Catch Me If You Can

res gestae
case against me as a bogus Harvard man
if not a phony lawyer. It became 
res judicata
for me when I learned he was making
numerous inquiries into my background on several fronts, seriously questioning my
honesty and integrity.
Like the proverbial Arab, I folded my tent and silently stole away. Not, however,
without drawing a final paycheck. I did say good-bye to Gloria, although she wasn’t aware
it was a final farewell. I merely told her I’d had a death in the family and had to return to
New York for a couple of weeks.
I turned in my leased Jaguar and purchased a bright orange Barracuda. It wasn’t the
most inconspicuous set of wheels for a wanted fugitive to drive, but I liked it and I wanted
it, so I bought it. I justified the action by telling myself that since the car, if not the driver,
was cool, it would probably prove a wise mvestment. Largely it was an astute move, for in
the past I had simply rented cars and then abandoned them at airports when I was through
with them, and O’Riley, unknown to me, was making good use of this practice to compile
a pattern of my movements.
I had posed as a doctor for nearly a year. I had played the role of lawyer for nine
months. While I was hardly leading a straight life during those twenty months, I hadn’t
passed any bad checks or done anything else to attract the attention of the authorities.
Provided Rigby or the AG himself didn’t press the issue of my sudden departure from my

---

post as assistant attorney general, I felt justified in assuming I was not the object of any
pressing manhunt. And I wasn’t, save for O’Riley’s dogged efforts, and despite his
persistence he was as yet following a cold trail.
I attempted to keep it that way, since I was still in no bind for funds. My flight from
my “Harvard colleague’s” inquisition turned into something of a vacation. I meandered
around the western states for several weeks, touring Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona,
Wyoming, Nevada, Idaho and Montana, dallying wherever the scenery intrigued me. Since
the scenery usually included some very lovely and susceptible women, I stayed
perpetually intrigued.
Although the image of myself as a criminal gradually blurred and dimmed, I
entertained no thoughts of rehabilitation. In fact, looking to the future, I stopped long
enough in a large Rocky Mountain metropolis to equip myself with dual identities as a
fictitious airline pilot.
Using the same procedures that had enabled me to assume the alias of Frank
Williams, a first officer for Pan Am, I created Frank Adams, an alleged co-pilot for Trans
World Airways, complete with uniform, sham ID and counterfeit FAA pilot’s license. I
also assembled a set of duplicitous credentials that would allow me, in my posture as
Frank Williams, to be a pilot for either Pan Am or TWA.
Shortly afterward I was in Utah, a state notable for not only its spectacular geography
and Mormon history but also for its proliferation of college campuses. Having purloined a
couple of college degrees, I thought it only fair that I at least acquaint myself with a
university campus and so I visited several Utah colleges, strolling around the grounds and
taking in the academic sights, especially the coeds. There were so many lovely girls on
one campus that I was tempted to enroll as a student.
Instead I became a teacher.
While I was lolling around my motel room one afternoon, reading the local
newspaper, my attention was drawn to an expected shortage of summer instructors at one
university. The news item quoted the faculty dean, one Dr. Amos Grimes, as being most
concerned about finding summer replacements for the school’s two sociology professors.
“It appears we will have to look out of state for qualified people willing to teach for only
three months,” said Dr. Grimes in the story.
A vision of myself ensconced in a classroom with a dozen or so nubile beauties took
hold of my imagination, and I couldn’t resist. I rang up Dr. Grimes.
“Dr. Grimes, Frank Adams here,” I said briskly. “I have a Ph.D. in sociology from
Columbia University in New York. I’m visiting here, Doctor, and I see by the newspaper
that you’re looking for sociology instructors.”
“Yes, we’re definitely interested in finding some people,” Dr. Grimes replied
cautiously. “Of course, you understand it would be only a temporary position, just for the
summer. I assume you do have some teaching experience?”
“Oh, yes,” I said airily. “But it’s been several years. Let me explain my position, Dr.
Grimes. I am a pilot for Trans World Airways, and just recently I was furloughed for six
months for medical purposes, an inflammation of the inner ear that bars me at the moment

