The Miserly & The Greedy

Greed and miserliness go hand in hand. Check out Friday Letter #97, herewith.

Greed

In 1964 I travelled from Laramie to Kansas City with a group of drunken galoots to attend the national convention of Sigma Delta Chi, an honorary fraternal society for college journalism students.

For the sake of brevity, we move directly to the closing banquet. The speaker was Bill Vaughn, a contemporary syndicated columnist of some repute.

I was seated at table with my galoot buddies from Wyoming and some other fellows including Steven from New Jersey.

Before attending this huge convention in the Big City, I had had minimal cultural experience with persons of the Jewish faith. Or, in Steven’s case, the Jewish culture. He had proudly pointed out to us hillbillies that he was Jewish and we were not.

Mr. Vaughn, at a certain point in his presentation, signaled to helpers who began passing out copies of his most recent book, the oddly titled, “Bird Thou Never Wert.”

Our table was quite a distance from the starting point for the book distribution. Steven began to fret.

“There won’t be enough books,” he said anxiously, rubbing his sweaty palms together and squirming visibly. Things soon got even worse for Steven. Toting empty boxes, the helpers began returning to the stage.

Steven became distraught. Undone. Lost any semblance of composure.

He stood up in the huge convention hall in the Muhlbach Hotel and began waving and shouting – during the speaker’s presentation.

“Hey. I didn’t get a book. Hey!” He jumped up and down like a cheerleader, waving his arms in the air.

Finally he made so much of a fuss that somebody from up the row came over and gave Steven his copy of the book.

I thought for years the frantic behavior was because Steven was Jewish. I only recently had recall of the incident because I have been thinking about the similarities between greed and miserliness.

Steven was a Jew, all right. But what I really remember is the unbridled greed.

My favorite miser

My dear departed friend Mikey was a most generous man.

A welding instructor, Mikey was always at the ready to help. Once I broke a bolt off in the engine block of my old truck. I thought I might have ruined the truck forever.

I called Mikey. He barked, “I’m eating supper. Can’t it wait ‘til later?” I said o.k. sure, if you can help, call me back.

Moments later, Mikey drove up in his beat-up rusty old Dodge van. “You got me curious,” he said. “Get off the creeper. I’ll take care of it.”

I tried to get under the truck with him, to help, or to watch. “Get out of here. I said I’ll take care of it.” So I didn’t see what he did or how he did it. Moments later, he emerged, holding the broken stub of the bolt.

“Can I go back to my cold supper now?” He was cranky for sure. But immeasurably generous. Interrupted his meal, his evening, to solve my little problem.

Another time, Mikey happened to be at a store-closing sale in a downtown fabric store. He knew we sometimes use cordura in working with leather garments. He saw a huge roll of black cordura and bought it for us as a gift. We still have a big bunch of that cordura, 20 years later.

Mikey was a miser? Well yes he certainly was. His ancestry wasn’t from any of the traditionally tight folks – the Jewish, the Scotch, the Japanese. He was Bohemian, a people not known for unreasonable frugality.

Yes, a miser. On a biker run one time, I heard Mikey tell the cashier at a breakfast buffet, “Three-fifty ($3.50) is way too much to pay for breakfast.” That, folks, is a miser.

Everything he bought he had to get at a bargain. It was shameful, the way he took glee in buying something that became someone else’s loss.

To Mikey, the price of a motel stay or the price of a gallon of gasoline were subject to negotiation, as serious as buying a house would be to me. I remember several times going out of bounds with Mikey, saying something like, “Couldn’t you just pay the man?”

But he wasn’t greedy. At all. He would drink two beers, no more. One shot of Black Velvet – my Black Velvet or his, one shot, no more. Come to think of it though, he bought cheap beer – which came in 11-ounce bottles. That’s why it was cheap. You’re short six ounces in every six-pack.

I miss my friend Mikey. Oh my Lord how I miss my friend Mikey. But I sure don’t miss the miser in him.

Schwartz’ Market

Dad and I stopped at Schwartz’ Market in Brighton on the way home one evening. Dad bought a few items and paid with a twenty- dollar bill.

When we got out to the car, Dad noticed that he still had $20 – plus the price of his purchases. The clerk, one of the Schwartz boys, had added instead of subtracting. Common clerical fatigue error.

We got back out of the car and went inside. Dad waved the cash and said, “We got the wrong change.”

The clerk? “Hey. Once you’re out the door, the deal is done.” Uh oh. A greedy miser. His karma got him that time.

Dad threw back his head and laughed and said, “Thanks for the free groceries and the extra money!”

Dad was no miser

My father had a unique method of collecting debt owed him. He would wait until the debtor came up with the money.

He was loathe to serve eviction notices, or even visit the offending tenant. Dad would rent a house or apartment at a certain agreed monthly sum, and the rest was up to the renter.

He figured he had the tenant’s word and the tenant had his word. That ought to be good enough. He kept track of who paid and who didn’t – very sketchily.

It was the same way in the grocery business. When he closed that little Fort Lupton store in 1955, many thousands of dollars remained on the books. Dad made no serious attempt that I know of to collect any of it – even though this meant he had literally given away a bounty in goods and services.

When my Mom would worry about this and other financial situations, Dad would always say, “Oh, don’t worry Louise. We can always get more money.”

Not miserly, not greedy. Just sensible.

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Word of the week: Creed. From the Latin, credere, to trust, to believe, literally “I believe.” Thus, we take today’s word because it is the first word in the Nicene and Apostles’ creeds. It means a brief statement of religious belief; a confession of faith.

Next week’s word: Kerygma.

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