launching four new types of savings accounts, with increased interest rates and geared to varying needs had been the subject of earlier studies at his behest. It was merely necessary to translate these into reality. Some fresh ground to be covered involved a strong program of advertising to attract new depositors and this conflict of interest or not the Austin Agency produced with speed and competence. The theme of the savings campaign was:
WE'LL PAY YOU TO BE THRIFTY
AT FIRST MERCANTILE AMERICAN
Now, in early August, double-page spreads in newspapers proclaimed the virtues of savings a la FMA. They also showed locations of eighty bank branches in the state where gifts, coffee, and 'friendly financial counseling' were available to anyone opening a new account. The value of a gift depended on the size of an initial deposit, along with agreement not to disturb it for a stated time. Spot announcements on TV and radio hammered home a parallel campaign.
As to the nine new branches 'our money shops,' as Alex called them two were opened in the last week of July, three more in the first few days of August, and the remaining four would be in business before September. Since all were in rented premises, which involved conversion rather than construction, speed had been possible here, too.
It was the money shops a name that caught on quickly which attracted most attention to begin with. They also produced far greater publicity than either Alex Vandervoort, the bank's PR department, or the Austin Advertising Agency had foreseen. And the spokesman for it all soaring to prominence like an ascending comet was Alex.
He had not intended it to be that way. It simply happened.
A reporter from the morning Times-Register, assigned to cover the new branch openings, dipped into that newspaper's morgue in search of background and discovered Alex's tenuous connection with the previous February's pro-Forum East 'bank-in.' Discussion with the features editor hatched the notion that Alex would make good copy for an expanded story. This proved true. When you think of modern bankers tthe reporter later wrote] don't think of solemn, cautious functionaries in traditional double-breasted, dark blue suits, pursing their lips and saying 'no.' Think, instead, of Alexander Vandervoort. Mr. Vandervoort, who's an executive veep at our own First Mercantile American Bank, to begin with doesn't look like a banker. His suits are from the fashion section of Esquire, his mannerisms a la Johnny Carson, and when it comes to loans, especially small loans, he's conditioned with rare exception to pronouncing 'yes.' But he also believes in thrift and says most of us aren't being as wise about money as our parents and grandparents.
Another thing about Alexander Vandervoort is that he's a leader in modern bank technology, some of which arrived in our city's suburbs just this week.
The new look in banking is embodied in branch banks not having the appearance of banks at all which seems appropriate because Mr. Vandervoort (who doesn't look like a banker, as we said) is the local driving force behind them.
This reporter went along with Alexander Vandervoort this week for a glimpse of what he calls 'consumer banking of the future that's here right now.'
The bank's public relations chief, Dick Prench, had set up the arrangements. The reporter was a middle-aged, floppy blonde called Jill Peacock, no Pulitzer journalist, but the story interested her and she was friendly.
Alex and Ms. Peacock stood together in one of the new branch banks, located in a suburban shopping plaza It was about equal in size to a neighborhood drugstore, brightly lighted, and pleasantly designed. The principal furnishings were two stainless-steel Docutel automatic tellers, which customers operated themselves, and a closed-circuit television console in a booth. The auto-tellers, Alex explained, were linked directly to computers at FMA Headquarters. 'Nowadays,' he went on, 'the public is conditioned to expect service, which is why there's a demand for banks to stay open longer, and at more convenient hours. Money shops like this one will be open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.' 'With staff here all that time?' Ms. Peacock asked.
'No. In daytime we'll have a clerk on hand to handle queries. The rest of the time there'll be no one except customers.' 'Aren't you afraid of robberies?'
Alex smiled. 'The auto-teller machines are built like fortresses, with every alarm system known to man. And TV scanners one in each money shears monitored at a control center downtown. Our immediate problem isn't security it's getting our customers to adapt to new ideas.'
'It looks?' Ms. Peacock pointed out? 'as if some have adapted already.'
Though it was early 9:30 A.M. the small bank already had a dozen people in it and others were arriving. Most were women.
'Studies we've made,?' Alex volunteered, 'show that women accept merchandising changes faster, which is probably why retail stores have always been so innovative. Men are slower, but eventually women persuade them.'
Short lines had formed in front of the automatic tellers, but there was virtually no delay. Transactions were completed quickly after each customer had inserted a plastic identifying card and pressed a simple selection of buttons. Some were depositing cash or checks, others withdrawing money. One or two had come to pay bank card or utilities bills. Whatever the purpose, the machine swa1lowed paper and cash or spat them out at lightning speed.
Ms. Peacock pointed to the auto-tellers. 'Have people learned to use these faster or slower than you expected?'
'Much, much faster. It's an effort to persuade people to try the machines the first time. But once they have, they become fascinated, and love them.'
'You always hear that humans prefer dealing with other humans, rather than machines. Why should banking be different?'
'Whose studies I mentioned tell us it's because of privacy.' There really is privacy (Jill Peacock acknowledged in her by-lined, Sunday edition feature story), and not lust with those Frankenstein-monster tellers. Sitting alone in a booth in the same money shop, facing a combination TV camera and screen, I opened an account and then negotiated a loan. Other times I've borrowed money from a bank I felt embarrassed. This time I didn't because the face in front of me on the screen was impersonal. The owner of it a disembodied male whose name I didn't know was miles away.
'Seventeen miles, to be exact,' Alex had said. 'The bank officer you were talking with is in a control room of our downtown Headquarters Tower. From there he, and others, can contact any branch bank equipped with closed-circuit TV.'
Ms. Peacock considered. 'How fast, really, is banking changing?'
'Technologically, we're developing more swiftly than aerospace. What you're seeing here is the most important development since introduction of the checking account and, within ten years or less, most banking will be done this way.' 'Will there still be some human tellers?'
'For a while, but the breed will disappear quickly. Quite soon, the notion of having an individual count out cash by hand, then pass it over a counter will be antediluvian as outmoded as the old-fashioned grocer who used to weigh out sugar, peas, and butter, then put them into paper bags himself.' 'It's all rather sad,' Ms. Peacock said. 'Progress often is.'
Afterward I asked a dozen people at random how they liked the new money shops. Without exception they were enthusiastic.
Judging by the large numbers using them, the view is widespread and their popularity, Mr. Vandervoort told me, is helping a current savings drive…
Whether the money shops were helping the saving drive, or vice versa, was never entirely clear. What did become clear was that FMA's most optimistic savings targets were being reached and exceeded with phenomenal speed. It seemed as Alex expressed it to Margot Bracken as if the public mood and First Mercantile American's timing had uncannily coincided.
'Stop preening yourself and drink your orange juice,' Margot told him. Sunday morning in Margot's apartment was a pleasure. Still in pajamas and a robe, he had been reading, for the first time, Jill Peacock's feature story in the Sunday Times-Register while Margot prepared a breakfast of Eggs Benedict.
Alex was still glowing while they ate. Margot read the Times-Regzster story herself and conceded, 'It's not a bad piece.' She leaned over and kissed him. 'I'm glad for you.' 'It's better publicity than the last you got me, Bracken.'
