like, which was kind of awkward for her, but we were afraid there might have been a connection,” Crolley said.
She never did get to the proper authorities to find out the information she was after.
“My personal check was held longer and I was actually concerned—not so much for personal safety, but more for identity theft.”
She had a special watch put on her account and asked around if anyone else had heard of Stephen Stanko.
“I really feared he was bad news, but did not know what to do about it. I wasn’t even sure a crime had been committed, since he never asked for the money,” Crolley explained.
Kelly Crolley’s experience with Stephen Stanko was typical of those first months when he needed cash and was busy thinking up new confidence games.
He felt no twinge of guilt. A man had to do what he had to do. Getting a job was Mission: Impossible, so what else was he supposed to do?
He’d have to cast his spells on people.
He always scammed women, and he made thousands of dollars just with his ability to lie effectively. On some, he pulled the “collecting money for sick kids” bit.
For others, he said, “I’m a lawyer,” and offered various legal services for a fee. When he scored, he’d hit a bar or a bookstore or a mall, and begin trolling for a new victim.
Professionally Stephen Stanko might have been struggling, but his personal life couldn’t be beat. Those early days with Laura Ling—romancing, then cohabitating—were about the best times that there ever were, according to him.
He later said, with no apparent sense of irony, that he and Laura shared a love that was straight out of a Harlequin romance novel. It was an unconditional love. They loved each other without question. They never passed judgment.
Removing the rose-colored glasses, we find something less than nirvana in Murrells Inlet. In reality, Stanko sold Laura and Penny Ling a package of lies, and they bought it all.
He said he had an engineering degree from a military college, that he’d worked as a paralegal. He also told them that he’d practiced law without a license—but that turned out to be the truth.
He kept busy doing things, always painting his activities with broad strokes of legitimacy and benevolence. He was charitable and political, always on the side of good.
Stanko suspected the authorities were keeping an eye on him, and he geared some schemes directly toward them. He wanted to send a clear message that he was trying to succeed, trying to be a positive force on society.
To accomplish this, he’d started a program to help juvenile delinquents return to the straight and narrow. Plus, his literary ambitions were rekindled. He couldn’t divulge the details, he said, but he was working on a major literary work.
As time passed, from 2004 to 2005, Stanko wasn’t feeling the upward mobility he had when he first got out of prison. His genius was rendered all but moot.
To those who bothered to observe carefully, Stanko’s activities were a mask covering up his bleak reality. He was just another ex-con who couldn’t get a job.
RESEARCH
During this time, Stephen Stanko did have at least one friend, who called him once a month or so to see how he was doing. It was Dr. Gordon Crews, one of the coauthors of Stanko’s published book, Living in Prison .
The book’s complete title and byline was Living in Prison: A History of the Correctional System with an Insider’s View by Stephen Stanko, Wayne Gillespie, and Gordon A. Crews.
Stanko and Crews had had frequent phone conversations when Stanko was in prison. Then, like now, Stanko mostly griped. Stanko told Crews it was tough on the outside being an ex-con. Nobody wanted to hire the guy who was just out. Crews reminded him that he was a guy with a lot of skills, and to think positively.
Stanko hit Crews up for money. He tried to sell his future royalties from the book to Crews, who said he should be writing again. Just because he was a free man didn’t