Perseverance - A Risky Venture
By Sally Armour Wotton
First published in We The Storytellers bys Wipf and Stock, 2013
This story is also available on the Story Soup Enterprises Podcast
First published in We The Storytellers bys Wipf and Stock, 2013
This story is also available on the Story Soup Enterprises Podcast
To quote, John F. Kennedy who was loosely quoting Edmund Burke, “For evil to triumph requires only that good men do nothing”.
Often taking risks involves a fight for justice and usually requires perseverance.
My husband, Ernest, is a bloody-minded Englishman. At least that is what he calls himself – I see him as someone with a thirst for justice who will battle on behalf of a good cause for years - even decades, if necessary. His bloody-mindedness is doubly admirable since we live in Canada, the peaceful country. Making waves is not the done thing here traditionally. He once kept the name of our local library from being changed to a name that neither the library staff nor the community wanted, was part of a group who fought successfully to keep a half-way house for ex prisoners open by forming the “Stop the Stop, Not In Our Back Yard” movement, and when we were first married, through his perseverance and persuasion he provided the inspiration for me to become a non-smoker. He has won other battles, of course, and lost some but a few years ago he outdid himself.
We decided to take our small-accumulated fortune out of our sock and engage an investment advisor recommended to us by a close acquaintance. We asked the advisor to take over the running of our portfolio that included some long held blue-chip stocks. The advisor said he would rationalize our holdings, whatever that meant. We asked him to invest conservatively and then we sat back to watch our investments grow.
Apparently, our man’s definition of conservative differed from ours and when he sold our valuable stocks for “Uncle Willies’ corner store” shares and made other highly speculative trades our investments plunged in value.
I was a trifle worried but did my breathing exercises and applied a bit of lotion on the line between my eyebrows.
However, this was but child’s play for bloody-minded Ernest.
He began by phoning our investment guy and when his calls were not returned he wrote letters to him - repeatedly. After six months the man finally responded to Ernest’s communications with a phone message on his birthday to wish Ernest best regards. Ernest then directed his communications to the employer, one of the largest brokerage firms in North America, headquartered in New York City. After numerous calls and a plethora of letters from Ernest, they replied, “We’ve done nothing untoward” while our money continued to evaporate like our dreams of a comfortable retirement.
I was now seriously concerned – sleep deprived and developing a tic in my left cheek.
Ernest, however, was undaunted and contacted our local politicians (a feat in itself) who directed him to the Ontario Securities Commission, an organization set up to help in these situations. They suggested he call a lawyer. Of course, we had no money left to pay for lawyers so on he went to the Investment Dealers Association of Canada who granted him an interview and then were never heard from again.
I was becoming catatonic – something like a gerbil on a treadmill under disco lights.
But some kind soul mentioned the then newly established Ombudsman for Banking Services and their representative was almost as parched for justice as Ernest. He looked over the six years and ten pounds of one-way correspondence, agreed that we should feel aggrieved and wrote a compelling report to the brokerage firm who wrote a terse note to us wrapped around a cheque.
I was relieved. Ernest was exhausted.
We didn’t get all our lost money back but we did get a fair percentage of it and Ernest got the satisfaction of knowing that he, a one man office, could get justice from a multimillion dollar corporation.
The press called to interview him. And when they asked, “Mr. Wotton, what is the advice you might give to others in a similar situation?” He replied, “You have to learn to type, stay alive, and be bloody-minded.”
Often taking risks involves a fight for justice and usually requires perseverance.
My husband, Ernest, is a bloody-minded Englishman. At least that is what he calls himself – I see him as someone with a thirst for justice who will battle on behalf of a good cause for years - even decades, if necessary. His bloody-mindedness is doubly admirable since we live in Canada, the peaceful country. Making waves is not the done thing here traditionally. He once kept the name of our local library from being changed to a name that neither the library staff nor the community wanted, was part of a group who fought successfully to keep a half-way house for ex prisoners open by forming the “Stop the Stop, Not In Our Back Yard” movement, and when we were first married, through his perseverance and persuasion he provided the inspiration for me to become a non-smoker. He has won other battles, of course, and lost some but a few years ago he outdid himself.
We decided to take our small-accumulated fortune out of our sock and engage an investment advisor recommended to us by a close acquaintance. We asked the advisor to take over the running of our portfolio that included some long held blue-chip stocks. The advisor said he would rationalize our holdings, whatever that meant. We asked him to invest conservatively and then we sat back to watch our investments grow.
Apparently, our man’s definition of conservative differed from ours and when he sold our valuable stocks for “Uncle Willies’ corner store” shares and made other highly speculative trades our investments plunged in value.
I was a trifle worried but did my breathing exercises and applied a bit of lotion on the line between my eyebrows.
However, this was but child’s play for bloody-minded Ernest.
He began by phoning our investment guy and when his calls were not returned he wrote letters to him - repeatedly. After six months the man finally responded to Ernest’s communications with a phone message on his birthday to wish Ernest best regards. Ernest then directed his communications to the employer, one of the largest brokerage firms in North America, headquartered in New York City. After numerous calls and a plethora of letters from Ernest, they replied, “We’ve done nothing untoward” while our money continued to evaporate like our dreams of a comfortable retirement.
I was now seriously concerned – sleep deprived and developing a tic in my left cheek.
Ernest, however, was undaunted and contacted our local politicians (a feat in itself) who directed him to the Ontario Securities Commission, an organization set up to help in these situations. They suggested he call a lawyer. Of course, we had no money left to pay for lawyers so on he went to the Investment Dealers Association of Canada who granted him an interview and then were never heard from again.
I was becoming catatonic – something like a gerbil on a treadmill under disco lights.
But some kind soul mentioned the then newly established Ombudsman for Banking Services and their representative was almost as parched for justice as Ernest. He looked over the six years and ten pounds of one-way correspondence, agreed that we should feel aggrieved and wrote a compelling report to the brokerage firm who wrote a terse note to us wrapped around a cheque.
I was relieved. Ernest was exhausted.
We didn’t get all our lost money back but we did get a fair percentage of it and Ernest got the satisfaction of knowing that he, a one man office, could get justice from a multimillion dollar corporation.
The press called to interview him. And when they asked, “Mr. Wotton, what is the advice you might give to others in a similar situation?” He replied, “You have to learn to type, stay alive, and be bloody-minded.”
