Stories From Texas

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Document Type

Article

Publication Date

8-19-2026

Abstract

My brother, who we all lovingly called “Redneck Dave,” never much cared for banks. He preferred to take care of his money himself, either on his person or under a well-camouflaged plank in the floor at his house, where he kept a fireproof safe.

He’d often carry $600 or $700 in cash on him, some of the smaller bills in his wallet and larger ones in his front left pocket, rolled up with a rubber band around them. He felt the big money was safer up front.

Coins would be in his right front pocket. He’d jokingly pat his right front pocket and say, “this here is my checking account” and pat his left front pocket and say, “this here is my saving’s account.”

I pointed out to him that carrying that much cash was dangerous. Someone could take it from him. He’d say, “If they can take it from me, I guarantee they will have earned it.”

I asked him why he didn’t just use a bank like normal people. He said, “I don’t trust banks. I’ve carried cash on me most of my life and never lost a dime, but the one time I used a bank, they robbed me blind.”

Then he told me this story.

“Yep, one time many years ago I kept hearing this ad on the radio by a bank that called themselves ‘the friendly bank.’ That was their brand, I guess — ‘the friendly bank.’ And they had a very friendly-sounding banker talking about how friendly they was. Said they treated you just like family (which should have been a warning to me, right there).

Anyway, I was convinced to give ’em a try. So I went in and opened a checking account. I was careful. Only put in what I had on me, which happened to be $96.75. I remember that number well because it cost me plenty not to remember it.

I planned to put in more money later. Just thought I’d get a start and get my checks, along with that free toaster. Few days later the checks came and I kind of forgot about that account for a while.

But one day about a month later I was out with the boys at dollar beer night and we got our money’s worth that night — ran up quite a tab between six of us. The bill came and it was $97.65, which I recalled — incorrectly in my beer haze — that that was the exact amount I had in my new checking account. I told the boys I was picking up the tab for everybody. They all cheered. So I wrote out the check for that amount and called it a night.

A couple of days later I’m back at the bar and the barkeep tells me my check had bounced and I needed to pay them the $97.65 plus $25 for the check bouncing the way it did. I had written that check for 90 cents more than I had in the bank. The barkeep said I had likely reversed the numbers. 

I immediately, but with bank-earned anger, ponied up the $122.65 in cash, had me a beer and went home. There I got a letter from the bank. I was $30 under water in my account for an overdraft charge and they wanted me to pay them right away to make them whole.

My little math error, all added up, had cost me $55: $25 for the barkeep and $30 for the friendly bank. Dollar beer night was now $1.50 beer night! And that’s why I don’t trust banks. 

I said, “Well, it was your fault. You wrote the check for more than you had in the bank.”

He said, “That’s not why I can’t trust ’em. I made a minor little mistake, a 90-cent error that cost me $55.”

Okay, “I said, you’re taking the blame, so why are you saying you can’t trust the bank?”

“Don’t you see? If they was so damned friendly like they said they was, they could have loaned me a dollar. That’s what a friend would do. At least I got a free toaster. Twenty years later, it still works.”

Format

.MP3, 192 kbps

Length

00:04:17

Language

English

Notes

https://texasstandard.org/stories/wf-strong-commentary-banks/

Comments

 © 2026 William F. Strong. Uploaded with permission of copyright holder.

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