Among the dozens of appealing American advertisements crammed in the colourful comic books of our youth was the magic mystery of “The Money Maker.” A machine that manufactured money, it promised from a tiny notice as if sharing a secret, “Insert a blank piece of paper, turn the knob…OUT COMES A REAL DOLLAR BILL: You can spend it: Makes $5’s, $10’s, $20’s and more! A mystifying trick: Order yours NOW! Only $1.25!”
We grew impatient for the precious few copies of sleek Superman, the crusading Batman and the tormented Thing that circulated within favoured reading groups, hiding from chores and homework until we enjoyed the exciting exploits of heroes ranging from the amazing Spiderman, to the incredible Hulk, the Fantastic Four and Wonder Woman. The valued magazines were lent to us by our better-connected friends who we envied for their high-heeled, well-travelled parents or generous overseas relatives, preferably based with big barrels, boxes and bank accounts in New York.
The early enterprising students rented their high demand issues, although already several months or even years old for a small fee. So, we happily competed and paid our pocket money to pore over the publications for a night, or if we were lucky loyal customers, for a weekend, before each was passed on and shared until the once glossy cover lost its sheen and split, and the fragile newsprint remainder fell apart and disappeared into the distribution dark web.
Absorbing the stories where good and justice prevailed, faster than a speeding bullet, we sought momentary escape from the empty supermarket shelves, dry pipes and ongoing blackouts of our impoverished daily lives. We looked up and searched the sunny skies but spotted only soaring birds and the occasional plane. Gazing at the gripping graphics and brilliant hues that proved more powerful than the lost locomotives of the scrapped railway rumbling in our imagination, we studied the powerful pictures and then the perfect pitches packed in fine print on the inside covers.
Aimed at clueless children, these offered a tantalising glimpse of the foreign life and successful style that seemed as distant as the city Metropolis and the destroyed planet Krypton. No wonder our white knights were able to leap off tall buildings at a single bound, we thought, given the lure of the land of opportunity where money came from remarkable boxes rather than certain elusive trees, and novelty items and toys sold for little as a dollar.
Luckily, in those days of foreign currency scarcity and endless restrictions, we had no such cash, local or foreign to spare or takeover, and while we could find the nearest post office without a map, none of us knew what a money order was. I never owned a United States dollar note until my father gifted me a crisp single with the baffling command, “Keep it safe, it’s the most powerful currency in the world.”
Contemplating the advantages of X-ray specs, or the radioactive dangers of solid green kryptonite especially to a favourite superhero, we longed for a rugged frontier cabin if only for the luxury of leaving our rented cramped quarters shared by a family of six. With four cabins for just $5, we marvelled that each growing sibling could easily own a house. Forget the scary seven-foot alien creature that obeyed commands. Bear-escape shoes, inflatable dolls and $6.98 Polaris nuclear submarines were unnecessary. We passed, too, on the genuine soil from Dracula’s Castle in Transylvania proudly presented by Warren Publishing Company, worried over worlds being destroyed through the looking glass of the Radiumscope and shuddered just thinking of the exploding army hand grenade.
But the “wonderful world” of “live sea-monkeys” enthralled us and countless others. Who could resist the sensational claims of owning a “bowlfull of happiness” from “instant pets” that hatched with the addition of water, bringing “smiles, laughter and fun” into any home? The beautiful family of enchanting pink humanoids were vividly illustrated to look like friendly sea horses with crowns, posing with languid elegance in front of a huge purple castle. Transcience Corporation of Fifth Avenue, boasted, “best of all, we even show you how to teach them to obey your commands like a pack of friendly trained seals,” even admitting “Because they are so full of tricks, you’ll never tire of watching them.”
Indeed, we did not ponder this bit, nor grow weary of examining the intriguing advertisements, finally settling on the dream of owning the “Money Maker” and its pragmatic prospects for perpetual prosperity, only if. We did not suspect the charming creatures and their corporate seller of monkeying around and being anything less than smart sea simians, never spotting the miniscule writing at the bottom of the promotion: “Caricatures shown not intended to depict Artemia salina.” While our blood also contained the pigment haemoglobin, we lacked the sharp brain of our dominant species, plus the three eyes and 11 pairs of legs of the minute brine shrimp that swims on oblivious to castles in the sky, and unchanged in 100 million years, unlike the ever-evolving business of swindling.
What has not changed as well in all that time are the scams and tricksters, and the number of eyes one would need to be watchful. Like the crustacean from the Mediterranean of Southern Europe, Anatolia and Northern Africa, the slick snake oil salesmen come from near and afar, offering greater rewards than the spiced mineral oil falsely sold as the profitable panacea and traditional Chinese anti-inflammatory liniment of fat extracted from a water snake.
This week, we learnt of a slippery Guyanese practitioner still traversing exotic places in search of riches. Sixty-two-year-old Kalam Azad Sattaur, who claims to be an established diamond dealer based in Brazil, was arrested on March 14 last in Thailand, a day after arriving from Malaysia, for reportedly defrauding a local businesswoman of 9M baht or US$282 000 in what police described as an “old ‘black money’ scam.” While the financial term “black money” covers untaxed earnings from any illegal activity, the two decades-old racket involves convincing victims to pay cash for stacks of disguised blackened ‘banknotes’ supposedly removed from circulation, deliberately dyed to avoid detection by authorities.
A variation of the infamous “advance fee fraud”
popularised by Nigerians, the black money scheme is also known as the “wash wash scam” since the subject is persuaded to pay an increasing array of high fees for purchasing a special solvent to remove the dye, with the promise of a substantial share in the proceeds. These “chemicals” can be anything varying from flavoured raspberry cordial, ground up aspirin and Vitamin C tablets dissolved in water, to talcum powder, slaked lime and magnesium hydroxide.
The trick is to fool the victims with a few authentic US hundred-dollar bills, coated with a protective layer of glue, dipped into a solution of tincture of iodine. The real bills are dried and switched with some of the plain black paper notes cut to size during the witnessed “washing” to persuade the quarry to get a complete financial “clean-out.” In Sattaur’s case he claimed to have had the equivalent of 20M baht or US$627 000, which the Phuket language school owner revealed she agreed to acquire for the “bargain price” of just under half that. She duly transferred payment to 10 offshore bank accounts as directed, but Sattaur sent no security box of notes and cleaning liquid.
Sattaur, a grandfather, who is married to a Brazilian, stands accused of using fake Facebook and LINE accounts to pretend to be an American who had worked in Syria, and is now charged with fraud for impersonating another person, the Phuket News said. He was staying in a cheap room at the Eakkamon Mansion, that is not a stately home but a basic hotel, when he was held.
Despite frequent media reports of cases, and warnings from lawmen across the world, people continue to fall prey to different rackets, with fraudsters using social media to make initial contact, earn trust, gain email and direct access, often forming romantic relationships with their intended quarry before playing on good, old greed.
Sattaur was cited in a 2014 public complaint filed with the online consumer watchdog, Ripoff Report, for selling simulated diamonds to an American buyer who travelled to South Africa for the transaction at the InterContinental Hotel. “He kept assuring (me) that the stones were of great quality. The stones were all FAKE.” He stopped responding “until we were forced to contact his family to get hold of him…” The complainant added, Sattaur “wanted me to send him US$1,800” more for new stones. “I refused. I had already lost a lot of money,” declaring “Deal with Mr. Sattaur at your own risk – trust that you will regret it.”
ID hears of her late father-in-law’s money box encounter in the 1950s, when he and gullible family members saw their entire savings disappear chasing magic and vanishing conmen.
