- March 28, 2024
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Lest we forget. There is always an argument for more. There are many “kinds” of people. One broad category of people deals with wealth. I’m not talking about intelligence or ability, just wealth. I know a number of individuals who are not particularly bright or witty or even kind but they do have wealth. There is an excellent chance that such folks are the beneficiaries of inherited wealth. I applaud inherited wealth. If granddaddy worked smart or was a total scoundrel yet had enough presence of mind (and good legal and financial counsel) to establish a trust (or investments) that today pays the country club fees, etc. for his genetic juice, well, who are we to judge otherwise?
To the degree any of us can, we try to give a leg-up to those in the bloodline who follow. How big a leg-up and for how long (successive generations) depends on a number of factors that are not the focus of today’s essay.
I have a family joke that goes, “I’d like to live as well as gramps.” I grew up in Iowa in the 1950s. Few from my town of Sioux City were vacationing in the Virgin Islands in January or going to the slopes for extended ski vacations. I heard of a kid or two who lived that way, who left in junior high for private schools in the East. But they were few, indeed. There were some truly beautiful, architecturally desirable homes in Sioux City. I know; I delivered The Des Moines Register newspaper to them for five years. But, simply put, ostentatious wealth and the display of it was unseemly and not something “we” sensible Iowans ever did.
Yet my grandfather made a bundle of money as a lawyer and was in the financial position of “buying” during the Great Depression. He lived grandly by such standards of the times. He had two “domestics” who handled the children (seven), the house and the cooking. He traveled extensively in the 30s to Florida to big game fish. Alaska, Mexico and Canada, too. To fish. My father drove new cars to college during the Depression. He married the most beautiful woman (empirically) in town and joined his father’s law firm (Jepson, Jepson, Jepson & Jepson). It had to have been a “good” time for him. But by the time 1970 rolled around, he was recently divorced and for all intents and purposes, broke. He spent the next 26 years of his life happily doing his thing and accumulating a little money on the side.
My father always did his thing. Except when he didn’t. He wanted to be a physician but my grandfather insisted he become a lawyer, like all his sons. I know that “chapped” my father. He grew up (the family baby) with the proverbial “silver spoon.” But that never handicapped his spirit; actually having the benefits of wealth at a certain age can be a wonderfully liberating experience in what it provides. He had the independent soul of an anarchist with the mind and language skills of a lawyer. A dichotomy, yes, but it was a great combo for the 20th century.
Wealth. Is a tool. Is an instrument. (It should be a verb.) It provides access, opportunity. It can be liberating (except when it isn’t). Wealth is relative. It is temporary (because human life is temporary). I’ve said it before — the only thing better (for me) than being Christopher Robin Jepson would have been to be Christopher Robin Jepson Rothschild or Christopher Robin Jepson Medici. But then again, if I had been a Rothschild or Medici, I would not have been a Jepson and I am “content,” at ease with who I am. I have to be. If we could choose our parents before we were born, well, just imagine that world.
I was blessed at birth! The stars, Jupiter and Mars aligned to give me Chris and Marybelle Jepson for my parents. Thank you.
How much is enough? How much does “one” require to be happy? This is a tricky question? One of the trickiest of all. Particularly in the “type” of world (society) we now inhabit. Human beings, I believe, are “inherently” status-driven. Both men and women are, for the sake of this conversation, a bit like the male peacock. We preen and poise for the most fundamental of reasons, to have access to the opposite sex. “Some” psychologists suggest that is what everything (life) is all about. The art, the music, the literature, the building of financial empires, whatever it is, snowboarding like Shawn White, it is all about access to the opposite sex. Being noticed. Being desired.
To the degree wealth achieves or facilitates that function is a matter of economics. The big-haired women of the stock car Daytona 500 world (as an entire economic subgroup) are, perhaps, “driven” (have been conditioned) to respond to (value) the trappings of flashy cars and speed (Vroom! Vroom!). Whatever. What you drive (to some) determines your “value” to the ladies.
America’s women are similarly “driven” to stand out. Every economic class has its signals, its trappings, it’s hierarchy of exclusivity based on/off wealth.
But at some point in life, wealth, in and of itself, is not about sexual desirability (although that big sexy bulge in your back pocket has been determined to always be in demand), wealth is about what it provides. To you. For others.
But again, how much is enough? The swindler Bernie Madoff wiped out a lot of people or reduced them down to their last million or two in the bank. I’ve seen them crying on television. I get it. They’ve lost a (varying) degree of security, of flexibility. They “vas” robbed. I’d execute the SOB. Seriously. Wouldn’t hesitate. It might have a salubrious affect on deterring similarly like-minded scoundrels.
I know a professional chap in Winter Park whose wealth is perhaps around $10 million. He owns real estate. He does well. He travels. He’s intellectually engaged. He laughs at himself. And, if I were judging this individual (and I am), I’d say he’d be what he is (today) regardless of his $10 million. Or $8 million. And that is key. To me.
Right this moment, as I write this, the leaves are playfully rustling with the squirrels in my sun-dappled backyard, and I am listening to an exquisite piece of jazz titled, “Ben Webster for Lovers,” by the superb saxophonist Ben Webster. Buy it. Order it today. While you are at it, order “Waltz for Debby” by the Bill Evans Trio. These two albums are ecstasy for the ears, heart and spirit. They are sublime. And are available to anyone — @@to anyone@@ — regardless of their level of wealth.
Artist Paul Signac said of Monet, “He paints as a bird sings.”
Wealth can facilitate many things. But regardless the size of your checking account, wealth is not a requirement in hearing (a) Monet sing to you.
Can I hear a “Tra-la-la-la-la,” the joy of art from each of you? And, trust me, you don’t even have to carry a tune!
Sweet. Life can be.