eyes on the U.S.

Forget LA, The Real American Hollywood Is In Maryland

True American glamor in Hollywood....Maryland
True American glamor in Hollywood....Maryland
Henryk M. Broder

Forget New York, Washington, Boston, Houston, Miami and Chicago. Starbucks, McDonald’s, Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, Hooters, Checkers, Target, Best Buy, 7/11, CVS, Wal-Mart, Family Dollar? Well, forget them too. If you’re looking for the soul of America, get in your car and drive out to back country. Where nothing happens. Nothing at all. Like Hollywood, Maryland, for example, 60 miles south of Washington D.C.

How Hollywood got its name depends on who’s telling the story, but the most likely version is that it came from a holly tree that used to grow near the post office. The PO has been closed for years now, and the holly tree is gone too.

Hollywood, Maryland’s only claim to fame is Socks, Bill and Hillary Clinton’s cat. When they left the White House in 2001, the cat went to live in Hollywood with Betty Currie, the former president’s private secretary. Socks was put to sleep in 2009 "after a long and difficult illness."

And there you have just about everything there is to know about the place. The people who live here are farmers. They used to grow tobacco, but now they produce soy, corn, wheat, hay, if they still farm at all. Many earn a living at the nearby Patuxent River Naval Air Station, the biggest employer in St. Mary’s County. They are politically conservative; their lives center on work, family and God.

Take Diane and Teddy Wible, whose ancestors were German and whose name was presumably either Wiebel or Weibel in the old country. Since they are retired, they have plenty of time to turn their front yard into a Christmas scene featuring Santa Claus, Mary, Joseph, the Three Kings, baby Jesus and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. Needless to say, these inflatable figures glow in the dark.

"We do this every year," says Teddy, "and every year we start earlier and earlier." That’s because they keep adding new figures, and the technology gets more and more challenging. Plus there are hundreds of tiny lights to string all around the garden.

Not far from the Wible home is a large shed-like construction that has definitely seen better days. This is the Hole in the Wall, a tavern that opens promptly every day at 3:35 P.M. The first clients don’t usually arrive until later, so Shirley has plenty of time to get things ready.

Born in 1943 in Cumberland, in western Maryland, Shirley used to work in a nursing home before she and her husband, an army officer, moved to Hollywood in 1967. When the marriage broke up, she needed a job – and bought the tavern. "I don’t know why I did it, but it’s been fun," she says.

Twenty-five years down the line, however, she’s looking to sell. But buyers are not exactly beating down the doors: most of her regulars have aged with her, and Hollywood’s young crowd is not drawn by the live music and karaoke on week-ends – that is, when they haven’t left Hollywood altogether. Shirley’s four children are busy with their own families, and her grandchildren (“there are around 12”) have their own interests.

She recalls how the building was built in 1935 as a storage facility but was then converted into one of Maryland’s first and biggest movie theaters in the late 1930s. The owner also had a bar license and in 1948 he closed the theater and moved the bar from the foyer into the theater.

Well, actually, there were two bars – the little one in the foyer was for black people and the big one in the theater was for white people. The toilets were segregated too. Things stayed that way until the 1970s, but those days were long over by the time she bought the establishment in 1987.

Bluegrass gospel

"Today," says Shirley, "is going to be a slow day.” Next door, at the Church of the Nazarene, there is a concert. Reverend Verne Haskell stages the musical event every year just before Christmas and it doesn’t only draw members of his own church but the “competition” as well – Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists, Lutherans, Unitarians, Pentecostals and even some Catholics – a minority in the State of Maryland. The concert is free, and every seat is taken.

After a short prayer, Haskell thanks the Almighty for the love he gives his children and turns the stage over to the Bluegrass Gospel Express Band, five men and a woman who sing religious songs. With the constantly repeated “Lord” and “Savior” who have sacrificed themselves and will return one day to save humanity, it’s what ordinary Europeans would think of as a fundamentalist soundtrack.

The band was founded 20 years ago by a Methodist, Abraham Lincoln Schneider. He and his wife Mary-Sue both worked in a hospital, and wanted to entertain the patients. At over 80, Schneider no longer performs – but Mary-Sue, Jerry, David, Curt, Steve and Bill carry on the good work. They are so professional they would win any talent contest in Germany provided the jury didn’t understand English and were immune to the religious message.

Bandleader Jerry Thompson, 67, says he would have no problem if a Jew or a Muslim wanted to join. "Why not if they had a good voice and could play an instrument?"

