THE RISE AND FALL OF  PIGGY STEINER

I met Piggy Steiner in 1954 when we were both freshmen at Senn High School on Chicago’s north side. Piggy, whose real name was Sidney, got his nickname because of his short, flat nose which gave him a somewhat porcine appearance.

I didn’t get to know Piggy well until our sophomore year when we were classmates in an American History course. I could see that Piggy was smart, although, he tried hard to give the impression that he didn’t have much interest in American History. When the teacher, Mrs. Nathan, asked him a question about the American Civil War, Piggy would shrug and feign ignorance. I think that he was more interested in giving the impression of rebelliousness rather than answering the question correctly. Being cool was his thing. Still, he did well on exams.

I came to learn that Piggy’s big interest was gambling. I knew this because every so often I was one of the six or so players in a poker game hosted by Piggy most every Saturday night at his parents’ apartment on Lake Shore Drive. The game often extended late into the night and it was said that Piggy sometimes won over a hundred dollars.

Piggy Steiner’s gambling passion was not confined to poker. “The Pigster” was a regular bettor on professional sports. You name it: football, basketball, baseball –

not to mention gambling on high school and college games including our Senn competitions. Much later, horse racing and boxing were added to the gambling list.

Piggy’s gambling brought him in contact with characters that other high school students usually did not know. Like Ace Binski. Ace was a bookie and much older than the other poker players. He handled all of Piggy’s wagers except on high school games, where Piggy made his own bets.

By the time that we graduated from Senn, Mr. Sidney Steiner was making an excellent living running his thriving gambling operation, probably more money than most of our fathers earned. He looked the part, too. Piggy usually wore a suit in contrast to the social club jackets most of us favored. And he seemed much older and experienced in the ways of the world than us boys. It was as though Piggy had skipped adolescence and jumped directly into adulthood. For example, I don’t think that Piggy ever suffered the embarrassment of teenage acne. When most of us were picking our pimples, Sidney was getting a shave of the manly beard covering his unblemished face along with a spit shine of his handsome Florsheim Wingtips at the barbershop in the classy Drake Hotel on Michigan Avenue.

After high school, I didn’t see much of Piggy He remained in the city and earned a business degree from Roosevelt University, while I got my B.A. from the University of Wisconsin in Madison. I had decided to become a lawyer. Frankly I wasn’t exactly sure what I wanted to do, but being an attorney carried a certain sense of prestige in my twenty-two-year-old mind. Anyway, it was a better alternative than working in my dad’s currency exchange. I didn’t have the money, grades or connections to get into any of the top-ranked law schools, but I was accepted by DePaul Law School in Chicago, which had a good reputation especially for having its graduates pass the Illinois bar exam.

So on a cold February morning in 1963, there I was in downtown Chicago at the DePaul College of Law – one of a crowd of first-year law students attending an orientation program. I was excited, nervous and a little frightened. At the first break, I was milling around the reception area when I heard my name. 

“Ante up Micky. Are you in?”  I was surprised. I turned around. It was Piggy. I hadn’t seen him in a couple of years. He was better dressed than the other students and he was heavier than I remembered, but he had that same confident swagger and attitude that seemed to say, ‘I got it all figured out and I know you don’t.’

“My god, Piggy. What are you doing here? I figured you’d own a casino or something by now.”

“I’ve paid a bundle to lawyers, so why not find out for myself what I’ve been paying for. Anyway, my old man thinks I’d be a better person if I had a law degree and it beats working in his pawn shop.”

“Are you still doing the gambling thing?”

“You bet. No pun intended,”

“So what’s going on with you? Still living with your folks on The Drive?”

“No way Mick. I got my own place. A sweet townhouse in Lincoln Park. I live there and run the betting operation out of that place. You gotta come over. You know, I still have the poker game going Saturday nights.”

“Don’t tell me it’s the same gang from high school?”

“The only one from the old bunch that still plays is Billy Greenberg.”

“I kinda lost track of Billy. What’s he doing now?”

“He flunked outa Roosevelt, so now he’s selling furniture at Fields.”

“Say hello to Billy for me.”

“Come to the game Saturday night and tell him yourself.”

