I'm trying to figure out why I'm not angrier at Tom Petters. I am angry, but I worked up more emotion last week at the Delta counter when I learned the airline's checked-bag fee had bumped up a five-spot. I don't think I'm alone -- there's not much vein-popping emotion out there, aside from the people who got Pettered out of their money. They're entitled to wish him a fortnight staked on a hive of fire ants covered in Arby's sauce. But aren't the rest of us supposed to be angry as well? Mad? Furious? Pitchforks and flaming-torches incensed?
Perhaps you are. If not, here are some possible reasons.
1. In an era where "trillion" is the new billion, the scale of the fraud seems small. Quaint, almost. Biggest in local history, yes, but Bernie Madoff set the standard. That crook somehow extracted from his clients $65 billion, which is an insane quantity of cash. At some point, you'd think the fellow would have said, Hmm, how about I put $64 billion back into the company, leave a billion for myself, and try to get by on that. Once you enter that rarefied world of billionaires, it's all relative. You find yourself on a gold throne on a yacht the size of an aircraft carrier, with members of Cirque du Soleil feeding you grapes by swinging down on trapezes while the New York Philharmonic plays your favorite tunes, and you think: Is this all there is?
2. Petters may have lived high on other people's hogs, but it didn't seem to bring him any joy. Toward the end it seemed like a hideous life. Imagine living like this: "I'm tired of worrying about my elaborate fraud and the inevitable ruination of my entire life; I think I'll ponder my crushing, unavoidable debt to Vegas casinos for a change of pace."
3. The mugshot. The first picture of post-bust Petters showed a guy with a rueful smile more appropriate for a farm-college frat boy who was caught tipping cows.
4. The personal tragedy. No one believed he suddenly got fraud-deaf when his son was murdered, but it happened, and there's nothing worse than losing a child.
5. The victims. The type of people who lost money to Petters' activities varies, but the typical victim was perceived to be someone with cash to toss around. People get that string-'em-up mood when they read about some slick jerk who tells Grandma that God would like her to invest everything in Orphan Bonds that return 25 percent and build churches in Tanzania.
Whatever we think, it doesn't matter. What next? To put it in pirate terms, Jail Ho, Me Hearty. But for how long? Should he die in jail? That's what it comes down to now: whether he gets Life, or Super-Extra We-Really-Mean-It Life, which is usually reserved for people who carve up Scout troops and bury them in three states. I'm guessing most people don't care if he gets life in the Stony Lonesome, or would be terribly outraged if he got only a hard 20 with no parole, no cable TV, and scratchy blankets. People might be more inclined to dispense a jot of mercy if he'd 'fessed up, but no: It was everyone else's fault. Thanks for the expensive jury trial, pal. Don't let the cell door hit you on the way in.
He's 52 now. I say let him out when he's 77. Let him live a few years as a poor old man. If you want him to stay in jail forever, that's fine; I understand. Just as long as we do the same for the people who kill other people. I have contempt for Petters, but more for the people who take a life. Unless taking money is somehow worse.
jlileks@startribune.com • 612-673-7858. More daily at www.startribune.com/buzz.
