Flim-Flam
The Source
I’ll admit it…I’m a sucker for flim-flam. The con artist, the slight of hand guy, the well-honed weasel, the classy crook. I was standing in front of Buckingham Palace with a group of my students, waiting for the queen to come out and say hello, when this shyster came up and asked to take our picture. Sure. No problem with that. We posed, we smiled, he clicked. Then he told us that he was a professional photographer and that he’d like to send us copies of the photo. Cool. He got my mailing address, wrote in on his note pad, then told me that’d be 20 pounds cash. Twenty pounds? That was about 25 bucks in 1979 dollars, and I was a poor teacher. I told him that was too much. He said that he could afford to do it for 15 pounds. I told him that was too much. Heck, I had plenty of pictures of us and besides, I knew full well that the guy had no film in his camera. So…since he had no film I offered him only 5 pounds. We settled on 8. I paid him. Yes, I paid a crook 11 bucks for what I knew would be nothing. I knew it when it paid him! Was I crazy? Nope…just fascinated. The guy was so very good…so smooth. He could flirt with a Jacksonville girl and have her in a puddle of flattery within minutes and I knew it. I repeat! (Again!) …I knew I was being swindled but I was so enjoying the experience that I paid him. I’ve paid much more for lesser shows. This guy was Broadway quality. My Democratic-leaning father once got me a job at the State Fair working the carnival in Happy Hollow. For ten days I hob-nobbed with the carnies and got one tremendous education in the world of flim-flammery. Since I was only 17 but looked much older they assigned me to take tickets from folks going into the burlesque show. (Read: “the strippers.”) Although many of these gals were often greeted with shouts of “No! No! Put it back on!” it was an education for this farm boy. The guys selling the tickets looked like extras in a Godfather movie and they wore rings worth more than any 4-H heifer I ever owned. When I asked them how they afforded such finery (including the Cadillacs they drove into the fairground each morning) they were honest. “We short-change people.” Then they showed me how they did it. I asked, “But what if you get caught?” They told me, “Easy, you say you’re sorry and give them the correct change.” Wow! My first encounter with real politicians! Just last week I traveled to Springfield for a meeting where I knew the guy was going to try to pull the wool over my eyes. I sat there fascinated…this guy was a pro. He was one of those administrators who really doesn’t care what his employees do as long as he ends up looking good. I sat there watching him charm me, disarm me, smarm me and warm me as I sat in the presence of a master. No, I don’t ever aspire to this degree of chicanery, but gosh it’s fun to watch. I love magic shows but afterwards when my friends try to deconstruct the act to figure out how the “magic” was done, I sit there admitting that I’d missed the trick entirely. When I watch a magician I pay attention to only one thing…the guy’s patter… his schmooze-factor. I found that one of the advantages of adding an asphalt driveway is that you immediately start getting visitors. Hardly a month goes by when I don’t hear a knock on my door and I’m greeted by a usually toothless old fellow telling me that if I don’t immediately have my driveway recoated with his oily goo that it’ll fall apart during the next rainstorm. No matter his name or face, he’s always driving a pickup truck just two months short of the graveyard and his truck bears out-of-state plates. The spiel is always the same… “You know, I was just passin’ by and I had just a dab of chemical left on my truck and I just seen your driveway and I just did your neighbor’s driveway and I can just make you a heck of a good deal!” He shoots me a price (never the same price as last time), I decline, the chemicals on his truck suddenly get cheaper, and we settle or we don’t. But the fascinating thing is that this old guy who’s obviously been at odds with the English language (and soap) all his life, suddenly becomes a fast-tongued-Donald-Trump-of-salesman when he sees a sucker. If I’m gonna be flim-flammed, I demand only the best.