Two Saturday nights later, I did come to Piggy’s poker game and I talked to Billy Greenberg – not a long conversation. Billy and I had never been close and not seeing him for a couple of years hadn’t made us any closer. I wasn’t crazy about the other guys in the game, which included Ace Binski who chain-smoked Camel cigarettes all night and said very little, especially to me. Binski was older than the other players. And the game was serious – not much talking and no joking around like we did in the old high school game. I felt out of place and the stakes were too rich for me. I left about eleven while the game was still going strong. Piggy and Billy offered me a brief goodbye; the others barely acknowledged my departure. Later I learned that the game had lasted ‘til two in the morning and that the big winners were Piggy and Ace who split, Piggy told me, about five hundred bucks.

As it turned out, Piggy and I were in the same Constitution Law and Contracts classes at DePaul. Piggy missed about a third of those classes and didn’t participate much in classroom discussions when he did attend, but when the instructor asked him a question his answer was almost always clear and to the point. And his exam results were excellent. I mean you had to give it to the Pig. Maybe I was a little jealous and a bit in awe of him. Here I was burning the midnight oil studying hard and Mr. Sidney Steiner’s grades and mine were about the same – not at the very top of our class, but firmly in the upper quarter. And Piggy was achieving these high academic results while running a highly profitable illegal gambling business. Was Piggy Steiner really that clever?

Over the following two years, as I spent considerable time with Piggy in and outside of law school; I came to this conclusion: Sidney “Piggy” Steiner possessed a high- level intelligence. He was no genius, but he was damn sharp both in the classroom as well as on the challenging streets of Chicago. I didn’t think about it back then, but if I had, my question would have been: What would Piggy do with all those smarts?

Did Piggy think about that? My guess is not too much. When we were studying for the Bar Exam, I asked him what kind of law he planned to practice.

“You know me well enough Micky to know that I’m not exactly the corporate type. I don’t see me working a hundred hours a week in one of those giant law factories. Not for me.”

“So what then?”

“I figure why should I work like a slave to make a ton of money for someone

else.  Whatever I do it’s going to be for me – not somebody else.”

“You mean set up your own firm?”

“Right. How about you? What does Micky Block want?”

“I’m not sure. Right now I’m just concentrating on passing the bar exam.”

“When you do, let’s talk. I think we’d make a damn good team.”

I was a little flattered by Piggy’s offer. Every so often I had thought about Piggy and me as law partners but then the idea faded away. No doubt, Piggy knew how to make money. He was a real mover and shaker – an operator. All the things I was not. Piggy certainly knew what he wanted, which was mostly money. And he obviously knew how to get it – even if that might mean bending or breaking the rules. To Piggy being a lawyer gave him special knowledge - inside information that could help him game the system so that he wouldn’t lose. This view of the practice of law was far from mine. To be clear; I was not an innocent. I had grown up the son of cynical parents. I understood the hard reality of how things worked in the world- especially in the world of Chicago. I too was hungry for success. Sure I wanted money and the things it could provide. But most important to me being an attorney meant respect, prestige. I don’t think that Piggy cared about that.

As fate would have it, Piggy and I did wind up working together, but not as partners in our start up law firm. What did happen was that both of us, after passing the bar exam, accepted jobs as associates at Meyers Rawlings & Cooper, a mid-size Chicago law firm specializing in personal injury cases. MR&C. had been in business for fifteen years and maintained a roster of seventeen attorneys, now including Piggy and me. The firm had a reputation for being aggressive both in trying cases in court and in negotiating legal settlements out of court. The reality of the marketplace was the deciding factor in Piggy’s and my taking our positions at MR&C. rather than starting our own law practice. Put bluntly we didn’t have any clients nor the immediate prospect of finding any. So both Piggy and I were glad to receive MR&C’s offers of employment.

Our stay at MR&C lasted only eighteen months and in that time we learned one emphatic lesson about the practice of personal injury law. To wit: find and secure contracts as attorneys of record with clients whose potential winning verdicts or settlements provide substantial financial rewards for our clients and, of course, for the attorneys representing same clients. In other words: sign up clients who are most likely to guarantee big paydays.

