merriment after which you can think about the dangers of A.I. or life in these unusual times.
ANCIENT HISTORY
The first check to clear the Security State Bank, dated Oct. 8th, 1941. It was for $971.97 to the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago.
I am the daughter of a banker. He got the idea for a bank and organized the PTB to make it happen in 1941.
My father—John Corcoran, Jr.—was the four-term County Treasurer of Buchanan County, Iowa in Independence, Iowa. Dad didn’t win the post the normal way. He ran as a Democrat in the still-hugely-Republican state of Iowa and lost to the Republican opponent.
I think the Democrats drafted Dad in the first place because he had been Deputy Sheriff under August Hamelmann. Therefore, people knew him and liked him. He had some pretty hairy stories about being sent to the First Ward Park to quell a gathering of Depression-era men who were considering breaking into a local grocery store. During the Depression, when he was the cashier for the Fairbank Bank, he was told to sit up all night with a shotgun to prevent “a run on the bank.”
Dad lost in that election, but they called him up afterwards and said, “John, your opponent died before he could be sworn in. Do you want the job?” He said yes, and that put a Democrat in charge of Buchanan County’s money, which, given recent experiences at the state and national levels, was a very good idea for Iowa and the United States. (But I digress).
I worked in the bank in my teen-aged years, primarily helping prepare the monthly statements by reconciling checks, which were filed in a large vault with a time lock—a vault that I once got locked inside when people forgot about me. (I won a radio competition for the person calling in from the oddest location.) As I recall, that is how I got out of the vault when they (inadvertently) locked me inside the vault. I also know that Dad’s ill-fated attempt to single-handedly lift a safe (!) semi-crippled him for life. His temporary paralysis led to him becoming one of the very first patients to have spinal fusion surgery at the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics, back in the forties, before I was born. It was that risky surgery or be paralyzed for life. Dad chose the risky new surgery, but he had back trouble from then on and lost some feeling in his feet (which meant that he couldn’t tell when he had stepped off a curb and his foot was on the ground). Still, thank heaven for advances in back surgery!
Dad, during his County Treasurer days, knew of a bank on the corner of the main street and the major intersection, right across the street from the Farmers’ State Bank, that had gone under during the Depression. It had a rather grand bank vault within it, already installed. He correctly gauged the temper of the times that a second bank could make a go of it. He set about finding out how one would start a second bank in Independence, Iowa. It involved getting hold of the bank examiners and bringing them to town and getting investors. The year was 1941. He was 39 years old.
I offer this ancient history up to show that I have a fond view of banks, in general. Or did have. My enthusiasm for dealing with modern-day banks is diminished by the failure to provide human assistance. The days of the friendly cashier assisting you with a smile seem like life on a different planet. Things are not the same, are they, America? If the Pope could get his information updated manually, why can’t I? And why is it going to take six weeks? The credit card (which took a while to arrive at all) requires that you spend $1,000 in the first 90 days. Well, it is looking like it may be at leaast 30 days before the BoA can “activate” it, so I’d like an extension on that, BoA. (The spending of $1,000 means you get a $200 cash kick-back.)
Dad. my husband Craig, and me on my 33rd birthday (7/23/1978) at the Axtell/Alerton house in Rush Park on the west edge of Independence, now long gone.
THE BANK OF AMERICA CREDIT CARD: The plot goes on
As mentioned in one of the previous installments, I bit on the new credit BoA card. I was told it would take a while to reach me by mail. You had to spend $1,000 in the first 90 days. At the rate things are going, half of the 90 days will be “up” before I am able to activate the card. It had no annual fee and gave percentages back on such necessities as groceries and gas.
I was apprised of the card’s progress through the mail. I was sent numerous updates on when the card would arrive by e-mail. (Which struck me as particularly egregious because I was not sent numerous statements about my literary account’s standing during seven years of time). When the bot kept trying to send “verification” codes to a land line (which I thought we had updated during my first in-person visit on June 13th), I asked for a phone call (didn’t come) or an e-mail to my old AOL account (didn’t come) and then girded for the 7-hour drive, which is apparently the best treatment a loyal customer for over 23 years can expect. I noted that the Pope threatened to take his business elsewhere, but I have a sneaking suspicion that this bank would pay me to take my business elsewhere, writing me off as a fossil who isn’t worth the time or effort to help her in a user friendly manner—UNLESS she drives herself 14 hours into Chicago in the months of both June AND July.
