Simple Address Change? Only if You Know Someone Higher Up.

By Fred Bruning

May 17, 2026

Robert Prevost landed a job overseas and, diligent fellow, wanted to register a new address with his bank in South Chicago.

He reached a representative – we do not know how long Prevost waited for a human voice (how sweet the sound!) but can guess at an interlude of “cool” jazz and assurances that his call would be answered when the next overworked agent, perhaps in India or the Philippines, could catch a breath, patience, please – and, without hesitation, answered the inevitable security questions.

Here we arrive at another information gap.

Was Prevost asked the maiden name of his mother? Make of his first car? Beloved pet? Childhood friend? Favorite food? Who he voted for in 2024? (Just kidding.)

Whatever the rigors of his oral exam, Customer Prevost posted perfect grades.

Now, can we update the address?

No.

No, sorry, said the bank representative.

In order to change your address, you must visit a bank branch!

Irrelevant is that the nearest office is 5,000 miles and an ocean away. Makes no difference. Policy is policy. Rules are the rules.

Why the agent put Prevost through the third-degree (car, pet, pizza, whatever) if, according to secret corporate protocols, even a customer who answers correctly (and, for all we know, scored 1600 on his SATs) must visit a bank branch to amend his records – why the poor man was made to endure such an ordeal remains another unknown.

Baffling, maddening and yet utterly 21^st Century – where is the trust?

Involved here was a bit of routine bookkeeping, after all, not a husband who seeks to withdraw $10,000 from a joint account without telling his wife or an 18-year-old pitching a $100,000 business loan to open a cannabis shop.

Robert Prevost only wanted to change his address.

Still, no luck

Though it appears he is not the type to use power or privilege on his own behalf, Prevost made a final bid for breakthrough.

“Would it matter to you if I told you I’m Pope Leo?” said Prevost.

Yes, indeed, friends, it was Pope Leo XIV, live and direct from the Vatican in Rome! The first American Pope! Shepherd of 1.4 billion Catholics! Chicago’s own!

Here was a Pontiff so grounded and good-natured that he did not summon a spare monsignor to deal with the bank or member of the Swiss Guard in feathered helmet.

No, he would do it himself.

“I’m Pope Leo,” said Pope Leo.

Sure, you are.

The bank hung up.

You can imagine the phone rep turning to a colleague and saying now he or she had heard it all, some dude in Rome wanted to change his address and tells me he’s the Pope.

“Yeah,” says the co-worker. “Other day, woman missed a security question and screamed at me she was Lady Gaga.”

The story of the Pope and the bank rep appeared on the front page of the New York Times, and in many other publications, based on an account by a priest who is an old pal of Leo XIV.

Bob Keeler, my Newsday chum (and though he seldom mentions it, winner of a 1996 Pulitzer Prize for religion writing), said in his “Peace of Mind” Substack column that, as an exhausted fan of the underachieving Chicago White Sox, Leo “can appreciate irony.”

It certainly seems so.

Recently, Leo was visited by Secretary of State Marco Rubio.

This followed a period when, inscrutably, Rubio’s boss, the President, declared the Holy Father “WEAK on crime” and a failure on foreign policy.

No less mystifying, Rubio, as a gift, handed the Pope a small, glass football with the State Department seal, weird, but there you go.

“Wow,” said Leo, “okay.”

He did not exclaim: Eugepae! (Excellent!) or Pro dii immortales! (Good heavens!), or even Quid agis? (What are you doing?)

Just a humble, and, likely, perplexed, “wow” from a gentle man and gracious host.

On a note of peace, then, our story ends.

Oh, the bank? Things worked out.

A former classmate pulled strings, the bank president got involved and Robert Prevost’s address was changed.

Leo was elected last year by the College of Cardinals from a field of solid ecclesiastical contenders. Heaven or earth, proven again, it helps to have friends in high places.

Previous Invisible Ink posts at: https://fredbruning.substack.com/archive