Val Southwick and Bernie Madoff moved in very different circles.

Southwick drove a Ferrari and lived in an Ogden manse. Madoff collected vintage watches and barbecued for hundreds at his Montauk beach house. Southwick is sitting in a prison cell in Gunnison. Madoff is under house arrest in his $7 million New York apartment.

But the men -- one convicted and the other accused of being a con artist -- had one thing in common. They recruited those they knew.

It's the predictable stuff of a Ponzi scheme. What's unexpected are the social and psychological similarities between their bicoastal marks -- Utah Mormons and East Coast Jews. A sense of being special led both groups to fall for the oldest trick in the book.

Madoff found investors at the exclusive Palm Beach Country Club. Southwick found his at church. Madoff's victims paid the club's pricey fees for the chance to brush with the investment whiz and his proxies. Southwick used current and former Mormon bishops and kept a photo of his family with LDS Church President Thomas S. Monson in his office.

"It's a given that [the Ponzi schemer] goes to people he knows. Religious affiliations let them do their thing," says Craig Orrock, who represented a handful of Southwick's victims.

More than taking advantage of proximity, Madoff and Southwick plied a unique knowledge of their clients' culture and armchair psychology to get greed to kick in. Madoff's felt lucky. Southwick's subscribed to Utah's twist on Calvinism: Riches must be proof of righteousness.

There's a reason the Ponzi scheme keeps working.

Utah's insular culture is particularly vulnerable to so-called "affinity crime." After a rash of Ponzi schemes in the 1990s, prosecutors and regulators started calling the state the white-collar crime capital of the country.

Utah Department of Commerce Director Francine Giani says Utah's reputation is slightly exaggerated. Ponzi schemes work on Baptists and dentists and co-workers as well. But with the economy in decline, she worries about future con games.

"There will be scams out there, people figuring out a way to make their next buck," she says. "Do your homework. Call us. We are only as good as you allow us to be if you make the phone call and ask the question."

Southwick's scheme forced The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints to issue yet another statement urging members to be careful when they invest. The church has returned about $200,000 of Southwick's tithing payments.

Mark Pugsley, a Salt Lake attorney, wrote an op-ed in The Salt Lake Tribune before Christmas, a warning of sorts.

"If someone casually mentions that they used to be the elders quorum president [or some other position] in the context of an investment presentation, don't walk, run for the exit! Church affiliation is not relevant to investment decisions," he wrote. "In fact, I would recommend investing with people you do not know."

The Board of Pardons denied Southwick's petition for parole last month. He'll stay in prison for at least another 17 years. A virtual tour of his French provincial home -- with sauna and pool -- is set to Muzak online. Price tag: $875,000. A scratch in the $150 million swath he cut.

Orrock isn't sure we've learned anything. An active Mormon, he is frustrated with all the institutions involved -- his church, the FBI, the Securities and Exchange Commission, the state. One of Southwick's partners, former Las Vegas bishop Bill Hammons, seems unfazed by the wreckage.

"There's no repentance. He still goes to church. He's still got his temple recommend -- as if he didn't do a damn thing wrong," Orrock says.

"I don't think it will ever change."

Rebecca Walsh is a columnist. Contact her at walsh@sltrib.com