The card ultimately arrived, and, like all credit cards, it has to be activated. But, unlike the other credit cards I have in my billfold, you couldn’t simply make a phone call to a number. I tried that. Here is what happened, as I have described it for Felipe in one (of two) of the actual SNAIL MAIL letters I have had to resort to sending to 430 W. Roosevelt Road in Chicago. That seems to be the only way I can (maybe) communicate with the staff. I did get a brief 10-second conversation with Felipe (who bailed on one of his current in-bank desperate customers) and asked him if my FIRST snail mail letter had reached him. It had not.
“Great,” I said grimly.
My Mom (Sadie Corcoran) and Dad (John Corcoran, Jr.) obscured by the head of Doc Leehey, who was, I think, my father’s cousin and, for many years, the only doctor in Independence, Iowa.
DIRECTIONS
Felipe—trying to save the day—abandoned a customer in the store briefly. He told me to call 800-276-9939 to activate my brand new BoA credit card, which did arrive (unlike my reports on my literary account in the years 2019-2026.)
Here is what I have written to Felipe, which I will snail mail tomorrow, as no one has seen fit to give me an e-mail address for the one employee who seems to have it together. [THAT would have been nice, but no.]
“Dear Felipe:
- I called the number you gave me to activate my band new BoA credit card: 800-276-9939.
- The bot answered and asked for “the account you are calling about.” I was not really calling about an account; I was calling to try to activate a brand new credit card, but, since it will pull against my personal banking account, I assumed (perhaps incorrectly) that this meant the account that the new credit card would draw against.
- I put the account number of my personal account in five (5) times.
- FIVE TIMES the bot said: “I couldn’t find that account.”
- Then it hung up on me.
- My next in-person drive to the Roosevelt Road/Canal Street location is for July 15th. That will be a full month after my FIRST in-person meeting for which I also had to drive 7 hours. I was not planning on being back in July that early, but I’m not the Pope and I don’t know the CEO of Bank of America. (Brian Moneghan. He lives near Boston and may be worth $349 million.)
- Stay tuned for the next installment.
- And—by the way—I’ve been blogging on WeeklyWilson.com since February of 2007 using WordPress. I was using a computer in my workplace as far back as 1984, when I networked with One Dupont Circle in Washington, D.C.. on a WANG PC to receive information for a book I was writing for Performance Learning Systems, Inc., of Emerson, New Jersey, entitled “Training the Teacher As A Champion.” The estimate of the number of people who were online and working with computers in 1984 was 300 people, worldwide.
Going to my Bank of America outlet in Chicago at Roosevelt Road and Canal Street requires a 7-hour drive—3 and ½ hours up and 3 and ½ hours back. Why don’t we have a Bank of America outlet in the Quad Cities?
I don’t know. Do you?
I went through a “verification” process similar to that described by Pope Leo (Installment #2) and it ended with me making a trip in, in person, to meet with a representative (supposed to be Caesar Hernandez, but I got Felipe) on Saturday, June 13th. I took the 2 forms of ID, although, when I was told I needed my Social Security card (a passport would not do), I think I responded that I had not seen my Social Security card since I was sixteen. It did cause me to search for it, however, and—voila!—I found it! (Will wonders never cease?)
However, since the entire goal of “verification” seems to be to make things as obtuse and as computer-dependent as possible, I was told that the employees could not get to my page unless I gave them the specific amounts and dates of deposits from Amazon. Since I lost access to my Amazon account about the same time as I last saw my Social Security card, this turned out to be an impossible task. After the trouble with advertising “BEE GONE” and the directive that my cover had to be “changed,” things descended into the Stephen Colbert Canyon of Censorship. There didn’t seem to be much urgency about cracking the code on how to get back into my Amazon account to “write long”, once I tip-toed over to blogging full-time on WeeklyWilson.com and resumed reviewing movies on www.TheMovieBlog.com, I’ve been reviewing non-stop since 1970. Since Rex Reed and Gene Shalit recently shuffled off this mortal coil, I can try to lay claim to being the longest continuously-reviewing film critic in the U.S. (whether it’s true or not…and it might be.)
