The Inviting Crib

The State Bank of tiny (pop. 150) Virgil is a two-story, stucco-covered brick building on a nameless blacktop road. It has 500 depositors, $707,000 in deposits and assets, and five directors, most of them retired farmers, all but one, members of the same family. It is the sort of crib that "Pretty Boy" Floyd could crack while sucking tomato seeds from between his teeth.

It had been held up three times: for $4,090 last October; $1,750 the next month; $1,917 in January. The third time, a customer was shot in the hip when the gun went off in a nervous bank-robber's hand. Each time the robbers were captured and speedily bustled off to prison; the police recovered $2,817 of the loot, and insurance made up the rest--but the stickups made a deep impression on the bankers.

After the second one they locked the door to all but known customers, ordered more than $6,000 worth of bulletproof glass for tellers' windows, armored plate for the cages, time locks on the front door and the safe. The equipment didn't come until after the third robbery. The locked door alone might have prevented the third robbery, except that Director Henry Berens kindly opened the door for a stranger who was waving a $10 bill at him.

That holdup gave the bankers pause. It gave more than that to tall, timid Leo Schramer, 41-year-old cashier. Said his uncle, Bank President William Schramer last week: "That poor cashier is a nervous wreck. Why, Leo's lost 20 pounds since the last holdup."

The Virgil State Bank had reached the end of the line. There will be a stockholders' meeting this month, and the bank will probably shut down and pay off. Schramer's valedictory was sorrowful: "We've tried to fight it off, but when the cashier couldn't take it any more we decided to close the bank. There's nothing on earth got a farm beat."

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