Saturday, February 15, 2014



---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: Anglen, Robert  
Date: Sun, Sep 28, 2014 at 9:40 AM
Subject: Story on camelback consign
To: Glenn Michaels 

Story is in today's paper. Your blog is mentioned prominently in the story. Thanks for all of your help. Here is a link:

Theme song: Promises, Promises.

Chronology: 2/14 - 2/8/2014

For more details, see the blog posts listed at the bottom of the page.
Updated: 3/26/14

Friday, February 14: Valentines Day!

Yes, Michael Burns, it's true. I'm ardent, passionate and committed. And you, sir, are the proximate focus of my burning desire: 

  • I would love to be paid for all those items you accepted from me - on consignment, under contract - and either sold, kept or misplaced. 
  • I ardently demand the over $20,000 you have unjustly and improperly retained. 
  • I am passionate about compelling you to turn over the money and/or return my items, as you have promised to do, again and again and again and again and again and again.
Such is the nature of my unrequited, unquenchable desire.

Per our agreement of last Saturday, Mike was to have either paid me the second and last installment of the monies owed me or to return the items that he claimed he would be getting back: and some very expensive items they are, too. 

Here's one of them:

Mike sold this huge frame and painting for $4100.
However, whenever he got angry, he would tell
me that he planned to get the painting back
from the 14,000 square foot house in PV that it
now resides in. 

 Here's another.
One of a pair of bronze urns from the Estate
of Orson Welles received from my father's estate.
Sold for $3800. My minimum was $4100.

Thursday, February 13:

Back on the picket line in front of Camelback Consign and Design. But only for an hour, from 5 PM to 6 PM.

It was a glorious hour. Traffic was backed up in front of the shop for a large portion of the time as I marched back and forth in my ill-fitting Uncle Sam hat - singing loudly -  my own, made up on the spot lyrics: 

We are building tomorrow's Heaven. We are building it today. We are trying. We are crying. We are talking. We are walking. We are working. This is the way the work gets done. We are building for those who follow. And they follow us today.

And variations thereon. I'm pretty sure a few folks noticed my effort as there were at least a few drive-by thumbs up and honked horns.

It wasn't as hot at that hour as it was earlier in the afternoon. Only 80 degrees Fahrenheit, as opposed to 84 or 86. 

Some folks from Urban Design, next door, watched me do this without saying a word. Still, they looked shocked - maybe flummoxed. 

One young man stopped to inquire about what I was doing and why for a good 15 minutes. I handed him one of my fliers and we discussed the situation. He tended to agree with my wife, based on what he read and heard, that Michael Burns, is simply a big bad meanie who needs to be stopped and disciplined. 

My position was more nuanced: everyone makes mistakes. Medical science has taught  us that a simple change in brain chemistry can lead to aberrant behavior not recognized or recognizable to the affected individual. I feel bad for Michael Burns even though I am angry at his behavior. He is a threat to himself and those who love him as well as to the rest of us. But, one way or another, he has to pay. Specifically, he has to pay me.

Wednesday, February 12:

Having arrived at the office at a much earlier hour than usual, I picket Camelback Consign and Design from 2 PM to 4 PM. This is my return to street-level communication following the failure of Mike Burns to deliver on his promises. (See below.) Unfortunately. 

Then I went back to the office.

I had really expected to be paid - finally - the day prior. After all, Mike had told me he would have the money and turn it over to me - from a trust of some sort - a few days earlier. (So much for trust, huh?)

The weather was great, if a tad warm. One lady exited the store then asked about my situation. Then she tells me that she has just picked up another check from the store as the first check she received bounced. I wished her luck. I told her that it had taken months for Mike to make my bounced check good. 

At least one vehicle with a vanity plate that includes the letters JD  (as in TOPJD, or something of the sort), is parked in front of the store and later drives off. I should have paid closer attention to it. 

Around 3:30 PM, Mike Burns shows us in his car and waves as he goes by. He shouts something I can't really hear. 

 I check my mobile phone and there's a message from Mike.

