1966 – One bright afternoon after work I took the office elevator in a hurry, walked to the Star Ferry to cross Victoria Harbour to Kowloon, eager to meet my friend at his place in Mongkok. It was the last day of the month and I had in my pocket a wad of banknotes, 200 Hong Kong dollars to be precise, my first pay.
Most salaries were paid monthly by way of cash. It was not common for employers to pay their employees by cheque or by direct deposit to their bank accounts. Besides most people did not even have a bank account. While the banks would readily open a savings account for anybody possessing an acceptable piece of identification, it was extremely difficult to open a chequing account. Having a chequing account was a privilege. To obtain one you would be required to complete an application form and provide detailed personal and sometimes sensitive information for the bank’s consideration and approval. The Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank was the strictest of all banks with an additional requirement that you provide the names of two of their existing chequing account holders who would vouch for your integrity. So on the last day of each month Banks were kept busy compiling banknotes of various denominations for companies to disburse their payroll, a routine that festered money bag snatching in the streets or in elevators as payroll staff left the bank premises.
Boarding the bus at the Kowloon Star Ferry Terminal was less of a hassle as there were railings for orderly queuing. As usual there were more passengers than the bus could accommodate and we were not concerned to be squished like sardines as long as we could reach our destination in a shorter time. As the bus speeded off, I felt a trace of sweat on my forehead from worrying about the pay money I had in my back pocket. I was very conscious of the severity of pick pocket trend in Hong Kong and I thought that I had two choices at that instance. First I could simply put my hand in my back pocket, hold and protect the notes. Second I could remove the notes from the back pocket and put them in the safety of my front pocket. I did neither because my conscience would not allow me to do such, according to my way of thinking, a “vulgar thing” as to suspect the people around me. Either of the actions would be tantamount to accusing these persons of dishonesty before the event had happened. My mind kept struggling along the trip, should I or should not I do something about my money. My conscience took the upper hand and I did nothing. To me, like under the law, a person is always innocent until proven guilty. To me all people are good people until proven otherwise. This was how I think then, this is how I think now, this is my philosophy, not necessarily a good one though.
The only decent way to protect my money, I decided, was to keep a close feel of any stranger’s hand that might linger around the pocket. I would catch them if they dare to try. “So far so good” I breathed. The bus stopped many times to let passengers off and to pick up new passengers, and with each stop the standing passengers were bumped, swayed and pushed, but all the time my mind was focused on my back pocket and its content. I did not feel anything suspicious, I did not feel any hand around my pockets, the money must be safe, so I trusted. When I alighted at my destination I immediately put my hand in my back pocket to check the money. Empty, my heart sank, the money gone. I was shocked, sad and disappointed to the point that tears were building inside my eyes. Then I accepted the fact that a lucky person that evening was having a sumptuous dinner at my expense, a lucky person had been paid a month salary without reporting for work. When I arrived home I told my brother-in-law and my sister of the incident, and I felt a bit silly and a bit ashamed of myself for being so easily tricked, so easily taken for a ride.
Throughout the years my wife had her fair share of poking fun at me in front of our children and friends over this incident, giggling at my clumsiness as if this could only happen to me and no one else. I might have felt a bit silly, but the repetitive reminders were beneficial, I believed, a small price to pay for an important lesson to remember in life. From there on I always took great care of my valuables, be it money, jewellery, important documents or my family. For the last fifty years I have travelled quite a bit, moved around quite a bit and I have never lost a cent.