Fables of Fortune

by Richard Watts

  The makeup of the fourth third caught my attention. These people were the exclusive subject of conversation, and yet they would not be in attendance. This uninvited group had fallen from grace because of a change in their financial statements or, even better, a scandal. This non-attending third became the entertainment for the evening. They were admired for their courage, apologetically excused for their misfortune, and generally barbecued as the main course.

  CHASING THE EXTRAORDINARY

  Rich people appear to have much in common. They can afford what others can’t. They like expensive things. They travel to exotic places others don’t even recognize. They control almost everything they see. However, they tend to run in the same circles and experience the same things over and over again.

  As a result, rich people are often very eccentric. I know many people who cloak themselves in peculiarity in order to sidestep the possibility of comparison. For instance, Linda requires her personal assistant to review the seating arrangements for every public event she attends. The process includes hours of taking and poring over photographs of Linda lookalikes sitting in each chair at the suggested table so she can select the best lighting, view, and arrangement. If the event planner or host refuses to play ball with her, she won’t attend. Because she is a big draw, event organizers usually bow to Linda’s demands.

  Besides their eccentricities, the rich also seek new thrills. The ordinary is dismissed as mundane and passé. I believe the rich often have aversion to everyday life because it reminds them they are ordinary on the inside. Once they are wealthy, the last thing their egos can handle is seeming average again.

  Jim’s vice is yacht racing on Lake Arrowhead in California. He owns the sleekest, most expensive boat on the market, and he pays an entire crew to keep it in top shape. Every weekend, he joins his yacht club on the water and sails to his heart’s content … and to win every race.

  One weekend, I joined Jim and a group of friends at his lakefront estate. Early Saturday morning, we all trundled outside to watch the weekly race. A new guy showed up with a top-of-the-line boat. I could tell Jim wasn’t happy about it. “He joined the club last month. I haven’t seen his stuff yet, but he looks like an arrogant fool,” Jim muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes.

  Sure enough, as the race began the new challenger crept up on Jim’s boat. At the last turn, the newcomer cut Jim off, causing his boat to lose speed. The interloper won the race. Jim was livid. “He cheated! Cheated!” We had to physically hold him back from accosting the other guy.

  At dinner that night, Jim swore he would ram the other boat if the other man ever tried to pull another stunt like that again. We brushed his words off with laughter, daring him to try.

  I didn’t think another thing about it. But a friend of mine called me the following Saturday. “Well, Jim actually did it.”

  “Did what?”

  “He rammed the guy’s boat! Don’t you remember? When the new guy made the turn and tried to cut Jim off, he just slammed his whole boat right into the middle of the other one. Both boats sunk like stones. When we pulled everyone out of the water, Jim couldn’t stop laughing. He wrote the guy a $150,000 check to pay for the boat and told him not to try that again or he’d do the exact same thing.”

  I signed off. Jim’s boat probably cost a quarter of a million dollars. That’s $400,000 at the bottom of Lake Arrowhead just because Jim didn’t want to lose. He literally blew away his competition … and loved it. The competitors, as well as their families, have not spoken since.

  WINNING THE INVISIBLE GAME

  Many of the rich struggle to find a place of refuge where they can relax and be themselves. When they spend time with other wealthy people, they are pulled into a metaphorical game of chess. There is no “draw.” You either win or lose at each encounter. The wins are temporary and the losses offensive.

  Because of my job, I often spend time at functions for the wealthy. These parties and benefits are strikingly similar, so I tend to observe those around me throughout the evening. Most conversations between super-rich people follow a specific pattern.

  One person usually begins with some claim to fame. I call this “boundary staking” because it reminds me of an animal in the wild defining its territory. Both parties begin to drop names or identify the charities they support. This royal cockfighting escalates quickly into something plainly pedantic and boastful. Onlookers like me become tense and feel themselves taking deep breaths. This ritualistic dance usually concludes with submission by one to the other or, more commonly, a mutual conclusion that they do not agree and are therefore from different camps. Unfortunately, these camps typically have populations of one.

  A common conversation sounds like this:

  “What causes do you support?”

  “My wife and I share our time and dollars with the local Performing Arts Center. We serve on the board and are members of the Benefactors Group.” This piece of information signals a donation of $1 million or more. Impressive.

  The first person must fold or raise the bet. If he chooses to fold, he will make small talk and then saunter toward the outer reaches of the cocktail party.

  If he is a financial hitter, he will raise the bet: “That’s wonderful. We just had the privilege of participating and contributing to the new expansion of Hoag Hospital. Have you toured the new Halloway Cancer Center?” This also requires a donation of $1 million. Volley returned.

  The ball bounces back into the other person’s court. It’s time for his best game. “As a matter of fact, we have always felt Hoag is one of our region’s finest facilities.”

  “My name is Nathan Halloway. My family built the Halloway Cancer Center as a tribute to my mother, who is a breast cancer survivor.” Game … Set … Match.

  A comeback from this type of assault is rare. More important, the first person will never forget Nathan Halloway’s name and will brag about having met him at the next soiree.

