Back in 1972, I started working at Logos of Westwood, a Christian bookstore in the heart of Westwood Village near UCLA. I worked there for nine years as the card buyer and I was also the go to girl for anyone who needed to order wedding invitations, napkins, and other printed stuff. At that time the possible choices were displayed in big albums and the customer would look through them and decide what they wanted and I would write up the order, have them check it, and get the prepayment.
One day a man came in and told me he needed to send out "Thank you for your expression of sympathy" cards. I took the order, as usual, but because I'd gotten talking to him, I forgot to get the prepayment. The prepay was usually a deposit of half the price so that we could recover our costs if the customer changed his mind or never picked up the order. This was a common practice everywhere.
So, I called the customer. A woman answered, and when I explained what I needed she said something to the effect that she was Mr. Cooke's secretary and there would be not problem getting the money and just to put the order through. She convinced me to trust in this case, but I did tell my boss about it. When I told the rest of the staff, mostly male, what had occurred, they all looked at me like I was crazy to have called. My boss, who was very celebrity conscious and would make a big deal of it and personally help Pat and Shirley Boone or Hal Lindsay whenever they came in, said, "Don't you know who he is? Of course he's good for the money. Jack Kent Cooke owns the Los Angeles Lakers." How was I supposed to know? I didn't follow professional sports.