This “harvesting” of promising clients, for example, some poor soul who had lost an arm or leg while operating a defective machine at a factory owned by a deep-pockets corporation. That was a great prospect. Piggy and I quickly learned that this kind of sympathetic client was, so to speak, money in the bank. Moreover, Sidney “Piggy” Steiner possessed all the indispensable qualities of a successful harvester. He had an innate ability to convince would-be fat prospects of his empathy for their tragic cases – and even though he was a young man; he radiated a sense of competence and confidence. Prospective clients believed that this sincere young man understood their pain and suffering and was damn well going to win for them substantial compensation. They trusted him. This attribute was to play an important part in all of Piggy’s life. Piggy was a rainmaker and eighteen months at MR&C was enough time for him to confirm that the big money was not in working for MR&C. He figured that he could harvest his own clients – make some of his own rain. He would need solid back up – someone with the smarts to work up the cases that he would bring into our fledgling firm. So he asked me to meet him for breakfast one beautiful Sunday morning in May at the Bagel Deli on Broadway in the Lakeview neighborhood. Over salami omelets, we talked about our possible futures.

“Look Micky, the guys a MR&C aren’t geniuses and they’re making a bundle. We can too.”

“They have a long list of clients. We don’t.”

“We will.”

“How?”

“I’ve been doing some research and I have a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Let me ask you this: Where does MR&C get most of their business? I’ll tell you where – from other lawyers who refer cases to them for a commission of what MR&C makes on the referred cases.”

“Piggy, this is not top-secret information.”

“True. So tell me Micky – what kind of commission does MR&C pay these guys?”

“You know, thirty percent.”

“So how about we pay referring lawyers fifty percent?”

“Is that kosher?”

“Absolutely, I looked it up.”

“Not a kickback, which you know is illegal?”

“Not if we get the referral from another lawyer.”

“Even if the commission is fifty percent?”

“Hell, we could even pay them more if we wanted to.”

“So you think that we could get referrals from other lawyers if we offered them half of our payouts.”

“I think that the big commission is key but we also have to convince them that we’re really sharp and that we’ll work our young asses off to win big verdicts and settlements. To be honest, I don’t believe that it will be easy getting clients at first. But this strategy will get us started. Anyway, if we crap out, we probably could get our job back with MR&C or some other firm.”

“You really think this will work Piggy?”

“I think that the odds are with us. I think we should take a shot Mick.”

Even though I had a vague feeling that I might be making a mistake, like did I trust Piggy? I put my doubts aside and agreed to our nascent partnership. Over the next three years, Piggy proved right. We worked twelve-hour days, often longer. But gradually we started to get business and more important winning substantial payouts. Now referrals were coming to us from other lawyers without us having to offer a rich fifty percent commission. Our impressive new offices on LaSalle Street provided accommodations for six attorneys including Piggy and me. We needed all of us to handle our burgeoning practice. Our leader and rainmaker was Mr. Sidney Steiner. Piggy was the indispensable man who brought almost all the business into Steiner and Block Attorneys at Law.

So there we were just pushing thirty. Piggy and I. The money was good – better than good, but I was a cautious guy. Who knew how long the good times would roll?  So my only purchases of any size were to replace my twelve-year old Toyota with a new Honda Accord bought for cash, and to move out of my parents’ apartment in middle-class Albany Park where I had been living in one of the bedrooms since they bought the three-bedroom condo when I was in the 7th grade. I leased a tony apartment overlooking the park on Lake Shore Drive and I acquired three suits from Brooks Brothers: one blue, one black and one gray.

Piggy, on the other hand, celebrated our success by marrying Phillis Lipman, a secretary in our law office. I had no idea that Piggy was in a romantic relationship with Phillis. I didn’t know much about Phillis. She was pretty, if a bit plump. The Yiddish word was zaftig. She seemed conscientious and competent in her work and was always willing to work late if requested. She seemed pleasant if somewhat shy.

Having said all that, I was completely surprised by Piggy’s marriage announcement until he told me confidentially that shy, zaftig Phillis Lipman was four months pregnant with his child.

“So Piggy is this what you want? Is it what Phillis wants?” I asked him.

“Definitely Phillis wants to get married and definitely she wants to have the kid. Don’t ask about abortion. She considers that murder.”

“How about you Piggy. Marriage, a kid. You’re okay with this?”

“Let’s just say that it wouldn’t have been my number one plan, but I like Phillis and maybe a wife and a kid will, you know, sort of settle me down.”

“What do your folks think?”

“Well, they like that I’m marrying a nice Jewish girl. About the pregnancy they’re not so enthusiastic, but I think my mom is secretly looking forward to being a grandma. Anyway, it’s a done deal.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“As soon as possible. Just family. Quiet.”

