| |
The GA meeting was next to the old church I attended as a child. Apparently, some woman passed away a decade ago and left millions to the church, and in her honor, they built an attached hall. Now it’s used for donuts and coffee after mass, feeding the homeless on Monday nights, and AA and GA meetings.
I walked into a circle of chairs. In each one sat the standard yellow book with Gamblers Anonymous printed on the cover. I threw my jacket over one and went to the coffee station. A little after eight p.m., a man, looking to be in his late fifties, tall and thin with a salt-and-pepper goatee, asked everyone to find a chair in the circle. I walked over to him and introduced myself before the meeting began. His name was Pete S. He thanked me for coming and said there was plenty of room.
The last of the smokers came in from outside and the meeting began. There were eleven of us in total, just two women. Men drastically outnumbered women at most meetings I attended.
Then Pete asked, “Do we have anyone here that’s never been to a Gamblers Anonymous meeting before?” No one said anything. “That makes it easy then.” Pete opened his booklet, turned the page and said, “My name is Pete S., and I’m the facilitator of this group. As you all know, gambling for the compulsive gambler is defined as follows: Any betting or wagering, for self or others, whether for money or not, no matter how slight or insignificant, where the outcome is uncertain or depends upon chance or ‘skill’ constitutes gambling.”
Pete went on to read portions of the next three or four pages of the book. Unnecessary, but mandatory for all GA meetings. I’ve heard this so much I can almost recite it by heart. Stuff about the founders of GA, commentary on the twelve-step program, description of the nature of gambling addiction. I don’t buy into everything, and I’m not a big fan of twelve-step programs, but for the last two years these meetings have helped. Then Pete said, “We’ll go around and do short, and I mean short, introductions and then Roger P. will speak. He’s been nice enough to volunteer as this week’s speaker.”
I was third up. I stood and said, “Hi. My name is Will P., and I’m a compulsive gambler.”
“Hi, Will,” the group said in unison.
“Two years ago, I ruined my marriage trading online, realized too late that I had a problem, and have been coming to GA meetings since then. I’m from Cleveland and go to my usual GA meetings on Wednesday, but today I’m here in Sandusky. So here I am. Thanks for being so welcoming.”
It took about twenty minutes to go around the room. There’s always someone who takes too long, and Brenda B. took about ten minutes with her introduction, which would have been longer, but Pete finally insisted she stop.
Then Roger P. gave his personal testimony. Roger was about my age, married, now divorced, with three kids. Within his driving territory for his job, he liked to hit all the casinos. He loved table games, but craps was the big problem. He liked playing the come line and needed to have all the points going at the same time. When someone was on a roll, life was good. But Roger was playing these multiple points with maximum odds behind each point and did this at every casino he visited. He started out losing one or two thousand a trip. With each visit, he bet more and more. A few times he went home a winner, but the losses added up to over a hundred thousand dollars in just one year. Then the story ended like most usually do. He lied to the wife, borrowed money he didn’t have, got himself into a bigger hole, and finally sought help when he lost his credit rating, wife, and kids, and had a loan shark or two trying to kill him. Ah, the life of a compulsive gambler. The good news? Roger hadn’t gambled for over a year. He just started seeing a woman and luckily still has his insurance job.
Roger ended with a speech about living in the present, something he was adamant on improving. With gambling, he was always looking forward to the next bet or the next roll of the dice. It was almost impossible for him to live in the present. To be happy with his wife and his kids without thinking about what would be next.
After Roger was finished, a few others gave a short testimony. Brenda wanted to talk more but Pete told her she’d be able to go next time. At the end, we all stood and held hands and read the Serenity Prayer out loud. Before we were excused, Pete told us the collection plate was over by the coffee, and since the group supported itself, donations were gladly accepted.
I walked over and refilled my coffee cup, throwing a five-dollar bill on the collection plate. I thanked Pete and walked out the glass doors. Roger was outside smoking. I approached him.
“Roger,” I said, putting out my hand. “I’m Will. I wanted to thank you for your testimony. When you were talking about living in the present, it was like you were peering into my soul. Everything for me is ... was ... always about the next trade.”
