"I was impressed with him," recalls Killebrew, now retired in Arizona. "His original idea was a pretty good one. If it was actually built, we could have made some money. But it never happened. He took our money, and we never saw it again."

Franks would later plead guilty to charges of mail and wire fraud in the deal and was sentenced to 60 days in prison. Investors, who also included former Idaho congressman Ralph Harding and occasional Forbes 400 member Harold Alfond, say they lost $1.5 million out of $2.5 million invested in the deal. Franks claims their losses were no bigger than $600,000.

Franks, 59, who splits his time these days between the posh Balboa Bay Club in Newport Beach, Calif. and a weekend getaway in Mexico, says his offense was just "commingling funds" and that Harding used political influence to get him indicted. "It wasn't as bad as he painted it. Harding went to the attorney general and told him that because he was a congressman, I should be indicted."

"Jack Franks is one name I want to forget," grumbles Killebrew. "It was horrible."

But Franks is nothing if not persistent. After another fraud conviction for his role in the 1987 downfall of Vernon Savings & Loan, he's back in business in his most ambitious deal yet. He put together an investment group that's developing a three-golf-course, 342-home development on a 1,000-acre site in ritzy La Quinta, Calif., near Palm Springs.

True to form, Franks has attracted a blue-chip list of investors--and plenty of controversy-- for his "Country Club of the Desert". The investors include General Nutrition's former chief executive, Jerry D. Horn, who in turn brought in his successor at GNC, William Watts, and John Childs, a former partner of LBO-meister Thomas H. Lee, who now runs a private equity fund. Nationwide Financial Services, a publicly traded company controlled by mutually owned insurance giant Nationwide Corp., is backing the project with $29 million in equity and debt.

Apparently smitten with the deal, Joseph Gasper, president of Nationwide Financial, chipped in another $250,000 of his and another executive's money as an equity investment in the partnership.

"Jack's had his ups and downs, but he's proven to be a great partner and a friend," swoons Horn, who has poured more than $4 million into Franks' ventures over the years and is working with him on a separate shopping-center project nearby. "He has a beautiful wife. We're having dinner with them tonight, in fact. He's a bon vivant fellow."

But one person who won't be sitting down to dinner with Franks is Gene Phillips, the wheeler-dealer who oversaw the collapse of real estate syndicator Southmark. Even as he was being indicted last year (he's awaiting trial) as part of a racketeering sweep that included members of Mafia families, Phillips found time to sue Franks over a $635,000 loan Phillips had advanced to assemble the Country Club site. Phillips claimed in the suit that Franks and his partners stiffed him out of $434,665 of the loan, including interest, even after Phillips twice restructured the terms.

Though the suit was settled in March, Franks contends that it was in retaliation for his refusal to give a free golf membership to Joel Lenamon, a "consultant" hired by Phillips to collect the loan.

"They would have been paid back without the lawsuit," snorts Franks.

Retorts Lenamon: "He's mad because I went to his partners and asked them if they would pay off his debt. It greatly embarrassed him."

But Franks is apparently a hard guy to embarrass. Recalls Assistant U.S. Attorney Lance Caldwell, who helped prosecute Franks in the Vernon scandal: "He told me jail didn't bother him. 'Hey, you cannot destroy my brain. When I get out, l'll figure something out.' That was his view toward life, that we may have gotten him on this one, but he's smarter than us and he'll get back in the saddle." Franks served six months in a halfway house in 1989 for funneling kickbacks to Vernon's chief executive, as well as for recruiting "straw borrowers"--including his own wife--to cover up busted loans made to a former business associate by a now-defunct Corvallis, Ore. thrift.

"He's a fascinating guy," marvels Caldwell on hearing of Franks' latest venture.

Franks didn't waste time getting back into business, this time as a land speculator. He began assembling the land for the La Quinta project in 1998, then hooked up with Grant Hornbeak, a home builder who brought Nationwide into the deal.

One of the planned three golf courses is completed, with lush green rye and Bermuda grasses sprouting incongruously out of the desert dust. Franks hosted a preview for members last month with an 11-hole round and a reception held in a maintenance shed. He claims to have sold $50 million worth of home sites, as well as more than 100 golf memberships at $90,000 per family.

"The project speaks for itself," he declares. "I paid the price for my life activities ten years ago. And I have partners who have done business with me before my problems. That should say something."

Does Nationwide have a problem with Franks' colorful history? "We did due diligence, and we think it's a very, very good business plan," says Brian Ellis, the president of Nationwide Realty Investors. Later, a Nationwide flack qualified that statement, saying the company is looking into the matter.

Harmon Killebrew is less generous. "He's dreaming up another golf course? He never repaid us for the last one he was supposed to build." Adds Harding, who now works for the Department of Agriculture: "So he's at it again, huh? I feel sorry for the insurance company that put up the money."