I did not ask Piggy how a smart guy like him could let this happen. I didn’t have to. I was sure my law partner knew that he had screwed up and he didn’t need me to point it out.  

So the wedding took place without fanfare, quiet as the whispers barely heard at the ceremony attended by only immediate family and a few close friends. My guess is that the small affair was a relief to the more than zaftig Phillis now six months pregnant and to the embarrassed parents.

Freezing gray winter turned to a warmer, lighter shade of pinkish spring and then to the hot golden Chicago summer. Sarah Jean Steiner was born that August, a real beauty everyone said, especially the proud father who I suspected feared that tiny Sarah might inherit his porcine facial features.

I was amazed at the change in Piggy’s behavior. He completely shut down the gambling operation and continued to devote enormous efforts to the success of Steiner and Block, Attorneys at Law. All of his other considerable energy was focused on the gorgeous Sarah Jean. Piggy’s transformation from fast-living hustler to loving and dedicated father and husband was hard for me to fathom, but after a year of witnessing the new Piggy in action I was a convert, a disciple of the now apparently transformed Sidney Steiner.

I can’t say exactly when Piggy started slipping back to his old ways. The first I noticed of his, I’ll call it, fall from grace, was when Piggy invited me to join the reconvened poker game.

 “I thought that the poker game was history.”

“It’s no big deal Micky. Once in a while I get some of the old gang together and we play a few hands, have a few laughs – nothing crazy.”

“Where’s the game?”

“At Ace’s apartment downtown.”

“Not at your place?”

“No, I figured that it would be better at Ace’s so that we wouldn’t disturb the baby and Phillis.”

“Well, count me out.”

“Come on Mick, we’ll have a little fun.”

“I gotta tell you Piggy, the poker game with Ace for me was not a fun game.”

“You don’t like Ace, do you?”

“No I don’t. Look Piggy, you’re my friend and business partner so I’m gonna give you some unasked-for advice: Ace Binski is bad news. He’s a crook. I don’t trust him and neither should you.”

“Christ Micky, it’s not like Ace is my best pal. I know he’s a little tricky, but believe me I can handle him.”

“I hope so, but to be honest I was kinda hoping that when you got married and became a daddy, you’d get rid of Binski.”

“Look, Micky, Ace is just a guy I play poker with once in a while.”

“Come on, everyone knows Ace is your partner in your new gambling business.” Piggy started to protest, but I raised my hands in a sign of reluctant acceptance. “All I’m saying Piggy is be careful. This is not a guy I would trust. What’s the line about getting fleas when you lie down with dogs? You know what I mean?”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Don’t worry, I can handle Binski.”

“I don’t know why you don’t just get rid of him.”

“Mick, you’re overreacting. Ace is not public enemy number one.”

The conversation went on like this awhile longer. Piggy did not then nor later end his relationship with Ace Binski. As I write this some 35 years later, I wonder how much different Piggy’s life might have been if he had taken my advice.

Over the following eight years, the law firm of Steiner and Block grew and prospered. Piggy and I were making more money than I ever imagined. Piggy and Phillis had another child, Norah. I married a girl I had originally met when we were both students at the University of Wisconsin. Her name was Judy Barry and two years after our marriage, a daughter was born. We named her Lily after my grandmother, Leah.

Piggy and I rarely saw each other outside of work except for special occasions like funerals, weddings and bar mitzvahs. We did not talk about Ace Binski, but I suspected that Piggy and Binski continued their close business and personal relationship.

It was late one November night. Piggy and I we're working at the office on a big case. Piggy lit a Marlboro cigarette with one that he was smoking. The stale stink of several spent cigarettes and Piggy’s persistent hacking cough became so irritating to me that I finally asked him to stop smoking.

            “You’ve probably smoked two packs tonight. Keep it up and you’re gonna kill yourself. Don’t you read the medical statistics?”

            “I know, it’s a lousy habit, but I can’t seem to quit. I got a lot on my mind.”

I thought about not asking the obvious question, but I guess I wanted to know what was actually on my business partner’s mind.

            “Like what?”

            “For starters, things aren’t so good with me and Phillis.”

            “I’m sorry to hear that. What’s going on?”

            “Let’s just say the passion just isn’t there anymore. What’s that Italian expression about marriage? ‘A year of fire and thirty years of ashes’, or something like that.”

            “How does Phillis feel?”

