TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/080591/0805992.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 5.4 KB | 122 lines

                                                                                BUSINESS, Page 48

MONEY ANGLES

Oh, Herbie, Don't Be Ridiculous


By Andrew Tobias


    Forbes is out with its annual billionaire list (274 of
them, 96 American), and you're rushing to the newsstand to see
whether any of your drinking buddies are on it. A billion
smacks!

    I haven't met a whole lot of billionaires myself, or even
demibillionaires, but I've met a few. One came for the weekend
last year, and when he realized he'd forgotten to pack the
special shaving cream he likes, he had a can air-expressed for
Saturday delivery. Approximate cost of not having to use
Barbasol for two shaves: $45. But when you're earning $50
million a year in interest, anything less than a C-note isn't
even worth bothering to pick up off the pavement. A hundred
dollars to a billionaire is like a dime to a millionaire or a
penny to anyone else.

    Years ago, I was on a seaplane with two aspiring
billionaires (they were merely Rich Guys) bound for Manhattan.
The fare was $100, and after we'd landed on the East River, the
pilot asked us to cough it up. I reached for my wallet, thinking
"Boy, this is a lot of money"; Rich Guy No. 1 pulled a $100 bill
from his wallet; Rich Guy No. 2 asked me to reach behind and
grab his briefcase -- his money was in there. But as I was
beginning to twist around toward the luggage, Rich Guy No. 1
raised his hand. "Please," he said, handing the pilot a second
$100.

    "No, I have it in my briefcase," protested Rich Guy No. 2.

    "Oh, Herbie, don't be ridiculous," said Rich Guy No. 1,
rolling his eyes at the thought of our actually fussing over
$100. It was as if Herbie had borrowed a quarter to make a phone
call and was now proposing to stop someplace to get change to
pay it back. Oh, Herbie, don't be ridiculous.

    Of course his name wasn't Herbie. I'm not about to risk
annoying a Rich Guy for no reason.

    Like the billionaire with the truly epic body-odor
problem. This is a guy who's been on countless magazine covers
and made a tremendous contribution to the economy -- one of
those billionaires who's actually earned it -- and who, I
discovered to my amazement when I met him for real one day, has
apparently never showered in his life. It would be tasteless
even to hint at who he is, but I assure you there are readers
right now nodding their heads in vigorous recognition. They've
met him too. (The first time I presumed it was an aberration.
Anyone can forget to change his shirt. The next time I realized
this must be his only shirt.) He's too busy to worry about stuff
like this and too important to have to. People were clustered
tightly around whenever I saw him, breathing through their
mouths, hanging on his every word.

    Clearly there are a great many kinds of full-fledged and
fractional billionaires. There are the inheritors and the
self-made, the legit and the tainted, the inventors and the
investors, the generous and the tight. Some shun the spotlight,
like 94-year-old shipping billionaire Daniel K. Ludwig. Others
crave it, like former self-proclaimed billionaire Donald Trump.
Sam Walton, who'd be the richest businessman in the world,
Forbes says, if he hadn't divvied his $18.5 billion Wal-Mart
stake among his family, is famous for his battered Ford pickup,
while the late Bhagwan Rajneesh, who was blessed more richly
with followers than cash or good tax advice, had 92
Rolls-Royces.

    The late Malcolm Forbes himself long owned a Boeing 727
(which he dubbed the Capitalist Tool). Omaha billionaire Warren
Buffett is famous for not buying a plane until, in 1986, he
finally gave in to expediency and bought an 18-year-old Falcon
20 (which he dubbed the Indefensible). My well-shaved
houseguest, meanwhile, awaits delivery of a new $25 million
Gulfstream IV. It's just nice to be able to pick up and go when
you want to.

    And nice not to get stuck in traffic. There's the
helicopter set, of course, but my particular fondness is for the
irrepressible way billionaire builder Sam LeFrak once had his
chauffeur drive us up on the sidewalk when a garbage truck
blocked our way.

    But enough of this. You are sitting with two specific
questions as the end of the page nears, and I will answer them
both.

    1) How do I get a billion dollars? Other than through
marriage or inheritance, acquiring a billion dollars or some
reasonable fraction thereof, I've decided after years of envious
analysis, requires some combination of five things: Talent
(which includes intelligence and imagination); Energy (which
includes hard work); Resources (which include cash, contacts and
education); Desire (which when sufficiently extreme can include
a willingness to be ruthless or criminal); and Luck (which
includes dumb luck).

    You don't need all five, by any means, but you need at
least one. Charles Revson, who founded Revlon, had all but
Resources (he grew up in a cold-water flat, knew nobody
important and never went to college). His partner, Charles
Lachman (the L in Revlon), had only Luck. He married into a
small chemical company, enabling him to provide Revson a few
thousand dollars of goods on credit to get started. In return,
he got a 30% stake in Revlon and, in his words, a rake. For the
next 50 years he just raked it in.

    2) What does a billionaire bring as a house gift? The
extraordinary pleasure of his company.