But the highpoint of the evening is delivered by Joe, 65, Daniel, 74, and Rodney, 72 – the Hollywood Harmoneers – who before retirement were a music teacher, mailman and auctioneer (“everything from furniture and lawnmowers, tree saws and roof tiles.”)

They’ve been performing together since 1963 and have recorded six LPs. Their voices belong to the days before playback – strong, sensual, and confident. Yes, on the West Coast they probably would have made their careers in show business. But they didn’t feel they could leave Maryland, because of their jobs, their family and friends.

"For us," says Rodney, "this is the real Hollywood."

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Air Next: How A Crypto Scam Collapsed On A Single Spelling Mistake

It is today a proven fraud, nailed by the French stock market watchdog: Air Next resorted to a full range of dubious practices to raise money for a blockchain-powered e-commerce app. But the simplest of errors exposed the scam and limited the damage to investors. A cautionary tale for the crypto economy.

Sky is the crypto limit

Laurence Boisseau

PARIS — Air Next promised to use blockchain technology to revolutionize passenger transport. Should we have read something into its name? In fact, the company was talking a lot of hot air from the start. Air Next turned out to be a scam, with a fake website, false identities, fake criminal records, counterfeited bank certificates, aggressive marketing … real crooks. Thirty-five employees recruited over the summer ranked among its victims, not to mention the few investors who put money in the business.

Maud (not her real name) had always dreamed of working in a start-up. In July, she spotted an ad on Linkedin and was interviewed by videoconference — hardly unusual in the era of COVID and teleworking. She was hired very quickly and signed a permanent work contract. She resigned from her old job, happy to get started on a new adventure.

Others like Maud fell for the bait. At least ten senior managers, coming from major airlines, airports, large French and American corporations, a former police officer … all firmly believed in this project. Some quit their jobs to join; some French expats even made their way back to France.

Share capital of one billion 

The story began last February, when Air Next registered with the Paris Commercial Court. The new company stated it was developing an application that would allow the purchase of airline tickets by using cryptocurrency, at unbeatable prices and with an automatic guarantee in case of cancellation or delay, via a "smart contract" system (a computer protocol that facilitates, verifies and oversees the handling of a contract).

The firm declared a share capital of one billion euros, with offices under construction at 50, Avenue des Champs Elysées, and a president, Philippe Vincent ... which was probably a usurped identity.

Last summer, Air Next started recruiting. The company also wanted to raise money to have the assets on hand to allow passenger compensation. It organized a fundraiser using an ICO, or "Initial Coin Offering", via the issuance of digital tokens, transacted in cryptocurrencies through the blockchain.

While nothing obliged him to do so, the company owner went as far as setting up a file with the AMF, France's stock market regulator which oversees this type of transaction. Seeking the market regulator stamp is optional, but when issued, it gives guarantees to those buying tokens.

screenshot of the typo that revealed the Air Next scam

The infamous typo that brought the Air Next scam down

compta online

Raising Initial Coin Offering 

Then, on Sept. 30, the AMF issued an alert, by way of a press release, on the risks of fraud associated with the ICO, as it suspected some documents to be forgeries. A few hours before that, Air Next had just brought forward by several days the date of its tokens pre-sale.

For employees of the new company, it was a brutal wake-up call. They quickly understood that they had been duped, that they'd bet on the proverbial house of cards. On the investor side, the CEO didn't get beyond an initial fundraising of 150,000 euros. He was hoping to raise millions, but despite his failure, he didn't lose confidence. Challenged by one of his employees on Telegram, he admitted that "many documents provided were false", that "an error cost the life of this project."

What was the "error" he was referring to? A typo in the name of the would-be bank backing the startup. A very small one, at the bottom of the page of the false bank certificate, where the name "Edmond de Rothschild" is misspelled "Edemond".

Finding culprits 

Before the AMF's public alert, websites specializing in crypto-assets had already noted certain inconsistencies. The company had declared a share capital of 1 billion euros, which is an enormous amount. Air Next's CEO also boasted about having discovered bitcoin at a time when only a few geeks knew about cryptocurrency.

Employees and investors filed a complaint. Failing to find the general manager, Julien Leclerc — which might also be a fake name — they started looking for other culprits. They believe that if the Paris Commercial Court hadn't registered the company, no one would have been defrauded.

Beyond the handful of victims, this case is a plea for the implementation of more secure procedures, in an increasingly digital world, particularly following the pandemic. The much touted ICO market is itself a victim, and may find it hard to recover.

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