            “I think she tried to rev up the sex for awhile, then she gave up.”

Piggy paused for a moment as though he was trying to collect his thoughts.

            “What the hell Mick, it isn't all Phillis - it's mostly my fault. Phillis is no dummy; she knows I'm not happy with our marriage. She knows I've been screwing around. She confronted me about it months ago and, of course, I lied and told her that she was imagining things. Maybe she half bought my story for a while, but a couple of weeks ago, I came home at 2:00 A.M. smelling of perfume that definitely was not hers. We had a big fight and I admitted everything. Now I'm sleeping in the den and I'm getting the silent treatment from her.”

            “Are you in love with someone else Piggy?”

            “Come on Mickey – no. I'm just, I don't know, looking for something that's missing at home. Sex is part of the problem, but not all of it. It’s like I got dealt a bad hand and I’m stuck with it. I'm sorry to hurt Phillis. I feel guilty about her and the kids. I don't want to break up the marriage.”

            “Piggy, what do I know? But what do you expect from Phillis? My advice is to work things out before everything blows up in your face – if that’s possible.”

            “I don’t know if it can be fixed. That’s why I’m smoking like a chimney.”

 Four weeks later, Piggy told me that he and Phillis had been seeing a marriage counselor and that he thought the marriage was in a much better place. I told him that I was glad to hear that good news, but in my heart and head I doubted that this   troubled marriage would survive.

It didn't. A year later, Piggy and Phillis divorced. As Piggy had noted, Phillis was no dummy. She hired Lester Cohen, one of Chicago's sharpest divorce attorneys to represent her. When Cohen was done with the vulnerable Sidney Steiner, Piggy was almost broke.

Our law practice continued to function. Money kept coming in, but the early feeling of achievement, of success, wasn't there. The excitement was gone. And so was Piggy much of the time. Piggy had always been easily bored. Now with the law firm operating on automatic and without the restraints that marriage had imposed on him; he turned to other pursuits like gambling, which meant Myron Binski, aka Ace. Piggy’s absence got to the point that I couldn't ignore it. After again attempting unsuccessfully to set up a meeting to discuss this matter with my elusive partner, I was stewing in my anger and frustration when Leon Shane walked into my office.

Leon was our in-house CPA. The child of a single mother; Leon's father had deserted his wife and six-year-old Leon never to be heard from again. Fortunately, Leon was smart and tough. He worked his way through the University of Chicago by driving a cab, waiting tables and tutoring. A partial scholarship helped. He would have gone on to law school if not for the need to support his mother. He was now in his second year at Loyola Law School, attending classes at night while conscientiously performing his duties at Steiner and Block. He did not possess an outgoing personality but was highly respected at the firm for his diligence and good judgment.

“Micky, I’d like to discuss something with you. It’s important.”

“Sure Leon. What’s up?”

“I’ll get right to the point. The firm’s trust account, the funds of our clients that we hold in trust for them as of today should total one million four hundred and sixty thousand dollars. That account is one hundred sixty-two thousand dollars short.”

“Short! That’s not possible.” I almost shouted.

“I’ve checked and double checked.”

“What the hell is goin’ on?”

Leon placed several documents on my desk. As the papers fell, they seemed to resonate like the bang of a judge’s gavel.

            “I was going to ask you that question. These are requests for fund releases. There are five over the past three months. Please look them over. As required, each is signed by Mr. Steiner and by you.”

Bewildered I examined the documents. As Leon had noted, all the request for funds

(RFFs) we're signed by me and Piggy except my signature was not mine. It looked authentic, but it was a forgery.

            “My god, that son of a bitch Piggy did it,” I whispered, maybe fearing that someone other than Leon would hear me; although no one else was in my office.

            “I think you're right. What are you going to do Micky?”

            “I don’t know exactly what I’ll do, but I'm going to talk to Piggy right away and I'm going to get some answers. It looks like he stole a hundred sixty grand and forged my signature.”

            “One hundred sixty-two thousand,” Leon corrected me.

I spoke on the phone to Piggy briefly directly after my meeting with Leon. I demanded an explanation for the missing trust funds. Piggy assured me that everything was under control and that he would straighten everything out that night. Our meeting was at the Four Seasons hotel just off Michigan Avenue where Piggy had been living since separating from Phillis. The memory of the meeting is vivid in my mind although it was long ago.  The deluxe hotel room was overheated. A room-service table contained the remnants of a half-eaten steak sandwich and a few French fries. An open bottle of Glenfiddich Scotch Whiskey dominated the table. A muted TV showed a Cub game.

