The Super & the Redhead

In the 23 years since he became school superintendent of little (pop. 8,400) Collingdale, Pa., heavy-jowled Faber E. Stengle, 67, seemed worth every penny of his annual $9,400 salary. He worked hard, taught a men's Bible class, and lived with his wife in modest style. His only self-indulgence appeared to be the new Buicks he bought in 1956 and 1957. But last week the shocked citizens of Collingdale found that their impeccable Dr. Jekyll is also a rather spectacular Mr. Hyde.

Fancy Figures. The story came to light when a newly elected member of the board of school directors. Pharmacist Angelo La-Buono, dropped in at Stengle's office one day last December for a get-acquainted chat. Since Stengle was out, LaBuono began passing the time with three of his clerks. Soon they were blurting out rumors and suspicions--all about a pretty redhead seen on Stengle's arm in Philadelphia, and fancy figures on the school checks that passed through his hands.

When the superintendent flew off to a Florida vacation the board began checking up. It soon learned that there was indeed a redhead in Stengle's life; he had met her through another good friend, a blonde. The redhead is a twice-married divorcee who goes under the name of Marguerite Barnes. 36. Stengle turned out to be supporting "Bonnie" Barnes with a good deal more than his arm. He paid most of the rent of her apartment in Philadelphia, helped pay for a Buick convertible, plied her with jewelry, cash and other gifts, including a grandfather clock. When she asked where all the money came from, he blandly explained that he made a princely sum as superintendent.

Revolving Fund. And he did. Over the years, Stengle had managed to take over almost complete control of his schools' finances. He would draw checks on a special revolving "high school fund" by forging the name of the school board's secretary as cosigner. Instead of official checks with their serial numbers, he used personal blank checks, took the added precaution of making them out to cash. At the end of the month, he counted up the money he had stolen, drew a check for that amount on the school district's tax fund by forging the names of the school board's president, secretary and treasurer, then revolved the check back into the high school fund. He also forged school-board notes to obtain bank loans, once for as much as $60,000. When the bank statement came in each month, he made a few changes, removed the forged, unnumbered checks as if they had never existed. His records seemed invariably in order, and the board thought, not entirely without reason, that good old "Casey" Stengle was the very model of efficiency.

Last week police cut short Stengle's Florida vacation, escorted him home to face arraignment--and the news that the redhead had been seeing a lot of another man while taking his gifts. He admitted that he had embezzled at least $125,000. Officials thought that the final figure might reach as much as $200,000. Whatever the amount, the Collingdale school district last week found itself all but flat broke. It had only about $15,000 left to last the rest of the year. Casey Stengle was very sorry, but he was also glad the whole thing was over. "After all," said he, "this has been going on for ten years, and it was a terrible strain."

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