TIME: Almanac 1995

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<text id=91TT1756> <title> Aug. 05, 1991: Money Angles </title> <history> TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1991 Aug. 05, 1991 Was It Worth It? </history> <article> <source>Time Magazine</source> <hdr> BUSINESS, Page 48 MONEY ANGLES Oh, Herbie, Don't Be Ridiculous </hdr><body> 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. </body></article> </text>