Piggy sat on the bed dressed in undershorts and a food-stained t-shirt. His ample belly hung over his shorts. He looked dissipated, older than his thirty-eight years.  Piggy spoke first.

            “Micky, before you start geshreying at me, I want you to know that this was a loan that I will repay in full.”

            “Who the fuck are you talking to Piggy? This is Micky. We go back to high school. I know you man. I'm not some schmuck you can con. What were you thinking when you forged my signature?”

            “Look, I'm in deep shit. Phillis is killing me in the divorce and you might as well know, I owe some very bad people a lot of money.”

            “Why am I not surprised. Don’t you think you should have talked to me about it before you stole a hundred and sixty-two thousand bucks?”

            “I know. I know I should have, but I didn’t have any time. These guys were not going to wait for their money.”

            “It’s not our money and you need to put all of it back.”

“I intend to.”

“I mean now.”

“Well, I need some time.”

“Where are you going to get the money?”

“I can come up with maybe one hundred thousand - sell some jewelry, the Mercedes, cash in insurance policies. My old man will loan me some of it. I’ll get the rest somewhere.”

“You come up with a hundred grand and I'll loan you the other sixty-two thousand.” Those words just flew out of my mouth without thinking. “But Piggy this is Tuesday, every penny of the one hundred sixty-two thousand dollars must be back in the trust account by this Friday.”

“You're saving my life, Micky. Why?”

“I don't know, Piggy. Call it for old times sake. I’ll probably regret it. I don’t understand you. Never will. You got everything going for you and you screw it all up. It's your nature. You're a genius at building great things and then destroying everything you put together.”

“Don't you think I know it and it's killing me. I'll do better.  I'll make it up to you, pal.”

“Piggy get this straight. I'm not your pal. Pals don't steal from their pals. You not only stole money, you forged my name. After the money is back in the trust account, I'm gone. Find another partner.”

That Friday the one hundred sixty-two thousand dollars was returned to the trust account. The one hundred sixty-two thousand included my sixty-two thousand, which I had obtained through a second mortgage on the house in Glencoe that my wife, Judy and I had bought only two years before. Judy thought that my loan to Piggy was a big mistake - that Piggy would never pay us back, but she went along with my decision.

Though Piggy tried everything that he could to dissuade me from leaving the firm, including his promise to make monthly payments from his share of profits until my sixty-two-thousand-dollar loan was repaid – with interest. It was probably a good deal, but I just wanted to get the hell away from Piggy, from all his bullshit and corrupt associates.  I saw a train wreck coming and I didn’t want to be on board. Two weeks after the money was returned to the trust account, I resigned from Steiner and Block. Now Piggy was on his own.

I landed a position with a large, respected Chicago law firm. The money was nowhere near what I had been making at Steiner and Block, but for the first time in years I found myself without the need to take half a dozen antacid tablets every day. Within three years I was named partner.  Today, I'm still here happily practicing law.

For about two years Piggy made regular payments to me on his sixty-two-thousand-dollar debt. He still owed a little over twenty-five thousand when his payments stopped. This was about the time that what remained of his law firm, now called Steiner Law, dissolved. I had heard from a couple of lawyers who had left Steiner Law that the firm was in financial trouble. One of those lawyers told me that Piggy, a paralegal and a part-time secretary were the only ones that remained at what once had been our fast-growing and prosperous practice. He also said that Piggy looked more and more like his nickname as he was now grossly overweight and he suspected that Piggy was, as he put it, ‘ fucked up on booze and various drugs most of the time.’

I had had almost no contact with Piggy since I escaped from Steiner and Block. I debated with myself whether to call him now. In a way I was sorry for Piggy, but I didn't fool myself that I could somehow straighten him out – set him on a better course.  For one thing, I didn't think that he wanted any wisdom from me. Unless Piggy had lost more than his money – namely his pride, his chutzpah; he would surely just shine me on. Anyway he owed me twenty-five thousand dollars so I phoned him and was surprised that he sounded articulate - no sign of the alcohol or drug abuse that I had been warned about.

            “Piggy, it’s Micky.”

