To prevent the bottles from getting dusty, there must be an electronic particle filter connected to the cooling system. Some of the wine bottles are each worth several thousand dollars or more. Those need to be displayed individually, in wood cradles. But what about the type of wood for the whole wine cellar? It could be a typical variety, but there are several African or Brazilian woods that would add a unique ambience to the room with a slight hint of wood smell, like a mild cedar.
What about lighting inside the cellar? Down-lights might be adequate. But adequate is the minimum, and Layton doesn’t do minimum. He decided to install a variety of lighting systems that automatically turned on when someone entered the room. As motion detectors sensed someone’s movement toward a particular wall of wine, that wall gradually would illuminate from dim to just light enough to read the labels on the bottle. The expensive bottle cradles are separately lit; micro tube lighting is recessed into the wood frame around each bottle that is displayed as you walk into the entrance to the cellar.
For the floor of the cellar, wood, brick, or tile would be the typical options. Layton decided to bid on a historical stone floor from a three-century-old wine cellar in the Loire Valley of France. Besides, he needed to cover only 720 square feet of floor space. Including shipping, the floor (uninstalled) cost only $270 a foot, for a total of $194,000. The floor did offer a “no wax” finish.
Try to keep in mind the purpose of this house for Layton and his wife was to have a barbeque once in a while at a summer beach house. Did I forget to mention this was a vacation home, one of six homes Layton owns in four countries? And remember, this was just the wine cellar, one of eighteen rooms in the residence.
As a result of local coastal authority and environmental objections to Layton’s proposed home, it took five years to obtain the building permits, along with almost $1 million in legal fees to fight the battles, each of which required Layton’s attention and sometimes attendance at hearings. For the most part he was not upset, as he recognized these were just hurdles he needed to clear in order to reach the finish line. Tell me again where the finish line was?
The actual construction began five years ago and is still not complete. What is ironic is the ritual of the construction workers who have been on the project site the entire time. They have made a tradition of setting up a camp stove on the beach and inviting their entire families down on Friday afternoons to grill Mexican fajitas and tortillas. There is a lot of laughter and frolic until everybody pauses to watch the sunset and see who can watch the entire setting without blinking. Even the little ones join in by holding their eyelids open with their fingers. One of the families performed the wedding of their daughter on that very beach. Many family memories have been created over nearly half a decade. And by the looks of it, there will be many more memories to come.
The community by the sea where my wife and I live is touted as a friendly place where people wave and smile at each other as they walk or drive by. But should you try to plant a tree or, even more egregious, actually build a home, you have just invited all your neighbors to a barbecue at the next homeowner’s meeting … and you are the meat.
When we designed our home, I specifically instructed our architect to adhere to all restrictions imposed by our community, no matter how small or seemingly insignificant. He made sure the ocean views from the other homes were protected, and we worked diligently to avoid doing anything that might upset my future neighbors.
When my wife and I arrived at the community clubhouse to meet with the architectural review board to hear the comments of our neighbors about our home, every one of our future neighbors was already seated. At first, we thought they might have come to welcome us to the community.
But when I scanned the room, I quickly saw each person had a file folder in hand with a set of notes. Not a good sign. Over the next hour, we felt as though we were being run out of Dodge. They hated everything about our new home, declaring even though we had met all of the architectural guidelines, our request to build should be denied. One of the board members suggested we consider building in a different community. My wife began to cry and left the meeting.
Later, a neighbor explained to me the negative review was a rite of passage, a ritual, a dance of sorts to appease territorial residents who protect their castles as if they were being invaded. After we completed our home, I was actually invited to participate in terrorizing new residents with similar hopes of building a dream home. Instead, I invited the new neighbor over for a drink.
THOSE WHO “GET IT”
Where do satisfaction and fulfillment come from when achievement is meaningless? What happens when there aren’t any needs to meet or provisions to acquire? Many of the rich who have run dry of spiritual capital because they have been exhaustive in fulfilling personal wants choose a cause and become philanthropists. Keep in mind the great majority of people give away only a small fraction of what they have—and in most cases, this giving is not really sacrificial. It doesn’t jeopardize the fortune or cause the super-rich to change their lifestyles. But it does provide them a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment, a feeling of doing something for the greater good, a sense of selflessness in a world that reeks of self.
Don’t get me wrong; it is amazing to be able to do something special to benefit others. I greatly respect those who give away some of what they’ve been given for the sake of somebody else. Deep down, we all want to make a difference. We all say to ourselves, “If I had that kind of money, I’d help so and so or support such and such.” It’s pretty incredible to be able to do some of these things.
But what I am suggesting is the super-wealthy generally don’t get the same satisfaction from giving $1 million as you do by rolling up your sleeves and pitching in. It is not as much their loss as your gain. Too often the giving of the super-rich includes attaching their name to the live auction bid of $25,000 for a Hershey’s extra-large chocolate bar. It is the private donor you need to respect. But given that you don’t know who they are, then respect what they stand for—helping without reward.
