“Saul Goodman, Please!”

c. 2018 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(12-18)

Handling bill collectors. A job for fictional Albuquerque attorney Saul Goodman.

From my early childhood, I became familiar with the persistence of these agents. Their calls to my household were mysterious, yet unfailingly repetitious. Each ring of the telephone meant that my father would betray himself with a sober, strained expression. His speech into the handset was rehearsed with much practice. He always projected an air of serious consideration and calm resolve.

“I will send you five dollars on Monday...”

We had no caller I. D. in those days. In addition, our postal mail swelled with copied receipts, bank statements and demands for payment. Dad shared few details with the family regarding his situation. But we knew something was amiss. A prevailing mood of gloom accompanied any conversation about money. Yet somehow, we always survived.

It seemed sad that, as his days were at an end, our father spoke to a representative at the nursing home about declaring bankruptcy. It was a step he had managed to avoid for many decades. He was proud to have endured on the strength of his wits and with help from relatives and his church community. But God called him home before that formal step could be taken.

We grieved as a family for his loss.

When his estate formally closed, in September, I felt a sense of accomplishment. A sense of closure. As executor, my work had been finished. He left no assets. My mother had succumbed to senile dementia and had to be placed under guardianship/conservatorship. After months of wrangling, and help from West Virginia Senator Joe Manchin III, she was approved for Medicaid. I took comfort in completing this work.

Silence lasted for only a short while after Dad was buried, however. Then, the drumbeat resumed.

In November, a packet arrived from Minnesota. Contained therein were legal documents filed on behalf of a credit card provider. Dad had left an unpaid bill with their company. Though his mortal body had been exhausted, the legacy of debt continued. An exclamation point added to his incredible journey as a father, grandfather, clergyman and author. It was oddly appropriate to remember him while reading the notice:

“We are attempting to collect a balance due from the assets of the estate and any information obtained will be used for that purpose… The undersigned, being first duly sworn, says that he/she is the authorized agent for a creditor of the estate of the above named decedent; that the character of the claim is listed on the attached claim detail; that the amount thereof is $18.662.16, with 0% interest from the Date of Claim, until paid. That a proper voucher relating to said claim is hereto attached; that the said claim is just and true and that the said creditor, or any prior owner of the claim, if any there was one, has not received any part of the money stated to be due, or any security or satisfaction for the same except that which is credited.”

I could not help wishing for the services of Goodman, the lawyer portrayed by Bob Odenkirk in AMC’s “Breaking Bad” and “Better Call Saul.” I reckoned that shady and surreptitious attorney Jimmy McGill, under his assumed professional moniker, would provide insight into the murky world of debt collection.

I received the statement personally, because of serving as executor. But upon my initial reading, it seemed that I was a specific target of the claim. A survivor to take up the battle. Where my father handled such correspondence without any sense of alarm, I reacted with a feeling of doom.

The idea of being sued made my flesh go cold.

After pondering the documents, I realized that the time for any claim against Dad’s estate had already passed. Moreover, he left no assets. Only debts. All of this was documented and could be reviewed by the judge in Minnesota. My own status was only to oversee his personal affairs, after death. I had no legal partnership in his obligations.

I could not help wondering why the debt collector had failed to make a more thorough investigation. Their filing with the court seemed wasteful and pointless. But a friend with experience in that business confided that such tactics were common and often, productive. They whispered that sometimes, bogus papers were circulated in the hope that families would overreact and make unsustainable arrangements to cover liabilities for which they were not literally responsible. It could be something of a con game. One apparently sanctioned by an appearance of legality.

I read the letter and documents over and over again. Each time, the threat became more suspicious and less substantial. But the lingering doubt remained. Would I take an arrow for my father’s unmet responsibilities? Would my credit rating plummet under the weight of this failure? Would my mother suffer any consequences? Was my own disability compensation in jeopardy?

Uncertainty clouded my mind. Doubt settled in my belly. An agonizing, dreadful sort of doubt that could not be nullified by reason. There seemed to be only one recourse.

“BETTER CALL SAUL!”

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