SOLUTION?
I don’t know the head of the Bank of America, so I didn’t have the route that Pope Leo took to get things fixed and updated in my literary account, where a REAL LIVE HUMAN might assist me in “fixing” and updating things without me having to drive 14 (fourteen) hours. (I know I said 7 hours, earlier, but this story goes on in installments, remember. This third installment only takes us through the first in-person meeting at the Roosevelt Road and Canal Street with Felipe. There is more).
FELIPE
Felipe was the one bright spot in the Bank of America verification process. Felipe is good. I will excuse him for asking if my granddaughter was “in the room” to help me during a recent phone call. No, Felipe, the granddaughters are in Texas. I’m in Illinois, talking to a bot most of the time. For hours. Becoming very aggravated. Wondering why I never got any reports on my literary account for over 7 years.
Felipe got stuck with me when Caesar got stuck with somebody else. There were lines of people queuing up at the cashier’s window at noon that Saturday (June13). They close at 2 p.m. I can vouch for the fact that it took all of the 2 hours to figure out how to recover my literary account. I still don’t know why I did not receive any “reports” or updates on that account since 2019. I received paper reports on my personal account, but my literary account seemed to reside only in my head and in the form of the checks I have that are supposed to allow me to use it. Both seem to be in limbo.
On June 13th my personal account seemed to be chugging along okay, paying bills via auto-pay. However, that may have changed, as “suspicious” activity was noted because I went to the cashier’s cage, on June 13th, IN PERSON, and moved cash from my personal account to the literary account. Let me repeat that: I did this IN PERSON, IN THE BANK. Yet this caused my account to have difficulties noted as suspicious thereafter. (This story isn’t over—yet.) My teacher’s pension is deposited in this account (a princely sum, as you can imagine, since I did not hit the Magic 20 number one must reach in order to actually be able to live on that money in retirement).
For years (and years and years) one-half of all Social Security payments made to government employees (i.e., teachers and firemen, etc.) was taken from us because we were public employees. It was patently unfair and resulted in years of legal wrangling until, quite recently, that one-half was restored. However, Social Security is not deposited into this account. It goes into the TBK less-well-known bank in the Quad Cities which has not yet made me come in twice in person to “fix” errors which cause bots to try to send verification codes to land lines and take over 6 weeks to “fix.” (Yes, I still have a land line. Deal with it.)
I always got PAPER reports on my personal account, although I did not get them for my literary account. As far as I am aware, I did not get e-mail reports, either, although I admit to moving from Einnoc10@Aol.com to Einnoc9876@gmail.com some years back. For almost 10 years, the state of Illinois has hovered over my literary account, eagerly suggesting it was “abandoned” and only too willing to take whatever pittance might reside in it. “Seized” is the chief goal of the state of Illinois with failing authors’ accounts, apparently. (I actually have a close friend who says she once worked on the “seize abandoned accounts” team in the state of Minnesota. Sheesh.)
A still from Seized by Sharon Liese, an official selection of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. Courtesy of Sundance Institute | photo by Jackson Montemayor.
Each of the three times I received written notices that the state of Illinois was hovering once again, hoping to “seize”my money, I wrote and explained that it was NOT an “abandoned” account. I was merely an unsuccessful (monetarily-speaking) author who didn’t have masses of eager fans gobbling up her books. The account, via Amazon, had its moments. Most of those moments can be laid at the feet of “Ghostly Tales of Route 66,” so kudos to Bruce Carlson for figuring out that ghosts were a guaranteed best-seller.
