The Conscientious Embezzler

MANNERS & MORALS

Even as a teenager, George Sponsler of North Baltimore (pop. 2,771), Ohio was a prim, strait-laced little fellow. Like his older brother Orville, he stood 5 ft. 5, weighed just 120 Ibs. and had the family habit of sitting up straight on the edge of chairs. Both boys considered it a privilege and an honor to work for North Baltimore's little First National Bank. George swept out the lobby and polished the cuspidors every afternoon when he was in high school, and became a clerk as soon as he graduated.

That was in 1917. George was a good bank clerk, and in three years he was a teller at $1,080 a year. He joined the Rotary Club, the Masons and the Chamber of Commerce, contributed to charities and led an exemplary life. But after George got married in 1927, he discovered that he couldn't live on his salary even though it had been raised, as a reward for a decade of hard work, to $1,400. George did not ask for another raise--even after brother Orville became the bank president. But in order to feed his family and pay the rent, he began embezzling a little money.

His system was simple: he pocketed cash a depositor pushed across the counter--usually $25 and never more than $100. He credited the sum to the depositor's account, then extracted ledger cards of other depositors. These he shifted around, always keeping out deposit cards equivalent to his total embezzlement to that date. Thus the ledgers always balanced, and the defrauded depositors never discovered the thefts. In 14 years George took $7,541 without a soul's being the wiser, although there were about 150 bank examinations during the period.

In 1941, however, George decided he could afford to be honest again--by then he was making $1,900 a year. He never stole another penny.

Eleven years passed. Then, last summer, the bank missed four ledger cards. Orville asked George if he knew where they had gone. George--being George--confessed his crime immediately. He settled up. But Orville--being Orville--fired him forthwith, and reported the crime. George pleaded guilty in federal court.

George had been at the bank for 35 years and was 53 years old. Out on bond, he had a hard time getting another job because to each prospective employer he confessed his crime anew. Last week, however, somebody finally took George's side. Toledo's Federal Judge Frank L. Kloeb looked at the record of George's case and refused to sentence him. When poor old George began to weep, the judge cried angrily that the bank had "invited" him to steal by keeping him "a virtual pauper for at least 22 years of his life . . . "The bank ought to be indicted here," the judge said. "I have no power over these men who were members of the board of directors of this bank, but if I had I would sentence them to read [Dickens' Christmas Carol] every Christmas and to think of this defendant." Grateful--but apparently rather shocked--George walked out a free man.

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