At a fund-raiser I once witnessed a request by the MC for anyone who might be willing to donate any amount of money to the charity. After a few raised hands pledging $100 and $500, and a couple at $1,000, a well-known real estate broker, Fred Waters, stood up and challenged, “I will donate $100,000 if someone will agree to match me.” What a statement. He challenged the whole gala, called them out to the O.K. Corral for a shoot-out that would determine who was the big fish in the community. The five-hundred attendees sitting at their tables went silent. Completely unnoticed, a distinguished gentleman in a tuxedo left the table, apparently to use the restroom. After several minutes passed with almost no sound, one of the coworkers for the event entered the same door the gentleman had left and approached the microphone. Her eyes were filled with tears of joy; she could hardly talk. She was not experienced in speaking but was so filled with excitement that she stepped in front of the MC and with a soft voice announced to the audience, “We have just received a matching donation of $100,000 from a donor who has insisted on remaining anonymous. This wonderful man has agreed to match Fred Waters’ $100,000 donation and pledge an additional $50,000.”
As the room roared with applause, I noticed the same smartly dressed gentleman quietly enter via the exit door and re-take his seat. It was an expensive trip to the men’s restroom, and he got it right.
EXPANDING OUR HORIZONS
How can we avoid myopia and experience the full spectrum of humanity? It’s so simple. Spend time with people. Engage with that part of humanity that faces down the realities of life every day—the servers, car washers, and gardeners. Talk to your housekeeper, a policeman, a pastor, or a teacher. Go to a picnic with your neighbors, ask for their opinions, and listen. Join a small group from your church that holds meetings in a neighborhood coffee shop. Throw a potluck dinner, and dare to invite people from outside your usual circles.
Alfredo owns an auto detail company and dro
ps by my house to wash my car on Wednesdays. He is as hard a worker as anyone on the planet. He treats everyone—great and small—with genteel respect, as if they were royalty. When he finishes my car, I always praise his work and shake his hand. At first, my gesture seemed awkward for him. Each time I asked how he and his family were doing. He started answering with a canned “Fine.” But then I intentionally asked him a second question, “Do you enjoy your family?” The answer was a quick and respectful “Yes.” My next question didn’t let him off so easy: “What do you and your family like doing best?” He grinned and began to describe his kids’ latest and greatest accomplishments.
Alfredo is now my friend. One time I referred his wife to a doctor who helped her deal with the depression she’d been suffering for years. It changed their married life. When I shake his hand now, he tears up. He is so grateful. But don’t mistake my acts as benevolence or charity. I truly recognize him as a person. He details cars; I am a lawyer. What gives me the right to separate myself? If I needed help, I have no doubt he would be there the next day. I would do the same for him.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LEADING A DOUBLE LIFE
Ron and Ellen are prominently figured in every local magazine story covering charity or philanthropic events in Los Angeles. Ellen was forty-five, and Ron was nearly sixty. This was the second marriage for both, and they each professed to have found their soul mate. From the outside, they seemed to be living the life all of us were intended to live.
ON THE OUTSIDE
After nearly seven years of marriage, Ron and Ellen showcased their amiable relationships with their ex-spouses and children. Though neither had primary custody, they traveled regularly on “educational” trips to Europe and Asia as a blended family. Ron and Ellen argued the expense of these trips—although they were only biannual—equalized the time commitment between them and their ex-spouses in regard to the children. In reality, the trips served as a financial payoff that permitted Ron and Ellen to maintain extensive travel and social calendars throughout the remainder of the year. Unfortunately, this arrangement meant Ron and Ellen missed out on much of their children’s growing-up years.
Ron had several homes, including a mansion on the Snake River in Washington. He threw an annual retreat for his buddies, offering a week of fishing and fun complete with professional cooks, incredible food, boats, fishing guides, tackle, accommodations, and a fountain of liquor. If the fishing became slow or tiring, Ron’s local country club boasted a stunning golf course with all green fees paid. After four days of rising at dawn and coming back to the house after a successful catch, everyone would sit around the fire pit and share stories until past midnight, only to rise four hours later to repeat the day. In the realm of high society, holding a spot on the annual guest list was like flashing a commissioner’s badge to a traffic cop.
Ellen seemed like the perfect wife: tolerant, patient, and uncomplaining. She said she was happy to see her husband and the “boys” having a little fun on the river. The other men thought, “If only our own wives wouldn’t hold us hostage to a list of fix-its and honey-do’s when we get home.” They relished their brief escape.
Some years, Ron arrived late or left early because of the demands of his business. He took it all in stride, making sure his guests would enjoy their time at the “castle” as long as they liked. Looking back, I remember bantering about whether we would want to stay an extra week in paradise or enjoy the prestige and excitement of having our vacation interrupted like Ron, as we watched his private helicopter land on the grassy riverbank and whisk him to the waiting Learjet at a nearby airport. Most of us decided it would be worth giving up our prized fishing time if we could buzz around to work on flying machines with private pilots.
ON THE INSIDE
Ellen’s grown children from her former marriage were a mess. Her son Adam struggled with drugs; he had spent time in rehab twice and needed to return for a third stint. Her daughter, Stacy, finalized a divorce from one man and moved in with another, the father of her child. Little Casey, age two, spent a lot of time with Grandpa Ron and Grandma Ellen. This “stellar” couple doted on the child, and they were a picture of loving support in the eyes of their family and community. But in reality, Casey wasn’t visiting. She was living with Ron and Ellen under the care and rearing of their housekeeper.