You know, Glenn, you never cease to amaze me. I'm working on your behalf to get you your money, to get it straightened out and you pull this. It's going to get ugly now. So, be prepared to be out there all summer. I'm going to tell the attorneys, let's go to court. Let's fight it. 
Earlier that day: 

Mike Burns calls me twice. He's furious at the second text I sent him the night before, warning him of consequences for a failure to make good on his promise to pay me. 

You want to ruin me. You're going to stroke me out. I can't take it any more. I'm going to explode.
 I spent all day yesterday with the lawyers. I'm not supposed to just take money from the trust. It's only for medical expenses and emergencies (or something to that effect). I have to pay taxes on it. Fill out paperwork.
He disconnects the first time. A while later he calls back and more or less reiterates his story about how I'm making his life miserable.  

My response: Get one of your lawyers to call me or send me an email that says the money is there, as you claim. I need proof. Not more promises. I want to believe you, but I don't. You've simply not delivered on any of your previous commitments. 

Mike suggests that the lawyers are too busy to contact me.

Tuesday, February 11:

I'm still hoping to receive the money Mike promised that I would receive the day before.... a promise made over the weekend, on Saturday. 

My first text of the day to Mike Burns (4:28 PM) :

I haven't heard from you. Which leaves me feeling blue... black and blue.. Please tell me my fears ain't true. 

My second text of the day to Mike Burns (8:28 PM) :

Those lawyers of yours work late!
Money or no money you can expect to see me tomorrow afternoon. I'll be bringing my sign. I really would prefer not to have to pull it out but I've made arrangements at work to spend a few hours a day with you. You're the one one who told me that Monday would be the day (I was to be paid).

For details, see February 10.

Monday, February 10:

Pay day. This is the day I was to receive the approximately $12,000 first installment on the agreement Mike Burns and I worked out the preceding Saturday. 

Originally, he expected to pay me on Saturday, with the proceeds from some paintings from his private collection that he was selling. He hoped to get a significant portion of the sales amount in cash. The cash never came. Then he spoke about the trust he was accessing. 

One way or the other, he absolutely committed to me that I would be paid on Monday.

However, those darned lawyers were insistent on forcing Mike to fill out loads of paperwork and forms, a task that seemed to require the entire day. 

I clearly recall him telling me, over the phone: I've got the money. 

Well, good for him. So far he hasn't delivered any of it to me.

Sunday, February 9:

The cash for Mike's personal paintings that was supposed to have shown up on Saturday, he says will arrive this day. In the late morning he calls to tell me that one of the two men he was doing the deal with was at the store and they were waiting on the second guy to show up.

You didn't say anything about a second guy, yesterday, I noted to him. Well, they're both in on this deal, he tells me. He's coming. I just don't want to run the first guy's credit card until I know how much cash the second guy is bringing.

Needless to say, now, that didn't happen. He tells me at the end of the day, when I drop by to see him, that the cash didn't show and he had to run the entire transaction on the credit cards. Tomorrow, he promises. Tomorrow you'll be made whole.

Saturday, February 8:

Mike and I sit down in the morning to work out what and how I will be paid. We confirm the numbers that we're expecting to apply. He'll give me an initial cash payment today - later today - when he gets his hands on the cash he will receive for some prized paintings he is selling from his own collection - will either return the outstanding items retrieved from clients or pay me the 65% I'm owed for them on the following Friday. By Friday, one way or another, he assures me, this misery will be over.

He sends me home to write up the deal in the form of a contract, which I do. It takes a few hours to get it right, to organize the four "exhibits" with values and inventories and assemble two clean copies. But, hey, the end is near!

Mike Burns is virtually cordial. He even calls me "buddy."  

We've come a long way, baby. (Wow. Was I wrong! Keep reading. 05/23/14)

For all of the juicy details the BBB has to offer, use this link.

Mike Burns wasn't born yesterday. He wasn't born on the Fourth of July, either. NOPE. Mike Burns was born on 9/11 in 1952. 
He was destined. 
Don't forget to tip a hat to Ms. Indispensable, Vera Manuz, either. Where would Mike be without her?

I don't know if the truth will set you free. But fuss loud enough with a big 'nough bunch a friends and I swear folks 'll do near anything to get you to shut up. Fast as they can. 

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.