Cons and Pros

Of all of the ironies of 2008, few were as stark as the revelation that Tom Petters, the operator of the biggest criminal conspiracy in Minnesota history, had endowed a chair in “ethics development” at Miami University and funded the university’s “Center for Leadership, Ethics, and Skills Development.”

The promotion of ethical practices is a rare attribute among swindlers. We will let Miami University officials wrestle with the moral ambiguities of using stolen money to advance ethical conduct among their students.

I normally like to use this space to comment on stories in the current issue, but there isn’t a story about Petters in this issue, although we expect to have one next month. I am mentioning Petters now in part because it allows me to encourage you to visit tcbmag.com, where three times as many readers are drawn to news stories about Petters than to stories on any other topic, and in part because it allows me to segue into the ironies of an earlier hoax, involving a billionaire named Howard Hughes and a writer named Clifford Irving.

Hughes was a business builder turned recluse—someone who had developed a major airline, produced motion pictures, purchased the largest casino in Las Vegas, been a nearly constant companion of movie stars, and become a subject of public curiosity. By the early 1970s, however, he had not been seen in public in years. He had avoided for so long being seen by anyone—former friends, relatives, business associates, and subordinates had all been forbidden direct contact with him—that many doubted that he was alive.

Clifford Irving, a mediocre novelist, announced that Hughes was not only alive, but alert, active, and interested in having his life story told, but only by Clifford Irving. He claimed to have been contacted by Hughes and to have interviewed him.

The story seemed doubtful. Why would Hughes suddenly come out of self-imposed seclusion, and why would he pick a second-tier writer like Irving to tell his story? Although officials of major publishing companies were skeptical, few wanted to miss one of the biggest opportunities of the decade. McGraw-Hill eventually paid $750,000 for the Hughes biography, the largest advance ever paid for a book until that time.