By Bob Schroeder
I remember one beautiful March day in Chicago—yes, Chicago does have beautiful March days; they occur once every other year—when I worked as a field representative for an auto finance company. I had been sent to find the car of 60-day account and located it in a Chicago police department parking lot. I immediately blocked it with my car so that it could not be moved. This was long before cell or car phones and I recall walking down the block to find the nearest pay phone to call the office. I was told to go back and wait in my car; that a tow truck would arrive shortly to impound the vehicle. And I sat in my car, lulled into a half slumber by the heat of bright sunlight, for about a half hour when a sudden knock on the window startled me into consciousness. Outside stood a middle aged uniformed police officer asking me to move so he could get to his vehicle. I got out of my car and, just 22 years old and looking like I was 17, told the officer that I was a representative from the finance company, the car was in our possession and I could not give it back to him. He answered by saying he had filed for bankruptcy.