FoxCraft

Christmas Bells

Do you drop your change into the Salvation Army's red kettles this time of year? Do you slip past, hoping the bell ringer won't notice you? I must admit I do both, depending on how much of a hurry I'm in and how much cash I have handy.

Someone in my family was living in Rapid City in June of 1972, when a devastating flood raged through the area and killed 238 people. Among his memories of that time was the heroic work done by the Salvation Army, even after the leader of the local organization was drowned trying to rescue flood victims.

So one of my Christmas traditions is to put a decent-sized check into a Salvation Army red kettle. I appreciate the work the organization does. I also respect the volunteers who are willing to stand out in the cold for hours, ringing their bells until they must hear them in their sleep and wishing "Merry Christmas" to both those who contribute and those who don't.

My favorite bell ringer this year is the slight, elderly man in front of the drug store. I stop by two or three times a week, and he's almost always there. He isn't the most active red-kettle volunteer I've ever seen. He's usually sitting down. He doesn't necessarily ring the bell with a great deal of vigor. Sometimes, on cold days, he'll be inside the entrance of the store warming up. All in all, he looks as if he should be receiving services from the Salvation Army, rather than raising money for them.

Yet he may well be one of the most effective bell ringers I've ever seen. Maybe it's the way he smiles and wishes everyone a "Merry Christmas." Maybe it's his consistent presence. Or maybe it's the fact that his seat is a folding one that doubles as a walker—and attached to it is his oxygen tank.

I'll put money into his red kettle any time.

"If You Have to Ask, You Can't Afford It"

It was a glossy, oversized magazine, placed at precisely the right casual angle on the coffee table in front of the leather couch. The cover photo showed a slender model draped in diamonds that probably weighed more than she did.

I don’t remember the magazine’s title, but the subtitle was “For the Private Jet Lifestyle.” Presumably, you get a free subscription when you buy your private jet. Buy two jets, and maybe you get a two-year subscription.

As I skimmed through it, I didn’t find any actual articles. This wasn’t really a magazine at all, but an expensively produced catalog for very expensive stuff. High-end resorts and spas. Jewelry with lots of zeroes on the price tags. Limited edition cars with eye-popping sticker prices. Exotic and luxurious vacation packages. One of them was a month-long trip to several exclusive destinations around the world. Travel, of course, was by private jet. The cost was one million dollars.

There was a page of designer shoes in brands familiar to anyone who saw The Devil Wears Prada. Apparently at least a few of the mega-rich must be willing to spend $1200 for a pair of bright acrylic shoes with platform heels shaped like the letter Z. Or $995 for a pair of tennis shoes with five-inch heels, intended either for those “casual dressy” occasions or for giving short women an advantage on the basketball court.

Of course, there were several pages of designer clothes. My favorite (only $12,500) was a gown with a skirt made out of pieces of fabric gathered into little bunches the way you might make paper flowers. The model, despite being a size 0, managed to look as if she had spent two days in someone’s garage being stuffed with paper napkins as a float for the Homecoming parade.

And watches. Lots of watches, ranging from the ordinary (only $12,000 to $15,000) to the platinum ($75,000 to $85,000). I’m not sure exactly why, if you were mega-rich, you would need so many watches. After all, if you own the jet, it’s not going to take off without you. You wouldn’t need to worry about getting to the airport on time. Besides, the rich probably check the time like anyone else—by looking at their cell phones.

Of course, buying a watch that costs more than many people earn in a year doesn’t have much to do with telling time. The watches, like everything else in this catalog of conspicuous consumption, were intended to set the wealthy apart from the common herd. “If you don’t own these things, you aren’t really rich.” “Buy it because you can.” “Buy it because ordinary people can’t.” It struck me as an upscale version of a schoolyard taunt: “I can afford this, and you can’t—so there!”

I don’t know whether the majority of wealthy people actually spend money this ostentatiously. My suspicion is that most of the ones who do are spending money that someone else earned.

But I do know a couple of people who own private jets. At least, their companies do. Yes, they use the planes for vacation trips and family get-togethers. Still, their “private jet lifestyle” seems to consist mainly of traveling to business meetings across the country. They wouldn’t have time to spend a month on a million-dollar private jet vacation. They probably wouldn't even have time to browse through this catalog. They’re too busy showing up for work every day.

I wonder what kind of watch Warren Buffet wears?