HARMONY

Part 41 "We need you dad."

This part has a bit more explanation as to why the banks failed in 2008.  It's a short and simple explanation--and very helpful.  It's not the most exciting part of the story, but I still hope you read it.  

"Broker-Fucker," Joe said throwing a newspaper on top of Steve who lay curled up backstage. "My house payment went up, value's down so I can't refinance and my damn salary's the same." He pointed to the paper. "How's these billionaires gettin my tax money?"

Steve ran his thick tongue over his teeth slime. Billionaires getting my tax money was the only part that stuck. He unrolled the sweatshirt he'd been sleeping on and pulled it over his Van Halen T-shirt. "What day's it?"

Joe gave him a hand up. "You gotta lay off the pills."

"Ya, I was thinking that."

After a stretch, Steve took the newspaper and began scanning the articles. That night's show hadn't sold out, so the band had given tickets away to some local college kids—hoping for the party-theme of sorority girls. From the parking lot, drunken sounds wafted their way into the stadium. Could be a long night.

With his new assignment as the band's financial advisor, Steve still helped with roadie jobs, but mostly he reviewed venue contracts and sale revenues. He also served unofficially as the 'bankerfucker' and therefore the person everyone went to for all things money. Being paid for his advice in drugs had taken its toll and lately he had chosen to give insights for free in an attempt to reclaim his mind.

He leaned against the wall and scanned the newspaper article. Joe lingered nearby. "This is some serious shit," Steve said. "Where'd you get this?" His mind crept back to a conversation he thought he imagined having with Chad. Something about the world falling to pieces. And something about Drew.

"Got it at the gas station across the street," Joe said.

After a dumpster dive, Steve retrieved papers from the week. In a well-lit corner backstage, he read. He read and he gasped and he shook his head. Lehman bankrupt. AIG too big to fail. And other giant financial institutions, some with larger economic responsibilities than small countries, gasping for sips of economic air. Steve recalled a meeting he held in a conference room—somewhere long ago and far away. Did I foresee this economic apocalypse? He shook his head. No way. No one could have seen this coming. He scanned the papers back to front for all scraps of information.

"Brokerfucker," said Joe. This time he came with a small contingent. He pointed at the paper. "We're talking about going to the banks and getting our money out."

Steve let out a long sigh. "Don't panic. You've got your money in commercial banks, like Wells Fargo or Chase. These banks are insured by the FDIC and regulated to protect your deposits, so no, you don't need to go get your money out."

"Papers saying banks are going under," a voice said. "You fuckn' with us?"

Steve stood up straight—his mind still whirling around the news. "Looks like investment banks are in deep shit and they're not regulated. But your commercial banks are really not in danger."

"Bank's a bank," a rough voice said. "And they all running outta money."

"Not exactly," Steve said. "Regular bankers wear designer suits and drive their own cars. Investment bankers wear custom tailored suits and their chuffers drive them."

Joe lit a fresh cigarette. "What's your point?"

"Investment bankers—big Wall Street types from like a Goldman Sachs and Morgan Stanley—they work in the mega billions. Investment banks don't take customer deposits so they're loosely regulated. But..." Steve rubbed his wrist where his Rolex used to be. "After the depression, Congress passed the Glass-Steagal Act to kinda build a wall between investment banks and commercial banks, and in 1999 Congress decided to take most of that wall down."