By Dave Lieber
watchdog@star-telegram.com
Of the two dozen known victims that Bob Williams fleeced out of money, perhaps the saddest story of all is what he did to his boyhood friend James Wilson.
Billy-Bob, as the disgraced Arlington floor store owner was called as a child in East Fort Worth, and Jim Wilson go back almost 50 years. But that wasn't enough to protect Wilson from falling for Williams' false promises.
Wilson isn't alone.
In a Tarrant County courtroom Monday, Williams pleaded guilty to taking money from 22 customers and not delivering either new carpeting or flooring that he promised. That same day, Wilson told me his story.
A piece of him still can't believe that Billy-Bob has done this to him and so many others. Even though Williams pleaded guilty a week before to doing much of the same to a Parker County victim, Wilson has trouble imagining that his friend for life is a crook. Even though Williams did it to him, too. That's how thick their friendship is.
They met as second-graders in the mid-1960s at Eastern Hills Elementary School. They played kickball, then rode go-karts and minibikes. When Wilson came home from college, he didn't have a car, so Williams lent him a motorcycle for the summer. Williams also hired him at the floor business where he worked so Wilson had money for school.
They were groomsmen at each other's weddings. Wilson, who runs a Fort Worth ad agency, printed business cards for Williams' All Floors business on West Division Street. Williams put in carpeting for Wilson at his home and office. "I'm going to give you the family deal," Williams always said.
Years ago, their carpet transactions were cleanly handled. "He would come and measure the house, and he would come back and have it installed," Wilson remembers. "And after we'd look at the job, I'd write the check and everything was fine."
In later years, though, Williams mastered take-the-money-and-run. That's what happened two years ago to Wilson.
As he remembers, Wilson starts hearing rumors that Williams is taking money from customers and not delivering what he promises. "There's no way," he tells everyone. "I'll never believe that."
When he talks to Williams, Williams explains that he is losing his business and running out of money.
"How much do you need?" Wilson asks.
"I need $1,500."
Wilson gives him $600 cash. Then he decides he could help Williams with a floor order. Williams comes to Wilson's office, measures the floors and promises to remove old carpet and install wood flooring for $4,500.
Williams explains he has no credit left with the suppliers, so Wilson must write a check for the entire amount. Wilson hands the check to Williams, who cashes it quickly.
Williams cancels the first installation date. Then he postpones, he says, because he has fallen through some wallboard doing attic work. Then Williams won't answer his phone. When they finally talk, Williams confesses he no longer has the money. Wilson never gets his wood floors.
Around this time, Williams pleads guilty to possessing a controlled substance in Johnson County. He receives probation, according to court records .
Wilson says he is shocked that Williams took him for $4,500: "I would have trusted Bob to do anything for me, and I would have done anything for him."
"It hurts to lose $4,500 but I would say it hurts worse that I have a friend who is not himself."
On Tuesday morning, I call Williams and ask him about what Wilson has told me. Williams says he will go see Wilson and work things out.
An hour after my phone call, Williams shows up unexpectedly at Wilson's office.
"I don't know what to say," Williams tells him. "I am so sorry. I am so ashamed. You're my friend, and I can't believe I've done this to you."
They hug. Wilson invites him to sit. For the next three hours they talk.
"I'm still your friend, Bob," Wilson says.
Williams has received a sentence of 10 years' probation in exchange for promising that he will pay $56,000 in restitution to his 22 victims.
He doesn't go into details with Wilson, except to say that if he doesn't get a job and pay them back, he could go to prison.Wilson asks Williams if he wants real help. Williams says he does. So Wilson makes a few phone calls and arranges for Williams to enroll in a mental health program operated by Tarrant County.
The next day, Billy-Bob and Jim go to a government office to enroll Williams in the program.
"Is there such a thing as rehabilitation?" Wilson asks. "Yeah, if somebody believes in you."
The Watchdog column appears Fridays and Sundays.Dave Lieber, 817-390-7043Twitter: @davelieber
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