My car ran out of gas while I was running errands in Saratoga this afternoon. As I futzed with a needlessly complex jerrycan, a rich guy on his posh bicycle rolled up to help. I could tell he was wealthy by his high-end turtle frame sunglasses, upmarket bike helmet and all-round one percenter affect. “I’m 70 and I’m sure I can get this thing to work,” he assured me. I gently noted I was 70 as well, but clearly he had a three digit IQ and would be certain to carry the day. I’m happy to report he didn’t fare any better than I. We did, however, get chatting and it turns out we knew each other when we were little. “Do you know Jim Oliver?” he asked excitedly. Why, yes, that’s my brother, I replied. “I’m Tony T….” I’ve not used his last name for reasons that shall now become apparent.
The T family were well-to-do in our social circle. They owned several shops, thriving businesses and had fancy cars in front of their fancy homes. We envied them and their manifold successes.
When I innocently asked Tony how he was doing, he looked away.
“I’m homeless actually, I sorry to say. During Covid, my investments crashed and I got behind on everything and a judge evicted me six months ago. I’ve been living in a shelter for the last few months. Things are real shitty right now.”
I said I needed to pop in to this CVS for something and could he wait for me. When I returned, I gave him some money and said I hoped the dark clouds would clear soon.
He was crying, his voice breaking and he wanted me to know he didn’t help me for money. I told him I knew that was so. “Three years ago, I had a million dollars in the bank,” he insisted through tears.
We parted wishing each other a very merry Christmas indeed - and I wish you a happy Christmas, too.
That is a great story with an even better message on many levels.
why did you have to go and make me cry? I hope Tony T is on the road to recovery and a fresh start in 2024, and you Sir John, are not the wastrel you try to appear...