oh, that's rich...part II: the pompasity of prosperity
For whatever reason, there are a lot of wealthy people who like to be around beautiful things. They like to own beautiful things. I don't find this odd, I enjoy being around beautiful things as well. Most beautiful things, however, are out of the realm of being owned by the likes of myself, and the vast majority of the rest of the planet. Perhaps it falls to the wealthy to be protectors of beauty, of art, of magnificent architecture. I wonder if wealthy people understand this as one of their many responsibilities.
Along with the innocence of wealth, as I described in my previous post, I'd like to present another vision of the wealthy that many have. Many wealthy don't understand this image...perhaps it's their innocence showing through again, or their naivete. It's a strange sense of entitlement, or of perceived recognition. The sense that they will be known for their own wealth, and their own collections of beauty, and accorded all the rights that go along with that notoriety.
When I was the box office manager for the art museum in Fort Worth, TX. I had the following experience. It was between exhibitions, we had the museum's permanent collection filling the halls. The Caravaggio collection was out, the one Rembrandt was up, Fra Angelico, Matisse, Goya, and Mondrian paintings were all up as well. The ancient Egyptian and Pre-Columbian sculpture was viewable. The well known Asian collection was in it's regular display hall as well. All was free for the public to view.
As I sat there at the information desk, having no employees that day to supervise I had the distinct feeling that I was the cities highest paid information desk attendant that day. There weren't many people in the downstairs gallery, where the information desk was, that day, when I noticed two suited and dark sunglass'd men walk in the door and look around. A few seconds later, a white haired man walked in and looked around. He said, to no one in particular, that I could tell, "Hello, I'm {insert name of very wealthy and well known Fort Worth person here}." There was silence. He looked around. Unsure about what to do, he walked up to me and repeated what he'd said to the air. I introduced myself and shook his hand. "Is there something I can do for you sir?" I inquired.
"Is there anything I need to do?"
"I'm not sure, is there something you'd like to do?"
"Well, I'd like to see the collection."
I then explained to him where everything was, and gave him a brochure. He seemed confused. I wasn't sure why. About this time, someone from the main office came rushing out to my information desk and introduced themselves to the man, and walked off with him talking rapidly and immediately embarked on a private guided tour of the entire collection. I was still a bit confused.
"When he walks in, we're supposed to notify the office." came a voice. It was one of the security guards. The guards had apparently informed the main office, via radio, that he was in the museum.
"Why?"
"We just do."
"Does he own any of our paintings?" I asked. I knew full well that some of the artwork was on loan from wealthy families.
"No." they said "But he's a large benefactor."
Ah yes, I thought, the benefactor. I immediately thought of the days when an artist would have a benefactor, a person who would simply support them monetarily while they did their art and generally lived out their bohemian existence. I wondered if I could ever have a benefactor, I still wonder that some days. The days of individuals having benefactors, or patrons, must be over, I always assume.
But the wealthy can't keep it to themselves forever, can they? They could become benefactors of the world, patrons of the planet. Having money is a big responsibility. I wonder how many wealthy people understand this?Labels: richie rich
oh, that's rich...part I: the innocence of wealth
I was once the manager of the ticket box office at two different museums in Fort Worth, TX (at different times, you understand). The first job was at a science museum, the second was at an art museum. They were both fun jobs, although tedious. It was while engaged in these jobs that I discovered that I really wasn't cut out to interact with the general public on a regular basis. Whenever there was some sort of problem or dispute, I would always just cave in and give away tickets for free, because, well, I'm easy like that.
The job afforded me the opportunity, however, to be the manager of over forty or so employees who were in vastly different stages in their lives. At the science museum, I managed high school and college aged kids, at the art museum, it was mostly retired folks who just wanted something easy to do to supplement their fixed incomes.
This post isn't really about that, however, that's just the background. The seed of this post is from a discussion I had with an acquaintance regarding rich people. Yes, that's right, rich people. I expressed to this person that another friend might not like them because they were wealthy. Wealthy people are sometimes disliked by those of us with fewer means. How does this relate to being a box office manager? Interestingly enough, it does, in a round about sort of way.
You see, when I was managing at the science museum, I hired a few high school kids who came from decidedly wealthy families. Old money families, we called them in Fort Worth. Families who'd been in the area since the late 1800s and had built up so much wealth that they were quite separate from the rest of the city, yet owned large parcels of the city. These two kids were interesting to have around, and interesting to try and manage. They were nice kids though. Their parents wanted them to get "jobs" so they could see what it was like to "work" for their money. Admirable enough, I think, so I just went with it. The little sister of the duo who worked for me was quite interesting (and here's where I relate a little story about her that I find fun). One weeknight evening, when there were very few customers, and the only people working the box office was this "rich kid" and myself, I decided that the time had come to vacuum the box office. The girl said "ooh! can I do it?"
"Uh.. sure" I replied. "Why are you so gung-ho to vacuum?"
"I've never done it before!" she said.
"What?" I said, with some skepticism. "How old are you again?"
"Seventeen."
"You're seventeen and you've never vacuumed a day in your life? Who vacuums your house, your mom?"
"HA!! No no no.. we have maids." she said over her laughter.
"I see." I said, finally understanding. "So you're figuring this is your big chance to learn how to use a vacuum cleaner, right?"
"Yeah! I can't wait! How does it work?"
So, that evening, I taught a seventeen year old debutante how to use a vacuum cleaner. I wondered to myself in silence what it must be like to not know how to do such common place things like this. We talked more into the evening, after her successful cleaning of the box office area, about what her life was really like. Her world was so incredibly different than mine, we discovered. I told her how I grew up, that in the town I grew up in, we were considered wealthy because our house was made of brick. Hers was a world of debutante balls and travel and parties.
I remember asking about what she thought of when she saw homeless people. She really didn't have an answer. She just generally said she was confused about how someone could become homeless. It was an interesting evening. I remember some time after this, my wife and I met the rich kid duo's parents in downtown Fort Worth at a beer/Oktoberfest type festival. They were friendly, and thanked me for being their manager at the museum. They even gave me several free beer tasting tokens.
I don't know what has become of this young lady, she'd be almost thirty by now. I wonder if she's married money and is happy. I hope she is. But what I really hope is that she vacuums her own house.
In my next post, I rub shoulders with the "big boss" of Fort Worth, TX.Labels: richie rich
