Healthcare Hullabaloo: Bonnie & Clyde

In the 1930’s, during the great depression, several small groups of outlaws roamed the central plains. Robbing banks, mostly in small towns, their exploits were chronicled in front page headlines across the nation.

The most infamous of this group were the Barrow gang, headed by the star-crossed lovers Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker, a/k/a/ Bonnie and Clyde.

In perhaps the greatest piece of PR ever created, Bonnie Parker wrote an epic poem about Clyde and her that was soon reproduced on the front page of almost every newspaper in the nation. The poem, remarkably, helped the Barrow gang gain a lot of public sympathy in spite of their despicable actions.

If you’ve never read it – here it is – absolutely fascinating:

The Ballad of Bonnie & Clyde

You've read the story of Jesse James--
Of how he lived and died;
If you're still in need
Of something to read
Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.

Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang.
I'm sure you all have read
How they rob and steal
And those who squeal
Are usually found dying or dead.

There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;
They're not so ruthless as that;
Their nature is raw;
They hate the law--
The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.

They call them cold-blooded killers;
They say they are heartless and mean;
But I say this with pride,
That I once knew Clyde
When he was honest and upright and clean

But the laws fooled around,
Kept taking him down
And locking him up in a cell,
Till he said to me,
"I'll never be free,
So I'll meet a few of them in hell."

The road was so dimly lighted;
There were no highway signs to guide;
But they made up their minds
If all roads were blind,
They wouldn't give up till they died.

The road gets dimmer and dimmer;
Sometimes you can hardly see;
But it's fight, man to man,
And do all you can,
For they know they can never be free.

From heart-break some people have suffered;
From weariness some people have died;
But take it all in all,
Our troubles are small
Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.

If a policeman is killed in Dallas,
And they have no clue or guide;
If they can't find a fiend,
They just wipe their slate clean
And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.

There's two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow mob;
They had no hand
In the kidnap demand,
Nor the Kansas City Depot job.

A newsboy once said to his buddy:
"I wish old Clyde would get jumped;
In these awful hard times
We'd make a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped."

The police haven't got the report yet,
But Clyde called me up today;
He said, "Don't start any fights--
We aren't working nights--
We're joining the NRA."

From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide,
Where the women are kin,
And the men are men,
And they won't "stool" on Bonnie and Clyde.

If they try to act like citizens
And rent them a nice little flat,
About the third night
They're invited to fight
By a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.

They don't think they're too smart or desperate,
They know that the law always wins;
They've been shot at before,
But they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.

Some day they'll go down together;
They'll bury them side by side;
To few it'll be grief--
To the law a relief--
But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.

Like now, America back then was in the grips of a tremendous economic recession. People who couldn’t afford to go to the theater for entertainment: instead they reveled in the exploits of folk hero/outlaws like Bonnie and Clyde.

Bonnie and Clyde never profited all that much from their illegal endeavors. Targeting mostly small town banks, their typical haul was a usually amounted to just a few thousand dollars, which is not a lot of money when people are shooting at you, even in 1930 dollars. Nor was their crime spree all that long lasting – from start to finish, it only spanned a few years. Yet Bonnie and Clyde remain a household name – a part of our National psyche – some 80 years after they were finally gunned down.

Years after their final perforation, Bonnie and Clyde lived on in our popular culture. I recall a popular ballad regaling their adventures I even found a copy of this on Youtube. In case you can’t remember this pop ditty, you can listen to it here:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ubOI9yY55JU

Bonnie and Clyde were also the subject and title characters in the 3rd highest grossing film of 1967 (it finished right behind “The Graduate”). The roles of Bonnie and Clyde helped launch the careers of Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway. The film also starred Gene Hackman (America’s Michael Caine) and Michael J. Pollard, who was from my hometown, and who won an Academy Award for his role.

Bonnie and Clyde weren’t the only bad guys who made a name for themselves in the 1930’s. That raucous era also gave us John Dillinger, Machine Gun Kelly, Baby Faced Nelson, Pretty Boy Floyd, and a whole host of other criminals who also remain household names.

The lesson here is clear – if you want to achieve long-lasting fame in this country, become either a movie star or a criminal.

This explains, of course, our new-found fascination with the infamous Benitez brothers: Carlos, Luis and Jose. Their criminal exploits in this century has helped make these three brothers some of the most recognizable figures in the US today.

What? You never heard of the Benitez Gang? Really?

The Benitez family, through their string of phony HIV clinics in the greater Miami area, are the Medicare fraud leaders, accumulating an estimated 119 million dollars in fraudulent Medicare and Medicaid payments during their short 3 year career. If you took al of the money collected by Bonnie and Clyde, and all their aforementioned cohorts, and adjusted it for 2011 dollars, the total would pale in comparison to what the Benitez brothers took in.

So, how come no one’s ever heard of them?

Maybe because they didn’t use guns, or shoot bank customers or police officers. Maybe it’s because they didn’t die in a hail of bullets. Or maybe because they never wrote a poem about themselves….

Well, let me address that right now. Unfortunately, the brothers are not available for comment (they escaped the US before they could be prosecuted and are now living in Cuba), so I decided to write the poem for them. Be forewarned – I’m no Walt Whitman – but I did give it my best shot…

The Ballad of the Brothers Benitez

You've read the story of Bonnie & Clyde--
Of how they lived and died;
But they can’t beat us
Say the Brothers Benitez
Here’s our story – you decide.

The Benitez clan hatched a Medicare scam.
Phony clinics we did run
We billed Medicare
For patients who weren’t there
And accumulated a massive sum

There's lots of money in Medicare;
It’s really as simple as that;
We’d send in false claims;
For amounts that were insane
And got paid at the drop of a hat

They call us no-good scam artists;
They say we are heartless and mean;
But I say this with pride,
There’s no money inside
Clinics that are honest and clean

Yes, the laws of Medicare are foolish
As anyone can tell
They pay without verifying
The’re so scared of denying
So we figured “Oh, What the Hell”

It was then that we 3 decided;
To take advantage of CMS;
We billed and we billed,
’til our coffers were filled
And you can guess the rest

Like the old lady in the shoe;
So much money, we knew not what to do,
We bought houses and cars
And a few tittie bars
Even a helicopter or two

It was like a playing a game of chess
And we’re Bobby Fischer, you bet
We knew every move
And to us it did behoove
To grab all that we could get

As time went by we grew greedier
And soon there was no way to stop
We found that an AIDS drug I.V.
For patients with HIV
Paid us 1500 a pop

But we never had once to worry
About getting the syndrome AID
We pulled off a quick one
And never had to stick one
And Medicare just paid and paid

Our clinic made so much money
We decided to open four more;
Sly as foxes
We got Post Office Boxes
And never even opened a door

Eventually the Feds got suspicious
For us it was time to be chillin’
So our Clinics we closed
And we said ‘Adios!’
After stealing a cool 119 million

And so we three retired together;
Off to Cuba went the Benitezs
We made our big score
Who could ever want more?
Hey Fidel, please pass the Cohibas!

Like I said, I’m no Walt Whitman, but I gave it my best shot. I wonder if Carlos, Luis and Jose might pay me an honorarium for my little poem – they can certainly afford it. Or maybe they can just bill Medicare for it…

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