A Fighting Chance

Even with profits breaking records every year, the banks weren’t satisfied. They thought of more fees to tack on, more ways to escalate interest rates, and more aggressive ways to market their cards. Credit card vendors started showing up on college campuses, targeting kids with promises that there would be no credit checks and no need for their parents to sign. Children were preapproved. And occasionally even a dog would get his fifteen minutes of fame, when a local newspaper heard about some cute little pooch who had just been offered a credit card.

To pump up their returns even more, the banks tried a new tactic: What if they could persuade the government to limit bankruptcy protections? Sure, a lot of families were broke, but maybe some of them could be pressed to pay just a little more. If they couldn’t file for bankruptcy, maybe more families would decide to move in with their in-laws, or borrow from the neighbors, or hock their wedding rings, or cancel their health insurance—who knows? If several hundred thousand families a year could be squeezed just a little harder, maybe the banks could add yet more profit to their bottom lines.

The bankers might not have said it in so many words, but gradually their strategy emerged: Target families who were already in a little trouble, lend them more money, get them entangled in high fees and astronomical interest rates, and then block the doors to the bankruptcy exit if they really got in over their heads.

If you knew anything about bankruptcy law—and by now I knew a lot—you could see exactly what the big banks were up to. I was just a law school professor, so I didn’t have the power to change anything, but the deep cynicism behind these new tactics infuriated me. For the banks, a change in the bankruptcy laws was just one more opportunity to try to boost profits. For the families—the moms, dads, kids, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins—who would lose their last chance to recover from the financial blow of a layoff or a frightening medical diagnosis, the pain could never be measured.

Bruce and I would walk Trover, and I would start talking about the damage the big banks were doing to families all across the country. One night my voice started rising as I told Bruce how vile I thought this was. Did the banks have any idea how many people were getting hurt?

I chopped the air with my hands. I clenched my teeth. I talked louder and faster, until finally I ran out of words. And then Bruce asked the question that has gnawed at me ever since:

“So what are you going to do about it?”





A Visit to Harvard

In 1992, Harvard Law School invited Bruce and me to come teach for a year.

Jay, Terry, and I had published our bankruptcy findings in a book called As We Forgive Our Debtors a few years earlier. It had caused a mild stir, at least in academic circles, and snagged a national prize. Jay and I were now working on the second edition of a textbook we’d written on bankruptcy law, and another professor, Lynn LoPucki, and I were writing a book on secured financing. I also had a new study on business bankruptcies in the works and another on families in financial trouble. And I had won four awards for outstanding teaching. I loved what I was doing, and I wasn’t looking for a change.

But Bruce thought that a year in Massachusetts sounded like fun, and we could be near his family. Alex thought this was his big chance to see a Celtics game live. And besides, who could resist trying out Harvard for a while? After all, I’d never even seen the place. So I said sure.

By now Amelia was off at college, and Aunt Bee said she and Bonnie the cocker spaniel would rather spend the year back in Oklahoma with Mother and Daddy. So Bruce, Alex, Trover, and I headed off to Cambridge, Massachusetts. Once again, Bruce and I agreed to undertake one of those year-long job tryouts—but this time we had good jobs waiting for us in the same city, back at Penn, so there was no nail-biting. This was more of a fun adventure. Amelia missed most of it, but Alex took the opportunity to reinvent himself at a new high school as a football player and stage crew handyman. Trover was getting old, but she was still eager to chase the ball every afternoon.

When Mother and Daddy came to visit at Thanksgiving, I thought they would be pleased to see the famous Harvard, but they didn’t seem all that interested. At dinner the first night, Mother looked around the table and asked, “When will we see Amelia?”

I had already told them both that Amelia would be home from college in a couple of days. Daddy said, “Wednesday.”

The conversation picked up again, and about a minute later, Mother asked, “When will we see Amelia?”

Daddy said, “Wednesday,” as if he had never heard the question before.

When she asked a third time a few minutes later, Daddy answered pleasantly, “Wednesday.” But his head was bowed, and when he looked up, the pain was unmistakable.

When Daddy and I made a run to the hardware store the next day, I asked him about Mother. He said she was just tired, that we all get forgetful when we’re tired. But it began to hit home that my mother and daddy—now eighty and eighty-one—wouldn’t be with me forever. I felt like I was living on borrowed time.