I did not intend to write only ghost books for my entire literary life. I wrote what interested me at that moment in time, whether politics, children’s books, horror stories, movie and television reviews—short and long—or one random book containing previously published columns and poetry. One can’t accuse me of not taking on a range of topics. Or, as one snarky guest writer at a QC Writers’ events once said, “You’ve ruined your platform.” (And then he went on ad nauseum to talk about writers’ platforms, ignoring the variety of things that a Stephen King, for example, might write about, aside from things that go bump in the night).
So, on June 13th, I thought Felipe had “updated” all of the phone numbers (etc.) in my two BoA accounts. I even bit on the new Bank of America credit card, which sounded like a pretty good deal. I think Felipe was Top-Notch and whatever is now happening, to prevent me from being able to authenticate that credit card, is probably not his fault. It’s probably an inherent flaw in the BoA system and I’ve been victimized by it to the tune of a 14-hour driving trip. CEO of BoA: take note.
Me applying for a brand new BoA credit card was where things ended after my FIRST 7-hour “in person” trip to the Bank of America with everything “fixed”—or so I thought.
But, of course, things were not settled at all.
The bot was not finished with me.
- The Verification: He initially identified himself by his birth name, Robert Prevost, and correctly answered several security questions, providing his Social Security number and formal address. [1, 2]
- The Bureaucracy: Despite answering perfectly, the representative informed him that bank policy strictly required him to complete account changes by visiting a branch in person. [1, 2]
- The Climax: The Pope explained that traveling to Chicago would be very difficult since he was now living out of town. He finally asked, “Would it matter to you if I told you I’m Pope Leo?” [1, 2]
- The Hang-Up: Believing it to be a prank call, the customer service representative immediately hung up on the leader of the Catholic Church. [1, 2]
I have been involved in a now-long-running attempt to reclaim a bank account I established at the Bank of America in Chicago in 2003. I needed to have a bank to “close” on a condo there that was going to be my daughter’s residence while she attended DePaul for College. The year was 2003. I do not remember why I selected the Bank of America. Perhaps it was the proximity of the branch on West Roosevelt and Canal.
Later, I opened a literary account with them, as well, one for which I got no reports for 7 years. Of course, it is possible that reports were sent to my old AOL account, but there are 375,000 pieces of unread e-mails in that one, while I have been using Gmail for at least the past ten years. The state of Illinois has circled, vulture-like, on 3 occasions, trying to take the funds in my literary account, declaring it “abandoned.” On each occasion I have written them a REAL letter saying the account was NOT abandoned, but that I was merely blogging these days and no longer writing “long.”
David Morrell (yes, THE David Morrell, creator of “Rambo”) told me during a one-on-one conversation at a Writers for New Orleans conference many years ago that I should establish a separate bank account for my literary earnings. I hoped this meant that he saw promise for me as a writer. I have revised that opinion downward. It was probably very good advice—-if you’re David Morrell.
For me, it has set up a cumbersome set of aggravating interactions with the Bank of America that make the Pope’s experiences in trying to arrange for a transfer of funds from a Chicago bank an object lesson in questionable customer service. It’s lengthy and frustrating and almost impossible to explain, but I shall try in some installments.
But first let me share with you the story of the Pope trying to gain access to HIS Chicago money and being told that he, too, had to come in, in person, with 2 forms of ID.
Pope Leo explained that he was out of the country and would not be able to come in in person. He asked, “Would it help if I told you I was the Pope?:
The bank hung up on him.
THE BEGINNING
I made three trips, on foot, from my condominium to the Roosevelt Road location to set up direct transfer of funds from my Amazon account to this literary account. Most of it had to do with e-books. It is at least a mile if you walk it. I walked it in those first days after retirement, giving me some much-needed exercise after I wrote all night long in my writer’s lair.
From 2003 to 2019 I was productive, at least, once writing through the worst blizzards in Chicago history and watching the sun come up over the Field Museum building across the street from me. I remember these two blizzards well, as I wrote through them and never left the building while motorists abandoned their vehicles on Lake Shore Drive, which I could see from my window:
January 31-February 2, 2011, 21.2″
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I had hoped that David Morrell recognized dormant talent when he suggested I open a literary account.Ran into him again as a panelist at the last Hawaii Writers’ Conference.Think he selected one cover illustration over another when I asked his opinion. Got a blurb from a complete stranger who wrote “Flashback” (very nice guy). Did not get any help for my effort(s) from “Rambo’s” father. But I did have that special “literary” account, awaiting riches beyond my wildest dreams.
