4. The installation of a completely new records system operated by highly skilled (and expensive) persons using automatic (and expensive) equipment.
5. The inauguration of an institutional advertising campaign to reinvigorate public confidence.
The engineers piled reform on reform and expense on expense until, toward the end of the report, they estimated the total cost of the operation at nearly a quarter of a million dollars. However, they said, the Bank would save five times that sum over a period of ten years if they faced the issue and took immediate action.
On the closing page, the engineers paid tribute to the fine cooperation they had received from the Bank’s personnel. And, while everyone had been helpful, they wished especially to comment on the unflagging assistance of Mr. Jebal Deeks, whose splendid knowledge of the Bank’s many and complex departments had been of inestimable value to them.
Because he had been the Bank’s inside man on the job, Deeks knew exactly what the report would say. He also knew, because Mr. Bricklow had told him, that he would get a special note of praise on the last page. So it was no surprise to him when he was told he would be called into the Special Meeting of the board of directors on Tuesday.
He was told he would be asked to give his views on the situation as well as certain specific information, and that he should plan to be present at the meeting from 2:20 to 2:40, at which time, unless he was requested to stay, he would automatically leave.
Up to this moment Jebal Deeks’s wickedness had struck straight and true toward its ultimate goal. But at 2:10, just ten minutes before he was to be admitted to the solemn meeting, Deeks allowed the wheel to spin out of his hands and his scheme shot off in a new direction.
While he sat calmly on a green leather chair, awaiting his call, it came to him that he now had a chance to achieve what he had always wanted to achieve — a position of authority, a title, and the recognition due him after so many years of superior service.
He became so convinced of this future that, when he was finally asked to enter the meeting room, he lit a cigar and walked in calmly puffing it, as if he were the chairman of the board.
“Deeks,” Mr. Fannington said, “we asked Mr. Bricklow to absent himself during your interview. The colonel would like some uninhibited discussion of Bricklow’s methods in making up his report.”
“That’s very wise of the colonel,” Deeks said, nodding his head and narrowing his eyes.
The colonel sat up stiffly — and began, “First of all, Deeks—”
“Before you ask any questions,” Deeks interrupted, “let me say that I am acquainted with the contents of the report, and, with all due respect, it is my opinion that the wool is being pulled over your eyes.”
There was a clearing of throats, but Deeks did not heed it.
“Colonel,” he said, pointing a finger at the chairman’s forehead, “You play golf, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“When you lose a ball in the rough, Colonel, do you rush to the clubhouse and sign up for some expensive lessons with the pro?”
“Why... ahh... no.”
“And you, Mr. Fannington, you play poker, don’t you?”
“Now and then,” the PRESIDENT said.
“If you have a run of bad luck, do you hurry out to buy a new card table?”
“No... but...”
“Gentlemen!” Deeks said, and for the first time in his life he slammed his fist on a table, “I ask you not to be stampeded into this thing.”
More throats were cleared, more fingers were drummed on the table, and more glances were exchanged.
“What are you suggesting, Deeks?” the colonel asked.
Deeks’s proposal was forthright and simple. He explained that he had followed every step of the Hermann, Struckle, and Foist investigation. It was the first time in his twenty-three years at the Bank that he had compared the work of the many departments in which he had served, and, while he didn’t wish to disparage the integrity of Hermann, Struckle, and Foist, it was nevertheless his objective opinion that he knew a great deal more about the Bank than Hermann or Struckle or Foist — or Bricklow.
“It is my belief, gentlemen,” Deeks said, “that the Valley National is as soundly run a bank as any in the country. It was sound before Bricklow, it was sound during Bricklow, and it is sound now.”
Colonel Sykes nodded and turned to the PRESIDENT. “Can you deny that?” he asked.
“In an operation this size,” Deeks continued, “a few frayed ends poke out and give the casual observer an impression of general shabbiness. But this Bank is not shabby.”
“Hardly,” said Colonel Sykes.
“On the other hand,” Deeks said lowering his voice, “even a few frayed ends are inexcusable. So I say that, instead of reorganizing, instead of putting up a new façade, instead of dismissing valuable officers, instead of cluttering ourselves with unnecessary machinery, instead of humiliating ourselves with advertising campaigns, we should pick up broom and dust-cloth and clean house in our own way and with our own tools!”
“Please elaborate,” the colonel said.
“If you will give me one month, gentlemen, I promise I will do more to abolish these signs of inefficiency than a new set of front pillars would do in five years.”
A week later a new office was created. The title was Director of Procedure, and the job, with a 20 per cent increase in salary, fell to Jebal Deeks.
He installed a new tallying system for the tellers, and in no time at all the maddening clerical discrepancies disappeared. He hired two new filing clerks and fired one stenographer, and at the end of a month he was able to report the files were without error and would remain without error. He invented a double-checking plan to insure that there would be no recurrence of the embarrassing Blackstone Manufacturing Company-Mr. Kackel incident.
He swept and dusted the procedural machinery of the Valley National Bank with such thoroughness and skill that he soon became known, behind his back as “The Watchdog.” Nobody mentioned the end of the month he had requested to put the Bank in order, and at the end of a year, at the regular board meeting, Colonel Sykes personally recommended that Deeks receive another 10 per cent increase in salary.
The next year the title Director of Procedure was dropped and Jebal Deeks was made fifth vice-president. Two years later, after the sad passing of Mr. Elliott, Colonel Sykes and Mr. Fannington invited him to a private lunch and told him they were putting him up for membership in the Century Club. Colonel Sykes then smiled and slyly said that his chances of acceptance into the club would be greatly improved if he were first vice-president instead of fifth.
Deeks made an excellent first vice-president, and around the Bank it was believed that when Mr. Fannington stepped down, within the clearly foreseeable future, “The Watchdog” would become PRESIDENT.
The dean of the local business school, who made it a point to keep abreast of such matters, called Deeks one day and asked if Jeb would be kind enough to let the school’s banking class spend a day at the bank.
“I want ’em to see how a first-rate house is run,” the dean said, “and I can’t think of anybody better to tell ’em than the next president of the Valley.”
Deeks laughed and made an appointment for the boys. At his regular afternoon conference with Mr. Fannington he reported the dean’s request.
“Jeb,” Mr. Fannington said, “I’d like to sit in on that schoolboy interview myself. Many a time I’ve wondered exactly what it was that shot you so far ahead.”