            “Long time no talk. I suppose you’re calling about the loan. I know I missed a couple of payments. It’s a little tight right now, but . . . “ 

I interrupted.

            “Let’s set aside talk about money for now. I called because I heard you were shutting down the office and that you had some health problems.”

            “That was thoughtful Mick. Yeah, business has been slow and I can't afford the big overhead. I figure I can do better on my own with a little clerical help – small office.”

            “How about your health?”

            “Well, the truth is I let myself get way out of shape but I'm on a diet and completely off the booze and some other shit that I shouldn't have messed with.”

            “I’m glad to hear that. You sound pretty good.”

            “Don’t write me off yet old friend. I've got some exciting plans.” Piggy paused here as if he was reading my mind. “And Micky, I haven’t forgotten about the money I owe you. I just need to get my act together and I’ll start paying again.”

“I never doubted that you were good for the money.” I lied.

“I appreciate that Micky. Hey, maybe we can get together sometime.”

But, of course, we didn’t, not until almost three years had elapsed.

During that time, I talked on the phone with Piggy several times mostly about the loan repayment, although I made a point not to press him about the money. In almost three years he paid back only another five thousand dollars. When I tried to ask him about what he was doing regarding his life in general, Piggy was vague and evasive.

Then one dark Chicago January day late in the afternoon the wind roaring off Lake Michigan blasting a stinging flurry of sleet in my face; shivering I ducked into the welcome refuge of the Daley Center where I had an appointment. As I was brushing the sleet from my coat, I was greeted by Bob Mann. Bob was a lawyer and old friend. He and I had known each other since high school. Back then Bob had palled around with Piggy.

“That's a terrible thing about Piggy,” Bob said.

“What?”

“Micky, I just heard it on WBBM.”

“I didn’t have the car radio on.”

“Well, I’m afraid our old friend finally got himself into some really serious trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“According to WBBM, he was running some kind of big insurance fraud involving fake car crashes. His name and a bunch of others were mentioned.”

I was so stunned all I did was shake my head in disbelief.

            “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news Micky. I hope that all of this isn’t as awful as it sounds.”

After I left Bob Mann, I too hoped that the news about the insurance fraud was somehow wrong, but my gut told me even before I knew all the facts that it was true.

The two-column-full-page story was reported on page three of the Chicago Tribune the following day.  I'll summarize:

            Piggy and thirteen others including Myron “Ace” Binski were charged by the Cook County States Attorney with insurance fraud. Piggy was described simply as a Chicago attorney and Ace as a Chicago resident who had been twice convicted of syndicated gambling (bookmaking) and charged but not convicted of assault. The defendants were accused of arranging and participating in staged automobile accidents which included bogus physical and emotional injuries to the drivers and passengers of the vehicles involved in the alleged crimes. The States Attorney had been investigating this scam for over a year. They estimated that the defendants had collected over five million in fraudulent claims.  An old photograph of a younger, slimmer Piggy was included in the story.

I read the Tribune piece at about six the following morning when the paper was delivered to my home in Glencoe. The black sky matched my gloomy mood. Already I was aware of several people I knew who were perversely celebrating Piggy’s apparent downfall. I was not one of the shadenfreuders but I didn't see myself as Piggy’s rescuer. Probably the best thing for me to do was nothing, Piggy had gotten himself into this jam. Now it was his problem, not mine. On the other hand, I had known this complicated guy for most of my life. It was a terrible time for him. Maybe he needed a friend, if that's what I was. So I phoned Piggy.

It took three tries to get a return and when I did the call was very brief. Piggy said that he didn’t want to talk on the phone, but that he would like to meet and asked me to pick him up that evening. He gave me an address on Kenmore Avenue on the Northside.

As I drove to that meeting, I pondered for the hundredth time why I was doing this and what possible good could come of this discussion. The address on Kenmore was on a block of old apartment buildings that had seen better days. A few six flats had been converted to single resident occupancy facilities. Waiting outside in front of one of the SROs, even though the temperature was below freezing, was Piggy and another man. I opened the door on the passenger side. The frigid air hit my face like a hard slap. I called out to Piggy.

“Get in. I could have picked you up inside. You must be freezing out here.”

Piggy and his companion lumbered into the car, Piggy into the front seat beside me and the other man settled himself in the back.

            “To tell you the truth, I wanted to get the hell outa that dump. The place stinks and I could use some fresh air. My friend in the back seat there is John.”

