RIVER CITY JOURNAL: SOMEONE WHO TRIES TO CHEAT YOUR MOTHER? A SCUMBAG

In all the years I've been in this business, I've written, edited or read dozens of stories about scams.

For the most part, I've managed to steer clear of con artists.

This week, one of the slimy brotherhood hit a little to close to home: my mother's house.

Early in my marriage, I was hornswoggled by a glib salesman who wanted to give me a free camera.

A 35 mm camera.

The free camera turned out to be piece of plastic junk, and it came attached to a contract that said I had to buy a warehouse full of film for a gazillion dollars. If I had fallen for the sales pitch, I'll swear I would still have a ton of film left.

So much for free cameras.

My mother, on the other hand, got a free termite inspection.

She isn't going to like it that the details of her brush with a scam artist is in this column. She will be holding her breath until she reads the last word and finds out how much damage I've done to her reputation in my favorite hometown in the Ozarks west of here.

But this is the season when the predators whose favorite prey is women who live alone -- widows, spinsters, your grandmother -- and they need to be warned.

So here's the story:

Through a friend's recommendation, this fellow claiming to be a representative of a nationally known termite-inspection company showed up at my mother's door.

He descended into the basement and made a lot of poking noises. My mother didn't go downstairs with him owing to her hip replacement.

When the fellow came up, he announced that the house had a serious termite infestation, serious termite damage and a serious bill to fix the problem.

In no time at all, the fellow had a figure -- a precise figure, in fact -- of what it would cost to get rid of the termites and shore up the foundation of the house. The bill would be more than $1,500.

Plus ...

She would need to sign a contract for annual treatments costing more than $400 a year.

Plus ...

She should sign on the dotted line before the whole house caved into the basement.

My mother told the fellow she wouldn't commit to anything without consulting her son. Since I fall into that category, she called me. But I was in the middle of an important meeting, so I had to tell her I'd call back, not knowing there was a slimeball holding a contract in front of her nose.

My mother told the fellow the house had been regularly treated for termites until just a couple of years ago.

Yeah, the fellow said, he could see where holes had been drilled. To drive home his sale, he said whoever did the work did a lousy job.

When I finally talked to my mother several hours later, she had not, thankfully, signed anything.

I told her the guy's tactics sounded like sleaze to me. I said it wasn't likely she had termites. I said she could always get another opinion. And I told her that even if she had termites, the house would probably last a long, long time before the termites had their last burp.

But my mother wouldn't hear of bugs in the basement.

After we talked awhile, she remembered that the man who did the termite work previously was now married to so-and-so, and she would try to think of so-and-so's new last name. If she could get the same man to come back and take a look, she would feel good about whatever information he gave her.

I said that was a splendid idea.

Sure enough, my mother tracked down so-and-so, and her husband agreed to come the very next morning. Both of them went to the basement and took a long, hard look at the situation.

Conclusion: No termites. Just the remains of the old damage from several years ago.

To say the least, my mother was greatly relieved. She wound up paying $20 to the man she trusted to spray for bugs. It's the start of bug season, you know.

When I heard the latest report -- and the good news about no termites -- I told my mother I hoped she knew the toll-free hotline number for the consumer affairs division at the attorney general's office.

No, she said, she didn't want to do anything like that.

Why?

Because the scam artist might burn her house down.

Where does he live?

She named a town a hundred miles away.

Look, I said, scammers do the work they do because it's easy. No scammer is going to drive a hundred miles to burn down her house, because that would take some effort.

I'm not sure my words were any comfort.

But at least she's on guard for scum whose most strenuous work consists of taking your check to the bank.

I hope you're on alert too.

And if you're not afraid of arsonists, could I get some of you to call the attorney general's office for me?

Thanks.

OK, Mother. You can breathe now.

~R. Joe Sullivan is the editor of the Southeast Missourian.