Tag: Bank of America

Banks of America, Banking, and Me

On July 8, 2026

In Editorial, Humor and Weird Wilson-isms, Local, News, Of Local (Quad Cities') Interest, Pop Culture, Texas

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.

Bank of America, Ghostly Tales of Route 66, & Me: Installment #4

By Connie Wilson

On June 29, 2026

In Editorial, Humor and Weird Wilson-isms, Local, News, Of Local (Quad Cities') Interest, Pop Culture

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.

Bank of America, Ghostly Tales of Route 66 & Me: Installment #3

By Connie Wilson

On June 27, 2026

In Books, Editorial, Humor and Weird Wilson-isms, Local, News, Of Local (Quad Cities') Interest, Pop Culture

Bank of America

Sep 20, 2025 — The emblem was a stylized monogram “BA”, with both letters merged in one smooth symbol with thick rounded lines and shortened horizontal bars.

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?

POPE LEO & ME

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 13^th. 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 13^th 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 13^th, 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 13^th, 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.

Bank of America, Ghostly Tales and Me

By Connie Wilson

On June 26, 2026

In Best Paranormal Stories Online to Read | Paranormal Podcast, Books, Humor and Weird Wilson-isms, Local, Of Local (Quad Cities') Interest, Pop Culture

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″

19.3″

January 21-February 2, 2015

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