I did my best, advertising using Amazon and Facebook. Videos were made for various books (“The Color of Evil,” “Hellfire & Damnation”). Most videos are still up on YouTube and the e-books, at least, survive. Some videos are now making a belated appearance on Instagram and TikTok. (I hope the Chinese don’t sell all my contact information).
Alas, the flow of riches that Morrell experienced in his legendary career did not flow to Yours Truly. My account had brief moments of solvency. But, in 2019 when DJT was running for office the first time, neither Amazon nor Facebook would allow me to advertise the “BEE GONE” satirical take-down of Trump’s contest with Hillary Clinton UNLESS I CHANGED THE COVER. I refused.
Things took a dark turn. I became one of DJT’s first victims of retribution for the crime of making light of Donald J. Trump. In that regard, I was and am in good company. If only the Seth Meyers-es and the Jimmy Kimmels would mention my little book, which has admirers amongst those who think Trump is absolutely awful, [like Senator Chris Murphy of Connecticut, who recently gave us the video detailing “500 Days of Corruption.”]
The MAGA threats on Amazon increased and even a few relatives bought into Trump’s always-changing lies and distortions at that early point in time. For my part, I think the dangers the small book pointed out were right on target. I’m still very proud of it, especially of the great illustrations from Gary McCluskey. And I hope the relatives have realized the error of their vote(s).
I quickly leoarned that mocking DJT, even very gently, was not well-received in MAGA-land. In addition to negative and violent attacks on my fairly gentle take-down of the Orange One, I’ve only come that close to death threats during the presidential run of 2008, blogging for Associated Content, when Yahoo named me its Content Producer of the Year for Politics and got me inside the DNC in Denver. People who had read my prediction that Obama would carry Iowa would say things like, “I’m going to come back and make you eat those words.”
Only they did not. Because I tip-toed off to review film for The Movie Blog and did not look back. Until the phone call fro Quixote Books while wintering in Texas.
It was one of the single greatest political nights of my life when Obama won, not only in Iowa, but secured the Democratic nomination and the presidency. That was then; this is now. It was a different country, then, with hope and optimism and “Yes, we can” vibes. What are we now?
Before I move on from this story of how I was a precursor of Stephen Colbert, told I could not advertise “BEE GONE” on my normal channels (Facebook, Amazon) unless I changed the cover (which I refused to do), let me relate a true story. The thin-skinned DJT apparently did not like the depiction of himself as a bumblebee (a drone) intent on taking over the hive from the Queen Bee. Killer illustrations and prescient observations (made in 2019) like:
“So, the hive lost its honey,
Its queen, and its money.
It was really a mess,
And that isn’t funny.”
My Bank of America personal account that I set up for auto-pay things (HOA dues, electricity, gas, etc.) remained active, but I tip-toed away from the literary account, leaving it to whatever e-book sales might occur. I also quit bothering to check on my Amazon dashboard, which means that I soon lost my ability to remember the password. Why bother? I was done writing “long,” as I called it.
Or was I?
GHOSTLY TALES REVISITED
While I was sitting out the winter in sunny Austin, I received a call from Iowa’s largest publishing concern, Quixote Press. They wanted to revive and redo Volume One of “Ghostly Tales of Route 66,” which they had first published in 2012, because it was the 100th anniversary of the opening of Route 66.
Some changes were to be made, including new material, but the “Resurrection Mary” story that I slaved over in 2007, [which was one of the winners of a Chicago “Tribune” scary story competition 5 years before the book came out], was omitted. There still is a “Resurrection Mary” story that I sleuthed out with my daughter-in-law in tow many years later, but the explanation of how the myth of Resurrection Mary came to be was spelled out more fully in earlier books pictured.
But the first Volume One had a very bad cover (IMHO) and some very short stories that were not up-to-par. It also was never “proofed” prior to publication, for reasons that I cannot explain. I handed it in and the next thing I knew, it was “out there.” It had no pictures, unlike volumes 2 and 3, which depict my travels along the road from Chicago to Santa Monica.
