Blog #364                                February 29, 2024

 

I don’t usually tell you long stories, but I talked about my brother last week and many of you showed some interest, so I’m going to talk some more about him.  Besides, you have nothing to do – it’s Leap Day.

 

Message from Shakespeare:  Be clamorous and leap all civil bounds (Twelfth Night).  Leap Day is my favorite day.  I can’t walk very well without my left leg, but I can leap as high as any cat.  Sorry, Pops.  I interrupted your story.  Go ahead and tell it.  It’s probably not funny.  Purr.

 

The story is about Unclaimed Property. That’s what they call it in the State of Missouri.  The Office of the State Treasurer accumulates uncashed checks and unclaimed awards and who-knows-what-else through its right of Escheat.  That’s our Weekly Word, and it means the reversion of property to the government.  Every so often, they publish a list of the “rightful owners” and wait in ambush for any naïve fool who thinks he can wheedle anything out of them.

 

I was one of those fools once.  My brother died in 2001.  He was the original Libertarian.  He did not believe in anything to do with the medical, legal, financial or insurance industries.  He had no doctor, no will, no health insurance and no desire to deposit the AT&T dividend checks.  You see, when my grandmother died in 1961, she left a few shares of AT&T stock to me, my sister and my brother. My sister, who was once voted The Craziest Woman in North America, immediately sold hers and bought cat food.  I don’t remember what I did with mine (I was 15).  My brother threw his in the trash.  But AT&T dutifully sent him dividend checks every quarter for 40 years.  Most of the checks were under a dollar or two.  They also wound up in the trash.  Who throws their mail in the trash?  Soon, AT&T became Qwest, Southwestern Bell, Bell South, Verizon and probably Dunkin’ Donuts, and all of them sent him dividends as well. 

 

A few years after he died, a friend of mine was looking at the Unclaimed Property list and saw my brother’s name, two hundred times.  All those uncashed dividend checks had piled up at the Treasurer’s office and were there for the taking.  Well, not so fast. 

 

To satisfy the state, I had to prove my brother was dead and died without a will.  Then I had to prove my father had died and provide his will (he left everything to me); the same for my sister (she left everything to her cats).  This was an endeavor only slightly less complicated than obtaining a Top- Secret Security Clearance from the Kremlin and as rewarding as baptizing a cat.  Once I had all of that paperwork teed up, I thought I was home free.  But so did Dorothy when she landed in Munchkin Land.

 

You see, my brother lived in various places during his adult life and the uncashed checks had been mailed to many addresses.  I had to prove that my brother had lived in those places.  A simple utility bill would suffice, but he had lived in some of these places so long ago, I wasn’t sure utilities had been invented yet.

 

This whole procedure, which had been copied step by step from the Ottoman Empire Handbook, took two years.  I never could prove that he had lived in some of the addresses and had to abandon those items, but at the end, I received about two thousand dollars for my efforts.

 

Six months later, I received an official letter from the Office of the State Treasurer informing me I needed to return the money because they had, in their calculations, neglected to provide for my sister’s cats.  I am not making any of this up.  After two years of frustration, the chances of my returning that check were about the same as the chances of Joy Behar inviting Donald Trump over for tea.  I threw the letter in the trash and have not heard from them since.

 

Last week, my wife’s cousin noticed her grandfather’s name was on that unclaimed property list.  She sent me an email asking me to help her locate four generations of legal paperwork, family trees and utility bills.  I replied that I had moved to Moscow and become a spy.

 

Hi there and welcome back.  Yes, today is Leap Day.  I hope you’re feeling well.  A February 29^th, once every four years, always confuses me.  Am I supposed to take extra pills?  At least it gives me an extra day to write to you.  Guys out there, do you do something on Leap Day that you wouldn’t do any other day of the year – like exercise?  And Girls, do you do something different, like telling your Guy what a good driver he is?  I know one thing you are all doing -- reading my blog.

 

This week, I visited Dr. Surgeon down at BJC, the largest hospital in St. Louis.   It has five main entrances and six parking garages, is the size of Switzerland and has more doctors than a Jewish country club.  It took me 20 minutes to drive there and 35 minutes to find a parking space in Garage F.  Clever name.  The surgeon and I talked about removing one of my parathyroid glands.  We talked for a bit and scheduled surgery for late March.  I could have scheduled it earlier, but I need more time to work myself into a frenzy of worry and childish anxiety.  I hesitated telling you this because, well, if I talk about my ailments, then you’re going to want to talk about yours and it will turn out to be as competitive as a game show.

 

Contestants will sit there and bicker

As to which one is weaker or sicker

And who has more ills

Or who takes more pills

And who has more wrong with his ticker.

 

We’ll call it The Kvetching Game or Gall in the Family or Spleen for a Day.

 

One of my poker friends died and was buried this week.  We will all miss Mel and know he will find comfort and peace in Heaven.  And peace to the rest of you out there.  Stay well and count your blessings.  I will see you next Thursday.

 

Michael                                    Send comments to mfox1746@gmail.com