veneer was no veneer but solid all the way through.
And Irwin Margolies had a friend who, in 1980, showed him the way to make his dreams come true, finally to reach out and seize that prized gold ring.
8
Henry Oestericher was a few years older than Irwin Margolies. They had known each other for much of their lives, and their friendship had endured through the years. Like his old and close friend, Oestericher was a man with unrealized dreams. When he was young, he had dreamed of success and fortune in the jewelry business. He had grown up in it. His father was a prominent and successful jewelry merchant and manufacturer, had been one of the pioneers in the use of factoringâthe borrowing of money secured by accounts receivable and anticipated salesâin the jewelry business to support the growth of his firm. But when the younger Oestericher tried his hand at the family trade, he failed.
He turned to the law, and fantasized of fame and fortune at the bar. But after a quarter of a century as an attorney, he still operated only from desk space granted him as a favor in the offices of other lawyers on West Forty-fourth Street just off Fifth Avenue. He had never handled a major case, either in court or in the office, was reduced to scratching for business wherever he could find it, was dependent to a large degree on the legal affairs thrown his way by Margolies, more out of that old and enduring friendship than because of any legal talents Oestericher might have revealed.
To support himself and his family, his legal practice providing only a meager income, far from enough for the life-style he aspired to and tried to maintain, Oestericher spent a good part of his working hours as a landlordâs agent, managing buildings around New York and in New Jersey. But even here, his buildings were not in the luxury class, not along the Upper East Side or Upper West Side. They tended to the seedy, like the one on West Forty-fifth Street where Vinnie Russo maintained his catering establishment and where Donald Nash kept his desk and telephone. Oestericher managed a couple of apartments in New Jersey and, among others, the Somerset Hotel at Broadway and Forty-seventh Street, a fleabag cited too many times to count for violations of the buildings and sanitation codes, for nonpayment of taxes, and for scores of other infractions. And it was notorious as a haven for the neighborhood prostitutes; Oestericherâs connection with it earned him, from some of the areaâs denizens, the nickname âThe Pimp of Father Duffy Square,â the statue of Father Duffy of World War I fame staring across at the Somerset.
Then, one day early in 1980, Henry Oestericher came up with an idea that might make all his dreams and those of his close friend come true.
As he sometimes did in private with somebody he could trust, with a close confidant, Margolies that day was bemoaning his fate to Oestericher. The business wasnât growing fast enough, was constantly teetering on the edge. He had been forced to mortgage his Westchester home to keep it afloat. He was constantly having to invent new and more outrageous scams to bilk the unwary and raise the needed cash, and a lot of them seemed to backfire, and certainly none brought in enough really to make the effort pay off as he wanted. What he needed was a foolproof scheme that would bring in enough so that he would never have to worry again.
Oestericher listened. He had heard the story before, was well aware of what lengths Margolies had been driven to, was willing to go to, and was capable of. He knew, too, or he expected that if he could come up with the scheme that would help Margolies, he would gain his own reward. It had been on his mind for some time. Now was the time to spell it out.
What did Margolies know about factoring?
Margolies knew enough to know that it was a major financing method in the garment industry; it was the way those companies, trapped in a seasonal business,
And Irwin Margolies had a friend who, in 1980, showed him the way to make his dreams come true, finally to reach out and seize that prized gold ring.
8
Henry Oestericher was a few years older than Irwin Margolies. They had known each other for much of their lives, and their friendship had endured through the years. Like his old and close friend, Oestericher was a man with unrealized dreams. When he was young, he had dreamed of success and fortune in the jewelry business. He had grown up in it. His father was a prominent and successful jewelry merchant and manufacturer, had been one of the pioneers in the use of factoringâthe borrowing of money secured by accounts receivable and anticipated salesâin the jewelry business to support the growth of his firm. But when the younger Oestericher tried his hand at the family trade, he failed.
He turned to the law, and fantasized of fame and fortune at the bar. But after a quarter of a century as an attorney, he still operated only from desk space granted him as a favor in the offices of other lawyers on West Forty-fourth Street just off Fifth Avenue. He had never handled a major case, either in court or in the office, was reduced to scratching for business wherever he could find it, was dependent to a large degree on the legal affairs thrown his way by Margolies, more out of that old and enduring friendship than because of any legal talents Oestericher might have revealed.
To support himself and his family, his legal practice providing only a meager income, far from enough for the life-style he aspired to and tried to maintain, Oestericher spent a good part of his working hours as a landlordâs agent, managing buildings around New York and in New Jersey. But even here, his buildings were not in the luxury class, not along the Upper East Side or Upper West Side. They tended to the seedy, like the one on West Forty-fifth Street where Vinnie Russo maintained his catering establishment and where Donald Nash kept his desk and telephone. Oestericher managed a couple of apartments in New Jersey and, among others, the Somerset Hotel at Broadway and Forty-seventh Street, a fleabag cited too many times to count for violations of the buildings and sanitation codes, for nonpayment of taxes, and for scores of other infractions. And it was notorious as a haven for the neighborhood prostitutes; Oestericherâs connection with it earned him, from some of the areaâs denizens, the nickname âThe Pimp of Father Duffy Square,â the statue of Father Duffy of World War I fame staring across at the Somerset.
Then, one day early in 1980, Henry Oestericher came up with an idea that might make all his dreams and those of his close friend come true.
As he sometimes did in private with somebody he could trust, with a close confidant, Margolies that day was bemoaning his fate to Oestericher. The business wasnât growing fast enough, was constantly teetering on the edge. He had been forced to mortgage his Westchester home to keep it afloat. He was constantly having to invent new and more outrageous scams to bilk the unwary and raise the needed cash, and a lot of them seemed to backfire, and certainly none brought in enough really to make the effort pay off as he wanted. What he needed was a foolproof scheme that would bring in enough so that he would never have to worry again.
Oestericher listened. He had heard the story before, was well aware of what lengths Margolies had been driven to, was willing to go to, and was capable of. He knew, too, or he expected that if he could come up with the scheme that would help Margolies, he would gain his own reward. It had been on his mind for some time. Now was the time to spell it out.
What did Margolies know about factoring?
Margolies knew enough to know that it was a major financing method in the garment industry; it was the way those companies, trapped in a seasonal business,
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