Normally, I might not have bitten on the project, but the publication site for Quixote Books had moved from Wever, Iowa, near Burlington to my old hometown of Independence, Iowa. Bruce and Marilyn Carlson sold the business to Shari Hartkmeyer and, subsequently. Sadly, Bruce died in March of 2026, having sold over two million books. I always told Bruce that I was looking for a ghost that could cook, since he had cornered the market on ghost books and cookbooks. I’m still searching for that Culinary Casper.
It must be a sign from above that the new home of Quixote Books (and the Hearts and Tummies cookbooks) was Independence, Iowa. Now we could properly proof the stories I had written and put on a better cover. Also, we could remove the clip art, but that didn’t happen. Still, it is a collection of tales told me on the long journey from Illinois to California. I investigated to the best of my ability, unlike someone sitting in their living room (without the Internet) making up extremely short stories with no story “arc .”
If you want to read the lengthier backgrounding that I undertook for the story of Resurrection Mary, you might need to purchase the older books, too, but that’s completely up to you. I won’t be taking them to future Printers’ Row outings, because the reprint is much more error-free and has new material and a better cover.
Now comes the part about my dealings with the Bank of America that I will have to serialize, since it is an ongoing struggle the likes of which anyone who has ever attempted to do something by phone with a bot on the othr end can relate to.
End of Installment One
Movie Music Trivia Night at the Last Picture House, Davenport, Iowa on June 22nd, 2026.
I journeyed over to the Last Picture House in Davenport, Iowa, to play movie trivia tonight, but I misunderstood the extent of the task. I thought a snippet of music would be played and all I had to do was name the movie the song came from.
Wrong, Snore-Snout! This was only one of 3 things that I needed to be prepared to do. Rather than matching the music with a movie, you had to name the song, give the artist, and THEN name the movie the song was featured in.
Welllllll. This would have been 3 tasks per entry on Round One (15 points). I knew I needed daughter Stacey once it became clear that I was going to have to dredge up THREE things, rather than just one. There were 5 questions (worth 15 points) on the first round and there appeared to be 8 rounds with 5 questions each that were going to be asked of about 30 teams. Some teams had 8 people or more and many were foursomes. Seats were at a premium.
ARRIVE EARLY
Movie Trivia Night, June 22, 2026, The Last Picture House, Davenport, Iowa.
I did not get there early enough to get a seat but, thanks to Cathy and Carrie, I got a backless footstool, which was both good and bad. It was good to meet Cathy and Carrie, who let me sit with them, but the lack of a back sent me packing after I scored 9 points out of the first 15 possible in Round One. (This, to be clear, was not a “good” score, but it was also not the worst of all of the teams.)
I also had not eaten and it was getting to be close to 8 p.m., my back hurt, and, in round 2, the first song was a rap song. Yeahh…I wrote down L.L. Cool Jay, (which will date me and him), had no idea what the song might be, and had even less of an idea what movie utilized that song. (I use the term song loosely, being Old School…and just plain old).
MEA CULPE
But the biggest sign of my incompetence was knowing that Bette Midler sang this song in “Beaches” and also having once sung this song on a ship cruise (during amateur hour.) And my beautiful daughter-in-law once sang “Wind Beneath My Wings” in a beauty competition, which she won. However, did I remember the name ‘Wind Beneath My Wings?”
I did not. And that was some pretty dismal forgetting, when you think of my history with the song. (AAARRGGHHH.)
The original notice of the movie trivia event said it was to last from 7 to 8 p.m.
It was already 8 p.m. and we had not (yet) heard the results of Round 2. When you have close to 30 teams…..(finish that thought).
I had now consumed half a bag of popcorn, some Junior Mints, and a Diet Coke, but I had had no real food. You know that feeling you get in the pit of your stomach when you go to the movies and eat a bunch of movie junk food without having had a meal? It’s kind of a sick-to-your-stomach sickening feeling that requires a real meal to remedy it.
