By Frank W. Abagnale, Stan Redding
Frank W. Abagnale, alias Frank Williams, Robert Conrad, Frank Adams, and Robert Monjo, used to be some of the most bold con males, forgers, imposters, and get away artists in background. In his short yet infamous legal occupation, Abagnale donned a pilot's uniform and copiloted a Pan Am jet, masqueraded because the supervising resident of a sanatorium, practiced legislation with no license, handed himself off as a school sociology professor, and cashed over $2.5 million in cast exams, all prior to he used to be twenty-one. recognized via the police of twenty-six overseas international locations and all fifty states as "The Skywayman," Abagnale lived a luxurious existence at the lam-until the legislation stuck up with him. Now famous because the nation's prime authority on monetary foul play, Abagnale is a captivating rogue whose hilarious, stranger-than-fiction overseas escapades, and creative escapes-including one from an airplane-make Catch Me for those who Can an impossible to resist story of deceit.
The uproarious, bestselling actual tale of the world's so much sought-after con guy presently in improvement as a DreamWorks characteristic film.
"I stole each nickel and blew it on wonderful threads, sumptuous accommodations, superb foxes, and different sensual candies. I partied in each capital in Europe and basked on the entire world's most famed beaches."
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Extra info for Catch Me If You Can: The True Story of a Real Fake
He never looks at my car. “ He was still doubtful. “Lemme see your driver’s license. This could be a stolen card,” he said. I handed him my junior driver’s license, which bore the same name as the card. “You’re only fifteen? You look ten years older,” the station owner said as he handed it back. I smiled. “I got a lot of miles on me,” I said. He nodded. “I’ll have to call into Mobil and get an approval—we have to do that on any big purchase,” he said. ” I rolled out of the station with five twenties in my wallet.
I took a cab to Orly, instructing the driver to let me off at the TWA entrance. I by-passed the TWA ticket counter in the lobby and presented my FAA license and Pan Am ID card to the TWA operations officer. He checked his manifest. “Okay, First Officer Frank Williams, deadheading to Rome. Gotcha. ” He handed me the familiar pink form for nonrevenue passengers and I penned in the pertinent data. ” I started to heft my bag to the counter top but the inspector, a wizened old man with a wispy mustache, recognized me and waved me through.
I began to feel frustrated. After all, the pursuit of happiness was an inalienable American privilege, wasn’t it? I felt I was being deprived of a constitutional right. Someone once said there’s no such thing as an honest man. He was probably a con man. It’s the favorite rationale of the pigeon dropper. I think a lot of people do fantasize about being a supercriminal, an international diamond thief or something like that, but they confine their larceny to daydreams. I also think a lot of other people are actually tempted now and then to commit a crime, especially if there’s a nice bundle to be had and they think they won’t be connected with the caper.