Transparency in Rome and The Confession of Jamie Dimon

(The following should be sung to the tune of "Diamonds are a girl's best friend")
A Pope who's a pauper may hardly seem proper,
But Dimon is the Street's worst friend. - Larry Kudlow, CNN

(DAYTONA BEACH, FL) - Not long after the anointing of Francis I as "The Pope Without Pomp" (Time Magazine), there was a news event so brief that it escaped the notice of our ambulatory news cycle. The Vatican's luxurious helicopter, "Swiss Guard One," descended like the Second Coming into the palatial court yard of Castel Gondolfo, the traditional papal summer home. That luxurious Pontiff's Pad had but recently become the residence of the self-proclaimed Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI, who had re-assumed his earlier title, Herr Joseph Ratzinger.

Officially press-released as a Papal luncheon visit to the ex-Pope by the incumbent Francis I, a Vati-leak tipped off the Osservatore Roma that it was in reality the serving of an eviction notice of the highest holy order. Its second purpose was to release an announcement of keen interest to the financial world.

An elaborate lunch was offered by the former Benedict (following a brief benediction), consisting of an excellent schnitzel, followed by a formidable strudel, both accompanied by a rare 1932 Liebfraumilch. Unimpressed, apparently, His Humble Holiness (the new one) limited himself instead to a simple peanut butter tortilla and a side dish of refried beans, thereby demonstrating his widely broadcast vow of poverty and a pauper-like papacy. Then, according to off the record reports at the scene, Francis I announced to his predecessor his intention of converting the Castel Gondolfo into a home for mendicant friars and/or ex-officio altar boys, not necessarily concurrently.

As a consequence, said the new Vicar of Christ, it was expected that, given 30-days notice, Herr Ratzinger, while retaining all the honors and amenities properly appertaining to the first living ex-Pope in 600 years, should find himself a one-bedroom apartment somewhere, preferably not too adjacent to St. Peter's Square, as a suitable demonstration and endorsement of the new humble and poverty-stricken Papacy. Francis added that the usual retirement benefits would apply to his predecessor, to wit, two-thirds of Benedict's previous annual stipend (Peter's Pence) of $200 mill, the suggestion being that Herr Ratzinger could perhaps supplement his income with the proceeds of his German war bonds which, while expired, still represented considerable value as collectors' items.

In the following post-lunch discussion, the (new) Pontiff added that his austerity plans also include the abolishing, dissolution and winding up of the Vatican Bank, hitherto known as the Institute For Works of Religion (IOR). Pope Francis I seemed determined to bring the financial activities of the Vatican Bank up to the high financial standards he had been accustomed to in Argentina. Amid swirling rumors about money laundering, Mafia affiliations, and just plain Italian hanky-panky, bank-wise, the Assissi Afficianado had appointed a new broom, in the person of a trusted friend, Cardinal Rodrigues, to report to him on VatBank's management, board membership and secret documentation.

By special arrangement, JPMorgan Chase had already consented to act as fiscal agent, and the VatBank's resulting liquid assets would be distributed to the world's poor, with the result that the five billion eligible recipients would receive at least a chicken in every pot and a Toyota in every carport. The administering of that distribution would be handled by the Pope's former colleagues among the currently disbanded Argentinian military junta which - no longer being involved with politics - could be trusted to act in an independent fiduciary capacity, since for many years they had compiled an unblemished record of compassion for the common people.

His Humbleness added that this was the final flight of Swiss Guard One, which was being donated to Al Italia, provided they use it for charitable purposes. And finally, he announced (making the sign of the Cross), that the Popemobile, which under Benedict's reign had been fitted with a Mercedes engine and Rolls-Royce suspension system, would now be modestly retrofitted with a more appropriate Hyundai motor and less comfy plastic seat cushions made in Taiwan. Only the bullet-proof glass would be retained as an enduring symbol of "The rock on which I will build my church."

At about the same time, in a modest executive suite in New York, Jamie Dimon, CEO of JPMorgan Chase was announcing his own about-face and condemnation of Wall Street banks and the 1% he rode in on. Often mentioned by JPMC's PR department as the most responsible Master of The Wall Street Universe, Dimon has long been outspoken as a critic of banks and bankers, including the Italian variety, and currently welcomed the demise of the Vatican Bank, although he wouldn't be around to cast the first stone.

He chose the Financial News in the U.K. to publish his public letter of resignation, perhaps because he had a little trouble getting the domestic media to handle it: most American publications consider him a traitor to our way of life. Dimon declared that he was tired of continuing in the "bankrupt moral culture" of international finance. He went on to call for a criminal investigation into wrongdoing in the major Wall Street bankss, including his own, preferably after his own departure. He declared his intention of doing yoga, notto mention retiring to Alaska, hinting that it was the equivalent of a witness protection program.

Reaction on the Street was ho-hum. Financial analyst Ferdinand Pecora noted that Dimon's public rant against Wall Street would produce a very limited impact. While Republicans and bankers greeted Dimon's falling on his sword with nervous silence, it was apparent that they had little to worry about.

"The FBI and SEC," said Pecora,"have ignored every other clue they've gotten so far about financial crime, so I don't expect things to change. The banks own thousands of lobbyists, congressmen, and government regulators. They'll be just fine."

So two of the world's top bankers have sought less transparency either in retirement or the confessional, but there the comparison between Dimon and Ratzinger gets a little hazy. Dimon will be running a modest salmon fishery and yoga practise somewhere near Anchorage, while the former IOR Chief Celestial Officer has other loaves and fishes to fry. It's rumored by Paolo, his former butler, that Benedict - since the fateful lunch - is contemplating migrating to America and joining the lecture circuit.

Hey, people can change; didn't Jamie Dimon prove that? And if Benedict is denied entry because the Republicans filibuster immigration reform, he still has his pigeons and a modest pad in Rome. Not to mention his retirement fund which Francis The Humble has mandated as two-thirds of Peter's Pence. (Circa a million three. in Lira, of course.)

Bill Annett grew up a writing brat; his father, Ross Annett, at a time when Scott Fitzgerald and P.G. Wodehouse were regular contributors, wrote the longest series of short stories in the Saturday Evening Post's history, with the sole exception of the unsinkable Tugboat Annie.

At 18, Bill's first short story was included in the anthology “Canadian Short Stories.” Alarmed, his father enrolled Bill in law school in Manitoba to ensure his going straight. For a time, it worked, although Bill did an arabesque into an English major, followed, logically, by corporation finance, investment banking and business administration at NYU and the Wharton School. He added G.I. education in the Army's CID at Fort Dix, New Jersey during the Korean altercation.

He also contributed to The American Banker and Venture in New York, INC. in Boston, the International Mining Journal in London, Hong Kong Business, Financial Times and Financial Post in Toronto.

Bill has written six books, including a page-turner on mutual funds, a send-up on the securities industry, three corporate histories and a novel, the latter no doubt inspired by his current occupation in Daytona Beach as a law-abiding beach comber.