---

from flying status. I’ve been looking around for something to do in the interim, and when
I saw the story it occurred to me that it might be pleasant to get back into a classroom
again.
“I was a professor of sociology at City College of New York for two years before I
joined TWA.”
“Well, it certainly sounds like you’re a likely candidate for one of our positions, Dr.
Adams,” said Dr. Grimes, now enthusiastic. “Why don’t you come by my office tomorrow
morning and we’ll talk about it.”
“I’d be delighted to do that, Dr. Grimes,” I replied. “Since I’m a complete stranger in
Utah, could you tell me what documents I will need to apply for a faculty position with
your college?”
“Oh, just a transcript from Columbia will do, really,” said Dr. Grimes. “Of course, if
you can obtain a couple of letters of recommendation from CCNY, it would be desirable.”
“No problem,” I said. “I’ll have to send for both my transcript and the letters of
recommendation, of course. I came here unprepared on either score, since I didn’t even
contemplate a temporary teaching position until I saw the story.”
“I understand, Dr. Adams,” replied Dr. Grimes. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I wrote Columbia University that afternoon, requesting a complete catalogue and any
pertinent brochures on the school. I also dashed off a letter to the registrar of CCNY,
stating I was a Utah graduate student seeking a teaching position in New York, preferably
in sociology. I arranged to rent a box at the local post office before mailing off the
missives.
My meeting with Dean Grimes was a very pleasant one. He seemed immediately
impressed with me, and we spent most of the time, including a leisurely luncheon
interlude in the faculty club, discussing my “career” as a pilot. Dr. Grimes, like many men
with sedentary jobs, had a romantic view of airline pilots and was eager to have his
exciting perspective validated. I had more than enough anecdotes to satisfy his vicarious
appetite.
“I have no doubt at all that we can use you this summer, Dr. Adams,” he said on my
departure. “I’m personally looking forward to your being here on campus.”
The materials I had requested from Columbia and CCNY arrived within the week,
and I drove to Salt Lake City to purchase the supplies necessary for my current
counterfeiting venture. My finished “transcript” was a beauty, giving me a 3.7 grade
average and listing my doctoral thesis as a dissertation on “The Sociological Impact of
Aviation on the Rural Populations of North America.” As I had anticipated, the reply from
the registrar of CCNY was on official college stationery. I clipped off the letterhead and,
using clear white plastic tape and high-quality bond paper, created a fine facsimile of the
college’s stationery. I trimmed it to regulation typewriter-paper size and then sat down and
wrote myself two letters of recommendation, one from the registrar and one from the head
of the sociology department.
I was cautious with both letters. They merely noted that I had been a sociology

---

instructor at CCNY during the years 1961-62, that the faculty rating committee had given
me very satisfactory marks and that I had resigned voluntarily to enter the field of
commercial aviation as a pilot. I then. took the letters to a Salt Lake City job printer and
had him run off a dozen copies of each, telling him I was applying at several universities
for a teaching position and thus needed extra copies on fine-grade bond. Apparently mine
was not an unusual request, for he did the job perfunctorily.
Dr. Grimes barely glanced at the documents when I presented them to him. He
introduced me to Dr. Wilbur Vanderhoff, assistant head of the sociology department, who
also gave the instruments only a cursory examination before sending them on to faculty
personnel for filing. I was hired within the hour to teach two six-week semesters during
the summer at a salary of $1,600 per semester. I was assigned to teach a ninety-minute
freshman course in the morning, three days a week, and a ninety-minute sophomore
course in the afternoon, twice weekly. Dr. Vanderhoff provided me with the two textbooks
to be used in the classes, as well as student attendance ledgers. “Any other supplies you
might need, you can probably find in the bookstore. They have standard requisition forms
on hand,” said Dr. Vanderhoff. He grinned. “I’m glad to see you’re young and strong. Our
summer sociology classes are usually large ones, and you’ll earn your salary.”
I had three weeks before the first summer semester started. On the pretense of
refreshing myself, I audited several of Dr. Vanderhoff’s classes, just to get an idea of how
a college course was conducted. At night I studied the two textbooks, which I found both
interesting and informative.
Vanderhoff was right. Both my classes were large ones. There were seventy-eight
students in my freshman class and sixty-three students in my sophomore course, the
majority in both instances being female students.
That summer was one of the most enjoyable of my life.
I thoroughly enjoyed my role as a teacher. So did my students, I’m certain. My
courses were taught by the book, as required, and I had no difficulty there. I just read one
chapter ahead of the students and selected what portions of the text I wanted to emphasize.
But almost daily I deviated from the textbook in both classes, lecturing on crime, the
problems of young adults from broken homes and the effects on society as a whole. My
departures from textbook contents-which were largely drawn from my own experiences,
unknown to the students-always sparked lively discussions and debates.
Weekends I relaxed by immersing myself in one or the other of Utah ’s scenic
wonderlands, usually accompanied by an equally wondrous companion.
The summer was gone as swiftly as the desert spring, and I knew real regret when it
ended. Dr. Vanderhoff and Dr. Grimes were delighted with my work. “Keep in touch with
us, Frank,” said Dr. Grimes. “If ever we have a permanent opening for a sociology
professor, we’d like a chance to lure you down from the skies,” said Dr. Grimes.
At least fifty of my students sought me out to tell me how much they had enjoyed my
classes and to wish me good-bye and good luck.
I was reluctant to leave that Utah Utopia, but I could find no valid reason for staying.
If I lingered, my past was certain to catch up, and I did not want these people’s image of

---

me to be tarnished.
I headed west to California. There was a storm building in the Sierras when I crossed
the mountains, but it was nothing compared to the whirlwind of crime I was soon to create
myself.

---