John nodded to me in recognition.

            “Micky, thanks for doin’ this. There’s a good, small restaurant nearby on Clark Street. If it’s okay with you, we can talk there.”

The restaurant was small, really a café, maybe ten tables - and very clean. Several photographs of local politicians and sports celebrities hung on the walls. It was about half filled with diners. I was surprised when John took his place at a table next to the one Piggy and I occupied. Piggy explained.

            “John is here to kind of look after me. He respects our privacy.”

The waitress, a tired-looking woman I guessed in her fifties, took our coffee orders.

            “So what’s goin’ on, Piggy?

Piggy looked at me for what seemed like a long time. Then he smiled. I think it was the saddest smile I had ever seen.

            “I'll cut right to the chase. Pretty much everything in the papers or on TV or anywhere about me is true.”

            “Christ, Piggy – why?”

            “The oldest reason in the world. I needed money and I couldn't figure any other way to get it fast enough.”

            “An insurance scheme like that. My god Piggy, you're smarter than that.”

            “Well, I wasn't and Ace made it look like an easy score. And I was desperate. I owed a ton of money to bad people. Yeah, you guessed it. I was mostly in hock to Ace and his partners.”

            “That son-of-a-bitch. He was always a no good. I wish that you had got rid of him a long time ago.”

            “Too late now.”

            “Piggy, I'm not here to break your balls. What now?”

            “What can I say – I’m scrambling for my life.” He glanced over his shoulder at John who sat quietly alone at the table nearby.

            “So I made a deal with the state's attorney. I told them everything I know about the scam: names, places, dates - the whole nine yards. John works for them. He's here to protect me from the bad guys who would much prefer for me to shut my mouth.”

            “What’s your deal?”

            “I stay out of prison.”

            “And?”

            “And nothing. I lose my law license. I forfeit all my assets. But I’ll be free – to do what I’m not sure.”

            “That’s a tough deal, man. I’m sorry. I really am.” I hesitated for a moment. “We go back a long way. We had some good times.”

            “We did. You know Mick you’re the only person I wanted to talk to. Isn’t that a hell of a thing.”

            “What about your family?”

Piggy’s sad smile reappeared. Maybe it had never left his face.

            “You probably know, my parents are dead. Thank God they didn’t live to see this. As for Phillis, she wrote me off long ago. She’s remarried to a dentist and lives in Oak Park – I think. I’ve tried to see my kids, but no go. My old family doesn’t exist. They have a new life, which does not include me. I’m sure that now with all this shit coming down, I’m an embarrassment that they would just as soon forget.”

What do you say to someone who has lost everything. The best I could do sounded hollow and trite.  “I know you, Piggy – you’ll land on your feet.”

           
            “You know, Mick, I’ve had plenty of time lately to think about a lot of stuff that I never got around to. I always had this feeling that I was smarter than everyone – like I had this power to see things coming that nobody else could. I don’t mean like a fortune teller – more like a super ability to outsmart everyone – all of the regular people. I kind of figured they were suckers. Not me, I was way ahead of everybody. It’s hard to explain and it turned out to be bullshit – hell of a thing.”

            “You always liked to take chances. This time it didn’t work out.”

            “You’re right. Takin’ chances – going with the long odds – turned me on. I just was absolutely sure what cards were going to be played. I kind of knew better but I couldn’t stop myself from tryin’ to get an edge – you know, stick it to the so-called smart guys. Nothing turned me on like that. I’m probably not making any sense.”

Piggy went silent for a moment, then indicated a young couple with their two small, well-behaved children at the nearby table.

            “Don’t you think that a thousand times I looked at regular people like them and wondered why I couldn’t be like that – play it safe. I tried, but . . . “

            “You can only do what you can do, my friend.”

Piggy seemed to suddenly snap out of his pensive reflection.

            “Yeah, anyway, Mick, I doubt that you’ll see me again. That’s the main reason I wanted to get together tonight.”

It turned out that Piggy was right. After that memorable night, so many years ago, he disappeared. The strange thing is that a few times a year afterwards, I received in the mail money orders from Piggy – usually for five hundred to nine hundred dollars. No note. Just the money orders.

They stopped when Piggy had paid me back the balance on the loan that I made to him decades before and so did any other communication with Mr. Sidney Steiner, known to everyone as Piggy.

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