wimbledon

i often rode the train out from london and walked up the hill to my brother's art gallery.  from my standpoint it was beautifully situated - between a pub and a betting shop.   after  a beer and a bet [the bookmaker often disclaimed in disgust "here comes that bloody yank again"] i would  retire to ed's white walled gallery to study the racing papers. 

one day, quietly sitting, contemplating, i was confronted by a public servant looking type - cheap shirt, dirty knot in his tie, spattered pants - "you pollard?" the creature inquired..."i am," i replied.  "got something for you," and he thrust a bunch of papers in my face.  "ed," i called out.  "there's a delivery for you," for our friend was followed by another sort wrestling a carton laden trolley in the door.

"what's this all about, then?" asked my brother.  "don't know.  sign here," replied our new found friend.  signature and cartons exchanged, we looked at each other, puzzled.  when examined the cartons proved startling.  what we realized, after much deliberation, was that we were being sued for 600,000,000 english pounds - 1,000,000,000 american dollars!

"call dolman,"  we both said at once, dolman being our solicitor, a partner in the law firm our family had used for over 140 years.  "this can't be true!"

it was true we were being sued - but the reasons were murky.  our father was a great sailor and had a norwegian friend with whom he often sailed the fjords.  the norwegian - and here's the murky part - was a spot player in the oil market...one day worth a billion, the next day worth nothing, or in the hole.  unfortunately, he died one day when he was in the hole.  his heirs didn't know that and were turning over every rock to find the money.  our father, the oil baron's banker, was dead as well so they pounced on the next tier.  sadly, for them and for us, we didn't have it.  even the interest would have been satisfactory.

the suit was summarily dismissed.

that was my only experience in big banking and wildcatting.