“Yep. Thanks. Welcome to Sandusky, Will,” Roger said, taking out another cigarette.
I pulled a cigarette pack out of my jacket. There were three cigarettes inside the dented box. I took one out and started digging for a lighter. Without saying a word, Roger flicked his lighter and held it out for me.
“Thanks,” I said.
“Judging from the shape of that cigarette, you don’t smoke very often,” Roger said.
“Guilty as charged,” I said. “It’s my emergency pack. It’s been a tough week, so I’m allowing myself to smoke and drink at will.”
“I take it that’s why you’re in town?”
“Yep, death in the family.”
“My condolences,” Roger said.
“Thanks. Hey, you said you work in insurance. I have an odd insurance question if you don’t mind.”
“Shoot.”
“Have you heard of a life settlement? The first I heard of it was earlier today, and I didn’t think something like that existed.”
“Oh, I can tell you anything you want to know about life settlements. It’s hotter than Bitcoin, and my first piece of advice is to stay away from them. The devil’s handiwork those are.”
“Are they new?”
“Not exactly. They’ve been around since the early 1900s, same as reverse mortgages, but now the big insurance companies, always looking for a buck, have created all these subcompanies that sell life settlements, and the industry has made it look like legitimate business. If you stay up late enough, all the commercials you’ll see are for either Viagra or life settlements.”
“How exactly do they work?” I asked.
“An insurance agent or broker, working for one of those large subcompanies, will scour the coverage area looking for anyone with, let’s say, a five-hundred-thousand-dollar policy or greater. Then they’ll get that data and cross-reference it with financial issues. Like maybe you haven’t been paying your bills on time, or maybe you had to downsize from a house to an apartment. Then they’ll take that list—did you see that movie Glengarry Glen Ross? Well this would be like the Glengarry leads, the good leads. Anyway, then they do their ambulance-chasing. They’ll call or visit or send emails and go fishing.”
Roger pulled out another cigarette and continued. “They’ll tell you that you can get your insurance money now before you die and it’s all legal. This is especially promising for those who have lost their beneficiaries or maybe hate them and don’t want to leave anything to them upon death,” he said smiling. “Once the broker gets them interested, he runs the numbers with the subcompany on high, or maybe a couple of them, and they’ll quote him a figure. Generally, you’ll see something between fifty K and a hundred fifty K for a five-hundred-thousand-dollar policy, or maybe two hundred to two fifty for a million-dollar policy, depending on a number of factors. They use a very complicated formula to ascertain the current value and then give a ‘fair offer’ to the life insurance holder, which is generally quite a bit more than the cash surrender value of the policy. But in the end, the person who sells their life insurance policy receives some percentage of cash from the insurance company.”
“So what’s the catch?” I asked.
“The insurance company or third party that buys the policy is betting that you’ll die sooner than the math tells you. So let’s say you sell your five hundred K policy for a hundred K, and you’re healthy as a horse. But then the next week you die. The insurance company just made four hundred K, getting the entire death benefit of the policy, and all they had to give you was a hundred K. But if the individual would have waited that week and not sold, the person’s beneficiary would have received the full five hundred K in cash.
“The long and short of it? I guess if you really need the money and this is your only way, then fine. Kind of like those check-cashing places. But I’ve stayed entirely away from that business. There are a lot of better ways for an insurance agent to make money than betting on when someone will kick the bucket. It does feel a little like gambling. Make sense?”
“Totally, great explanation. Thanks!”
“If I may ask, how did you come across a life settlement?”
“My dad was in the funeral business. One of his customers paid for their father’s funeral with life settlement money.”
“I’m surprised this is the first time you’ve seen it,” Roger said.
We exchanged phone numbers for support, which was pretty much standard practice at GA meetings, said our good-byes, and I headed for the parking lot.
On my drive back to Dad’s house, Roger’s last comment hung in the air. I’m surprised this is the first time you’ve seen it. I made a mental note to review Dad’s diaries and customer notes again to see if this had come up before.