By Steve Dinnen
My wife has, from time to time (i.e., repeatedly), reminded me that our basement could be put to better use than as a storage shed for our old mail. As I’m coming to terms with the fact that I no longer need 1997 bank statements, (partially) exculpatory evidence has arrived by way of a lawsuit to which I am a party.
A stock I owned eons ago performed in such a manner as to prompt a lawsuit from disgruntled shareholders. They’re now nearing settlement and sent me a proof of claim form for my share of the booty. But they want to know when I bought that stock. Sale date? How much? That needed information was readily found in the basement, in year-end statements mailed from my former broker in Chicago.
Nowadays even I have gone electronic with most of this stuff. And my new broker has all my trades in e-files. My accountant has taxes, as well. This is no mammoth task, but necessary to ensure that somebody, somewhere, has your important business and finance records.
Once the settlement check arrives, I plan to spend it on a very nice meal during which I will tell my wife how I will very soon clear out all that mail clutter—to make room for a pool table.
