IT WAS JUST a little item in the news, but an engaging one - about how they made a mistake with prisoner Tyrone Simmons out there in Washington state.
"It's time to go," they told Simmons when they came early to wake him in his cell."Who, me?" he said. "Are you sure?"
They were sure.
It's time to go. Isn't that what the warden always says when they're ready to lead some rascal off to the execution chamber?
But there was no shout of "Dead man walking!" No priest in attendance and no spectators watching from behind glass.
Instead, they handed him $30 in cash and some personal items and opened the door to the street. Tyrone Simmons, who'd been held for investigation of theft and drug possession, was a free man.
One problem. He was the wrong Simmons. The man they were supposed to release was another prisoner with the same last name.
So now the hunt's on for poor Tyrone. When and if he's caught, they say he'll be charged for his "escape." The fault was his, the jail director contends. It wasn't enough just to ask them if they had the right man. Tyrone ought to have objected more strenuously to being let go.
Isn't that the establishment for you? Always looking for a fall guy for its own mistakes.
I was reminded, as I read the item, of a story some time back about a bank's unfortunate blunder.
Somehow, a computer operator working after hours to enter the day's transactions in the system hit a wrong key. When the bank opened for business the next morning, several of its customers found they had a few extra millions in their accounts.
Now I'm as honest as the next man.
If a sales clerk hands me my change, with a $5 bill accidentally mixed in among the ones, I invariably say, "You might want to count that again."
These small acts of integrity leave one feeling wonderfully righteous. What's more, they are apt to be remembered.
So far, however, I have not been severely tested.
I have banked with the same institution for 41 years this month. They are fine people, and the relationship has been mutually beneficial. They have covered my overdrafts, and I have paid them a great deal of interest.
But I am herewith putting them on notice. I cannot say with absolute certainty what I would do if one month I were to receive my statement and find, through some computer hiccup, they had added six extra zeros to my balance.
Like Tyrone Simmons, I would of course try to do the honorable thing.
"If you wouldn't mind," I'd say, "could you please verify my account number."
And then, like Tyrone, I just might walk.