Ron kept both of Ellen’s children on the company payroll, basically to keep them from pushing shopping carts on the street. Ellen secretly threatened her children every month, telling them this was going to be the last time she would bail them out of credit-card debt. Ellen believed she could ask Ron to support her children only through their jobs with his business. Any extra handouts came from her budget. Ron knew the ins and outs of the situation, but he played the game to maintain a level of pressure, keeping the financial drain in check.
In reality, Ellen’s son played Ron like a fiddle. Ron had two girls, and he had always wanted a boy. Although Adam didn’t exactly fit the picture of the perfect son, Ron had spent his own childhood begging forgiveness from his parents. By forgiving Adam, he was forgiving himself. The arrangement supplied Ron and Adam with precious additions to their lives: a son and cash, respectively.
ON THE OTHER SIDE
In the ninth year of his marriage, Ron privately disclosed his affair with Susan, a younger woman in Indianapolis. Ellen didn’t know, and he meant to keep it that way. Susan and the two toddlers Ron had fathered with her didn’t know about Ellen either. His second family was living a “normal life” in Indiana with no idea daddy’s business was more diversified than most.
Matters became even more complicated. Ron was concerned the prenuptial agreement Ellen had negotiated expired after ten years of marriage. In other words, if they remained married for six more months, Ellen would have a clear shot at Ron’s exposed financial target. If they were to divorce, he would lose hundreds of thousands of dollars in spousal support. Ron decided to play Texas Hold ’Em with his life, and by doing so he raised the stakes on a hand that couldn’t win.
Almost exactly one year later, Ellen found Susan’s Indiana driver’s license in Ron’s sport coat pocket. Two weeks earlier, Ron had unknowingly slipped it into his pocket while checking in for a flight to Disneyland with Susan and their two kids at the Delta counter in the Indianapolis International Airport. Before confronting Ron, Ellen sent a letter by Federal Express to Susan asking her to call. The conversation that followed brought two women living two thousand miles apart to the brink of conspiracy to commit murder.
The events in the biblical book of Job seem like an improvement over the next five years of Ron’s life. The divorce lawyers in Indianapolis and Los Angeles formed a feeding frenzy. There were four sides to this battle—Ron, Ellen, Susan, and Ron’s ex-wife, Mary, who seized on the opportunity to leverage a bid for increased support. Ron had to finance the extravagant lifestyles of all four. Imagine buying a fireworks warehouse and then lighting a campfire inside.
After a while, everything for Ron came down to business. I think Ron knew it would eventually. He is smarter than the rest of us, and we always knew it. He paid dearly, no doubt, but his pile of riches seemed infinite. Ellen’s final amount of spousal support was the only surprise. She did not get as much as she had hoped. Not long after the litigation began, Ron’s lawyers discovered Ellen had maintained an ongoing sexual affair with her personal trainer. Duplicity indeed.
Ron is now married for the fourth time. The annual fishing trips have stopped. Ellen received the river house in the settlement. But Ron still has a five-star life, and the new friends he and his fourth wife, Chefron, have acquired revel in Ron’s largesse.
ALL BETS ARE OFF
Nathan and Marilyn appear happily married and are considered two of the community’s great pillars. They heavily support three of the country’s most popular charities and are praised in most circles. Nathan is an avid golfer and Marilyn a committed shopper. She is known for being a coupon clipper, unafraid to present the loc
al grocery store with a two-for-one discount coupon for ketchup. Marilyn gets kudos from her friends and social circles for being conservative.
Nathan’s favorite golf destination is Las Vegas, Nevada, originally because Nathan was frugal and liked to stay in great rooms at a reasonable price. Over the years, Nathan became a fan of blackjack. A decade ago, he hated losing bets of any size: $1, $2, or $5. As his life came to need a boost, Nathan began to up his bets on the golf course from $2 per hole to $20 per hole. After golf and a shower, Nathan would find himself at the blackjack table. It was a strange feeling for Nathan to win money or even lose money easily. It gave him a rush. After a couple of years of golfing in Vegas once a month, the size of his bets increased. It was no longer about winning or losing for Nathan; it now was about the thrill of his gambling destiny being outside his control.
Nathan was used to controlling everything in his world. Now a dealer would flip an ace and Nathan felt the rush of success. Sitting at a special table for a minimum wager of $2,000 brought gawking crowds. Nathan winked at the onlookers as the dealer scooped up a pile of five $1,000 chips. He knew the women surrounding him were in awe of a guy who could lose $5,000 in one deal of the cards and not even care. In fact, when the crowd grew large Nathan would cover three empty spots on the table with five $1,000 chips each. That’s $15,000 in one bet! He could sense the tension as the audience waited for the deal. There was an even greater rush to losing than to winning. To win $15,000 was no big deal, but to be able to sit calmly while those around gasped at a loss was exhilarating.
Fables of Fortune Page 11