  Behold the food chain of the rich.

  STAYING OFF THE PLAYING FIELD

  The games rich people play aren’t always fun. Expectations are high. Even the most amazing accomplishments and experiences can always be topped by someone else. More is rarely enough. Respect is earned one moment and dissolved the next.

  Be thankful you are free to increase and decrease according to your own effort. You can become well-read and converse with friends and strangers. You don’t strike fear or stimulate envy in the hearts of others. You are flawed. You may know a lot about politics but not be able to carry a tune. You may be “Stevie Wonder” on the piano but have two left feet when it comes to dancing. You can move in a variety of social and economic circles without fear. You can receive an invitation to a party and attend with confidence that your presence is desired for your own sake, not for the “entertainment” you might provide. You have the opportunity to be your own person.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  INEVITABLE ALIENATION

  Pets—dogs, cats, birds, rats, or even tarantulas—often become surrogates for human companionship. They can bring comfort, offer loyalty, and be summoned whenever we want them. If you crave the kind of companionship a tarantula brings, you can pull it out of its cage and let it crawl all over you; when you’re finished, you can return it to the cage. Most people have pets as an adjunct to their family activities; for instance, the dog is a part of the daily family routine, doubling as a horse, tackle dummy, pool toy, television pillow, and more. The typical family order is spouse, children, and pet.

  Priorities are quite different in the mansion on the bluff. Pets of the rich often occupy a different position in the home: self, pet, spouse, and children. In affluent communities, dogs are a badge of honor, a sign of wealth. The more expensive and rare the breed, the more wealthy and cultured the owner is perceived to be. The owner only owns and loves the dog. The maid walks, feeds, bathes, and manages the dog.

  To my knowledge, the communities where my clients live do not boast a single mutt. On the rare
occasion when a dog is walked by the owner, he or she will typically stop passersby to recite the pedigree and the lineage of the dog. If you have never heard of the breed, the owner gets bonus points, especially among the super-rich. Their goal is simple: my dog is better than your dog.

  A SOURCE OF LOVE AND ACCEPTANCE

  An elderly acquaintance of mine passed away, leaving four grown children and nine grandchildren. When her will was made public, she left less than $100,000 to each of her children, nothing to her grandchildren, and $73 million to her pet poodle. She arranged for the canine’s care until its death and then placed the rest of the money in a trust to care for the gravesite in perpetuity.

  Behind this display of obsessive-compulsive love is a painful history of family division, caused by the twin oppressors of wealth and greed. When the patriarch of the family died, the mother fought off her children’s greedy attempts to extort money from her for years. She lost their love and affection, so she fell into a serious mistake that is made by too many wealthy matriarchs: She bought her children. She started with automobiles, then houses, and eventually moved into annual disbursements.

  Her dialogue with her children always started out with flowery speeches in which they expressed concern for her day, health, and more. However, every conversation ended with a request for more money. Eventually she began to screen her calls, avoiding her children altogether.

  The children began to get angry, gossiping among themselves about what a selfish woman their mother had become. They stopped calling, except when they had a real financial emergency.

  Far too often I’ve witnessed the plight of people who allow their success to be measured by material things and then lose the love of their families as a result. True, it is usually the individual’s fault, but the pain is still real and deep. My client’s children were busy with their own kids and lives, so perhaps the bitterness was less predominant in their everyday lives. But the woman thought about the rift all day, every day. Her pain was continuous.

  She turned to her dog for unconditional love and acceptance. It spent as much time with her as she liked. It never complained. It never asked for money. When she died, her last act was a reflection of her loneliness and isolation. Though it seems sinister and vengeful at first glance, consider her desperation. She screamed from the grave, “I am lonely! I die in pain!”

  Her children did not attend her funeral. Even worse, her grandchildren never knew their grandmother. If she had given all of her money to the dog ten years earlier, leaving her poor and needy, she might have had a chance with her own children. The last years of her life were as isolated and cold as the grave she now occupies.

  LEAVING A LEGACY

  My grandmother on my dad’s side was called “Pokie.” As I write her name, I am immediately called back to my childhood memories of a robust woman with open arms and eyes that crinkled at the corners. She unreservedly gave me her time and love. I remember reading Bible stories with Pokie every night I spent at her home. She fed me, corrected me, took care of me when I was sick, and listened when I laughed and when I cried. Her stories formed the foundation of an immovable faith. Her words of encouragement have echoed in my mind every week of my life. She believed in me when others doubted. She was my model and mentor.

  I wonder if she would recognize the eating nook I built in my home to remind me of the endless afternoons I spent with her in Ohio, eating cookies and listening to her stories. Would she recognize the pieces of her nineteenth-century furniture that now occupy special places in my home? How would she feel if she knew the great-grandchildren she never met hope to own one of Pokie’s antiques when I’m gone? Not because of their intrinsic value, but because they belonged to this legend in our family.