I knew that, back home, my golf-playing better half was going to be picking up Subway sandwiches, my back hurt, and my score, so far, was 9 points (of 15) which was not going to set the world on fire (or win this lengthy game)
The 100 or so participants at The Last Picture House in Davenport, Iowa, were doing well, and I learned a valuable lesson about going early enough to get a chair with a back—although the young folk pictured were doing just fine, seated on the floor playing Solitaire.
Ah, yes. I remember those days of floor-sitting.
Solitaire game in progress at Movie Trivia Night by floor sitters at The Last Picture Housel
As a team of one—and not one who paid much attention to the names of songs—I was at a distinct disadvantage.
Now I know I need daughter Stacey to make Team #17 have even a ghost of a chance—although I do want it on my record that, as a team of one, scoring 9 of 15 was not the worst score in the joint. But it looked like it was going to be downhill for me from then on without the assistance of daughter Stacey, who would have known every song and the name of every performer.
Next time.
Took in Wild Bill & the Bruisers show tonight in Chicago at the Broken Hearts Bar on Lake & Randolph. It was a fantastic high-energy, low-impact evening—except for when I nearly ripped poor Louis’s shirt off while dancing the two-step. (Something I have only done once before in my life. The dancing; not the ripping. I may have done the ripping previously a time or two. Louis is the white-haired gentleman who can be seen dancing, if YouTube will let me upload the clip, which is always dicey. Otherwise, use your imagination. Lewis is probably very happy that I am not a full-time local resident who might seek out his instruction. Also dicey.)
Louis (Lewis?) is a dance instructor somewhere nearby and a regular customer at Broken Hearts Chicago. Lewis, when asking me to dance, knew my first name. (I think Reily, who works at Broken Hearts Chicago, told Lewis my name and that I wanted to dance. I failed to get a picture of darling Reily, sadly. I may have captured Lewis in action, but, again, will YouTube let me make the video into a post? Always a question. If so,I’ll add it tomorrow and you can enjoy Lewis before I unintentionally attacked his shirt.)
I also didn’t get a picture of 25-year-old Atticus from California, who said he had an NDA that prevented him from having his picture taken. Atticus complimented me on my “great memory.” I think he was just surprised that someone as old as me could remember her own name, let alone the names of several of the bar’s patrons.
Lewis apparently thought I knew what the basic “two step” was prior to the dance invitation A: no.At one point, my little finger got caught in the snap closings of Louis’s shirt. (He was twirling me, at the time.) Not good for Louis’s shirt, and I definitely need better instructions for future two-step outings.
KATE
Kate & husband, from Wicker Park.
Kate and her husband of 10 years live in Wicker Park. She was seated near the photo booth and they were very congenial and said they had (originally) seen Wild Bill & the Bruisers in Nashville and knew they were very good. She mentioned other times that she and her husband had come out to hear Wild Bill & the Bruisers play. Wild Bill, the talented group lead, mentioned from the stage that the sound at tonight’s show (the trio has been on tour in New York, Ohio and elsewhere) was the best sound of the venues they have played while on tour.
BRIE
Brie was getting married in the morning. She looked very happy and Brandon, 23, was in town from Missouri for the wedding. I made Brandon take a turn on the dance floor, although he claimed to not know how to dance. My advice: “fake it till you make it.” So, we did, and, later he brought over a very pretty girl whom he described as the World’s Greatest Taylor Swift fan.
Also stopping by our table was the groom, Chosen, and Jason, the Best Man. Jason also sells cars in the Chicago area. He said he was planning on dancing with me, but the group then left to hit other bars in the area, so that didn’t happen. (After Lewis’s shirt incident, wise move on Jason’s part.)
The bride, Brie, on June 12, 2026, the night before her wedding,at Broken Heart Bar in Chicago. The groom, Chosen, and Best Man, Jason, smile for the camera.
Swiftie, Brie (the bride-to-be) and Brandon, at the Broken Hearts Bar in Chicago on Friday, June 26, 2026.
Wild Bill (Will) Allison of Wild Bill & the Bruisers on tour in Chicago on June 12, 2026.