home
***
CD-ROM
|
disk
|
FTP
|
other
***
search
/
TIME: Almanac 1990
/
1990 Time Magazine Compact Almanac, The (1991)(Time).iso
/
time
/
021389
/
02138900.060
< prev
next >
Wrap
Text File
|
1990-09-17
|
3KB
|
61 lines
BOOKS, Page 82Buck Passing
THE ULTRA RICH by Vance Packard
Little, Brown; 358 pages; $22.95
Nothing is certain, goes the old saw, but death and taxes.
Death, yes. But probably not taxes -- if, that is, one is wealthy
enough to hire lawyers and accountants with a working knowledge of
loopholes in the Internal Revenue code. Maybe the rich can't take
it with them, like other mortals, but they don't have to leave very
much of it to Uncle Sam either.
That is the egalitarian theme of Vance Packard's latest venture
in pop sociology, which is centered on slapdash but often
tantalizing interviews with 30 of the nation's richest citizens
(average net worth in 1987: $425 million). As the author presents
them, these ultrarich tend to be banal in thought and sometimes
defiantly plain Jane in tastes. "What's better than meat-loaf?"
asks Texas developer Walter W. Caruth Jr., whose wife (despite his
$600 million) does all the cooking. Surprisingly few of Packard's
subjects try to live up to their imposing annual incomes. Leonard
Shoen, the founder of U-Haul, says he could comfortably retire on
$50,000 a year.
Megamillionaires with a willed fortune are often ambivalent
about it. Inheriting Dow Jones stock now worth $150 million,
recalls Christopher Bancroft, was like winning an elephant in a
raffle: "I didn't know what the hell to do with it." Laura, a
fourth-generation Rockefeller whose maiden name is hidden behind
two marriages, remembers her family's vast compound as a "verdant
cage." A psychiatric social worker, she happily gives away her
inherited income to favorite causes like the Children's Defense
Fund.
For self-made entrepreneurs, on the other hand, the zealous
pursuit of money is its own reward, as a proof of self-worth. Even
so, Packard notes, they often worry about how inheritances will
affect their offspring. Since his children and grandchildren are
(or soon will be) millionaires, Ewing Kauffman (owner of baseball's
Kansas City Royals) has no plans to will them any of his $340
million. Giving more, he says, "just spoils them."
Packard believes, not unreasonably, that the excessive
concentration of wealth among a cadre of megamillionaires is worse
than immoral; it is dangerous to the good health of capitalism. His
proposed cures are fairly familiar -- and unlikely to be enacted:
for example, taxing net worth above a certain level (say, $25
million) and reforming the rules on trusts that allow billions to
escape fair taxation.
Whatever good sense these palliatives make, they would
certainly cramp the style of some ultrarich whose money lust is
tempered by an engagingly eccentric sense of how to spend their
fortunes. Arthur Jones, the gruff, gun-toting inventor of Nautilus
sports equipment, is laird of a Florida estate that includes a
runway large enough to land his own Boeing 707; it is used, among
other things, to fly in wild animals for medical research. One of
them, which Jones proudly shows Packard, is a reptilian rarity: the
biggest saltwater crocodile in captivity. Nice pet for a man who
is a rather awesome rarity himself.