  She died in 1980, but we talk about her today as if she had visited yesterday. Pokie died with a home worth around $50,000 and a retirement savings of less than $80,000. None of her grandchildren are upset with her because she couldn’t buy each of us a car. She gave us life. She invested in our future by giving us her present.

  When she died, each of her ten grandchildren received $1,000. We furnished the nursery of our first son with the money, in her honor. We told each of our three boys about the sacrifice Pokie made to bring joy to our family. The furniture has become an heirloom simply because it was connected to a special lady. She left an incredible legacy of love.

  AVOIDING ISOLATION

  You probably believe you would remain the same if you suddenly acquired money. Why? The answer is obvious. You would never let money get in the way of your family. But think about it. Could you really stop it from interfering? Money, like a small stream, cuts a slow and deep path in rock. It creeps up on you.

  What do you do when you are bored? Go for a walk? Call a friend? Play a sport you enjoy? Watch your favorite movie? Each of these activities puts you in the path of others who enrich your life because they bring variety and complexity. Others bring controversy, laughter, anger, tears, and conflict. After being with others for long periods of time, you may even enjoy a little time in isolation … but not for long.

  You have to go to work tomorrow. You have to deal with others. They will cause you to compete, compromise, debate, argue, discuss, and cry. They will accept you and reject you. You may even have to try to get along with others.

  When you don’t have money, your friends are not a yo-yo on a string that comes back no matter what. Your friends are baseballs. If you take a swing at one, you may knock that friend out of the park; he or she is gone forever. But if you care for others and give them the real you, they will shower you with affection and love … for free.

  I’ll never forget Elizabeth Kennedy, the richest woman in my dad’s tiny hometown of Poland, Ohio. To this day, I don’t know how rich she really was, but her home used to be a college where President William McKinley attended law school.

  Picture a small Midwestern town with a straight, sycamore-lined street running right through the middle of town. Twenty small houses sat on the left, side by side, and one long, black, wrought-iron fence trailed down on the right, enclosing a grassy park. A stately, century-old mansion sat right in the middle, complete with servants’ quarters, a barn, and stables.

  Because she lived directly across the street, my grandmother knew Elizabeth as well as any of the regular folk in town. As a boy, I remember every time Elizabeth drove her car down the long cobblestone driveway, her servant, Billy, a gray-haired black man who had been with her for decades, walked alongside her car to open and close the gate. My grandfather or grandmother invariably commented, “Elizabeth is leaving.” Then the other would reply, “I spoke with her yesterday. She said she was going to have her hair done in town for a party she is having at the mansion tonight.”

  As a youth, I didn’t pay much attention, except to wonder why everyone always wanted to know Elizabeth Kennedy’s business. Sometimes during supper, my grandparents and neighbors engaged in a duel to determine who knew the most about what Elizabeth was doing that day, tomorrow, next week, and so on. They talked about her as if she were royalty. In fact, she looked a little bit like England’s Queen Elizabeth and dressed every day as though she were going to Sunday church.

  I spent almost every summer in Poland, Ohio, with my grandparents. When I was thirteen, I worked for Elizabeth. I weeded her garden, fixed her barn doors, and even replaced a faucet inside her home. I couldn’t understand why I became the focus of discussion for the entire town. “What does Elizabeth’s house look like on the inside?” “Did you talk to her at all today?” “Does anyone come over to visit her?” “Did you fix the faucet in her private bathroom?” “What was it like?”

  The mansion was quiet and empty. Whenever Billy called me into the house to fix something, Elizabeth was always sitting in the living room alone, reading a book. No one came to visit during the entire three months I worked there. Even though she often allowed me to work near her without saying a word, at other times she asked me about my family, my grandmother, our f
amily dinners, our trips, passions, and what made us laugh. I sensed she hadn’t heard laughter in her home for a long time.

  On the day before I flew home to California, she told me she was going to miss me. She said her family did not visit her anymore: “They are just waiting for me to die.” As a lad, I was shocked to hear of such disrespect, but I politely smiled because I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Billy escorted me down the cobblestone driveway to open the gate for me one last time. He placed his hand on my shoulder as we strode down the lane. At the last moment, I turned and looked back at the mansion. Elizabeth stood on her front porch, partially obscured by the screen door. She was holding a handkerchief, and I could tell she was crying.

  Across the street, in her little row house, my grandmother had already peeled potatoes and snapped green beans for dinner. When I got home, she was resting in the backyard on the patio with my grandfather and several friends who had just stopped by to chat. I joined the group, drank a glass of fresh-squeezed lemonade, and for an hour we laughed, and shared, and lived. I wish I’d invited Elizabeth to join us.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE

  Are the super-rich smarter than the rest of us? Think for a moment before you answer. You probably want to say, “Of course not.” But if you’re really honest your answer will probably be, “Yes, they are smarter.” Why? Wealthy people are “smarter” because we say so. Regardless of the origin of their riches, the world looks at the wealthy and ordains them as knowing more than the average Joe. Based on the common assumption that wealth and intelligence are correlated, we naturally tend to want to believe the best of those who have acquired wealth.