I performed the following story at the Black Cat nightclub in Washington, D.C., before a sellout crowd of 500, on March 12, 2019. The show was hosted by one of the nation’s top storytelling groups, STORY DISTRICT, and featured eight other very entertaining storytellers. The theme of the evening was: Finish Him: Stories about Battles Won and Lost.
When I came home to Annapolis after serving in the Navy during the Vietnam War, I was angry, disillusioned, and really didn’t care about anything. I just wanted to be a hippie and have some fun. But I needed to pay the bills. So, I took a job with The Evening Capital newspaper in Annapolis, doing a column called “Action Line”, where I tried to help people who felt they had been swindled by some local or out-of-town business — usually warranty scams or home improvement ripoffs.
I always tried my best to resolve the disputes, but I never got emotionally involved … until one cold winter day, when I got a letter from a little girl named Angela who had gotten a pair of figure skates for Christmas and the blades were loose. Her dad had returned them to the sporting goods store in Annapolis and the owner had sent them back to the factory for repair. But when they came back from the factory, the blades were still loose.
So, I called the factory in Queens, New York, identified myself as a reporter from The Evening Capital newspaper in Annapolis, Maryland, and asked to speak to somebody in charge. I ended up getting Frankie, the factory boss. Frankie was straight out of “The Sopranos”. He had the classic mobster voice. He was belligerent and rude. And he clearly thought that Queens was the center of the universe. I could easily imagine some burly Guido with a stubby cigar sticking out of the side of his face.
I calmly told Frankie about little Angela, and how the broken skates had been sent back to his factory for repair, and Frankie cut me off. “Now, you listen. I’m a very busy man. I run a big factory up here in New York City. And I don’t give a rat’s ass about some little girl from — “Where’d you say ya from? — Annapleburg? I got no time for this kinda crap.”
And he slammed down the phone.
As I sat there trying to figure out what had just happened, I got madder and madder. Because I realized that the factory wasn’t going to fix little Angela’s skates. And an arrogant prick with a New York accent had just pissed in my face. But even worse, this arrogant prick from, “God Give Me Strength”, Queens New York, had also pissed all over my hometown of Annapolis, one of the most beautiful Colonial cities in America. So now it was personal. And I was going to give this tough guy a geography lesson that he would never forget.
But you need to realize that I had no real power. I worked for a small town newspaper hundreds of miles away and couldn’t threaten him in any way. And for all I knew, Frankie was purebred Mafia and I might get my ass killed. But I didn’t care because I was on the side of the angels. But I knew that I was going to have to be very creative.
So, I went over to the Maryland Law Library which happened to be in Annapolis, it being the state capital. And I discovered that the factory was in violation of the Interstate Commerce Act because they were supposed to attach a small plate to the bottom of the skates saying they had been assembled in New York. I had seen the skates and here was no plate. BINGO! I had him.
I called the New York Attorney General’s Office and asked to speak to someone in their Consumer Division. I got the head secretary, an older woman named Lois. I had learned early on in my business that secretaries held the real power in most offices. They were the gatekeepers and could block you or let you in. More importantly, they could connect you with the right person. I told Lois about poor little Angela and her broken skates, and the nasty factory manager — laying it on pretty thick — and then I asked to speak to a female attorney.
“Why do you want a female attorney?” asked Lois.
“Because women are smarter than men and I know they are just starting to land high-powered jobs in places like the AG’s Office. But they probably only get the small cases that the men don’t want. And that’s perfect, because that means I’ll get a smart young attorney who will have plenty of time to dedicate to this case, and she will do a better job for little Angela.
The next thing I knew, I was chatting with a very nice young attorney named Mary O’Brian who had recently been hired. I told her about my predicament with the skates and the factory manager’s thug-like behavior. Mary was very sympathetic but said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Carr, but this is a consumer fraud case and we don’t have jurisdiction.”
I said, “Well, actually you do.” And then I told her about the obscure section of the Interstate Commerce Act violation.
Mary perked right up and asked me to send her all my paperwork, and that I should check in with her in about a week.
When I called back, it turned out that Mary had been very busy. She had assembled a crack team of federal, state, and local inspectors and they had all gotten together one day and paid a visit to the factory.
The AG’s Office cited them for violating the Interstate Commerce Act.
The IRS went over their books.
The New York State Consumer Affairs Office fined them for consumer fraud.
The Queens Building inspector found multiple safety violations in the building.
And the Queens Health Inspector noticed that the workers in the cafeteria weren’t wearing hair nets.
They ended up shutting down the factory for several days so they could address all of the violations.
And Mary told me the factory manager had promised to send a brand new pair of skates to little Angela in Annapolis. I thanked Mary profusely and she laughed and thanked me. She said that it had been the most fun she had since becoming a lawyer.
A few days later, Angela and her father showed up at the newspaper to thank me in person.
Angela cried, “Mr. Carr, look at my new skates.” And then she gave me a big hug and told me, “You’re my hero.”
The next day and I made my last call to my old buddy Frankie. “Please tell him it’s Steve Carr from the Evening Capital newspaper.”
Frankie came on right away. “YOU! You muddafucker! You have any idea how much fucking trouble you caused me? You have any idea how much fucking money you cost me, you fucking asshole!”
I waited for him to finish his rant and then I said. “Listen, Frankie, I just called to tell you one thing: it’s Annapolis, not Annapleburg.
And then I slammed down the phone with a big smile because it felt really, really good after so long to finally care about something again.
