It all started one day in the spring of 1978 when a businessman and longtime politico named Jim McDougal approached us with a sure-thing deal: Bill and I entered a partnership with Jim and his young wife, Susan, to buy two-hundred-thirty undeveloped acres on the south bank of the White River in North Arkansas. The plan was to subdivide the site for vacation homes, then sell the lots at a profit. The price was $202,61l.20.

Jim McDougal was a character: charming, witty and eccentric as the day is long. With his white suits and baby blue Bentley, McDougal looked as if he'd just stepped out of a Tennessee Williams play. Despite his colorful habits, he had a solid reputation. He seemed to do business with everybody in the state, including the impeccable senator Bill Fulbright, for whom he helped make a lot of money in real estate. His credentials were reassuring to both of us.

If all had gone according to plan, we would have turned over the investment after a few years and that would have been the end of it.

But by the time the development was surveyed and lots were ready for sale, interest rates had gone through the roof. Rather than take a huge loss, we held on to Whitewater, making some improvements and building a model home while hoping for an economic turnaround. From time to time, over the next several years, Jim asked us to write checks to help make interest payments or other contributions, and we never questioned his judgment. We didn't realize that was becoming involved in a raft of dubious business schemes.