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To some degree, the lifestyles of the rich and famous haven't changed much since the last American Gilded Age, a century ago.
The Carnegies, Rockefellers and Vanderbilts had scores of personal retainers: cooks, maids, gardeners, butlers, chauffeurs, bodyguards, etc. So do today's multi-millionaires, but they've added some job categories.
A railroad magnate might have employed a personal chef
to insure the smoothness of rich gravies, but it's hard to
imagine a portly robber baron hiring a personal
dietitian.
Similarly, some successful capitalists of that era were
known to lift dumbbells or toss medicine balls. But only
in modern times would a person of means engage a
personal trainer,
who presumably designs a custom
exercise regimen aimed at helping the executive postpone
estate taxes.
Like many Americans, I enjoy poking fun at the foibles of the wealthy. Around here, they spend an inordinate amount of time designing and building houses that they inhabit for just a few weeks each year, which makes you wonder how they built their successful enterprises when they're so easily distracted by peripheral matters.
But on the other hand, I am among the many Americans who fantasize about gaining unspeakable wealthy someday. And I, of course, would be more sensible when I hired aides to simplify the chores of daily life.
My crew would include:
· Personal librarian. Our house teems with books, jammed into every available space -- under the coffee table, boxed in the cellar, on high shelves that require a ladder, drawers in a storage cabinet. If there's a place where a book can fit, there's probably one in it.
If I were wealthy, of course, I'd have a 5,000-square-foot house, of which the library would get about 4,000 square feet.
But that wouldn't solve the problem of keeping track of all those books, or of finding the one I need when I'm looking for a quotation I vaguely remember reading five or six years ago, or of repairing torn covers and loose pages.
That's what librarians do, and I'd rather have one personal librarian than a dozen personal trainers. I'd have time to go out and get some exercise on my own if I wasn't always either looking for a book or putting books away, hoping that I'm sticking them in a place where I might find them again.
· Personal Nerd. We're not anywhere near the leading edge of consumer electronics -- no cell phone, no big-screen TV, no satellite dish.
But there are several computers with scanners and printers, and they're connected with a local-area-network that requires stringing cable all over an old house that was built when electricity was a novelty.
There are two phone lines, both needing answering machines, and one is connected to a fax machine that is supposed to grab faxes automatically without even ringing, except it only does this reliably when I'm testing it, and generally emits chirps and whistles for other faxes.
Throw in a couple of stereo systems, with their components and wires, a TV set and a VCR and associated connections so that TCI can insure we're exposed to whatever Rupert Murdoch wants us to see, an assortment of remote controls, and you've got the makings of a world-class mess.
Fortunately, most of this works properly most of the time. But when it doesn't, I've got to drop whatever I'm doing and start sorting out wires and their terminal points.
So if I were rich, my second domestic employee would be a personal nerd to tend the household electronics. The librarian would have to come first -- somebody's got to keep track of the cryptic instruction booklets.
· Personal passenger. Martha and I usually travel together, but there are times when I have to drive by myself. I don't mind the driving in itself, so I can't see hiring a chauffeur, but I really need an assistant to handle the rest of it.
For instance, it's hard to stay in the proper lane while you're filling your insulated coffee cup from the big stainless-steel thermos. At night, it's difficult to both scan for deer and look for a pullover spot for draining that coffee.
And new technology just makes things worse. I had to replace a car radio recently (some local thief graciously removed the old one), and I looked for something simple with just a couple of knobs for volume and tuning.
They don't make those any more. This cassette player
with AM/FM radio comes with 40 pages of instructions, and
operates with tiny buttons. Just to adjust the volume
requires pushing one button until the display shows a
V,
then within 8 seconds pushing either a +
or -
button.
In other words, it's impossible to operate it safely while the vehicle is in motion, and so, if I want some road music, I need a personal passenger.
Doubtless there are other personal assistants I might consider somewhere down the road, but for now, I'm amazed that the wealthy waste their money on trainers and dietitians.
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