fortune is invested—tied up— in land, buildings,
machinery, equipment, raw materials, finished-product
inventories, in all the things which make up his business
and keep it in operation.
Certainly, only a minute fraction of any working busi-
nessman’s fortune is ever available to him as personal cash
on hand unless he chooses to
go out of business and liqui-
dates his holdings by selling them. But the successful busi-
nessman very seldom sells out. He knows that wealth
which serves no constructive purpose has no real
justification for its existence. It might be said that he views
business as a creative art. He uses his money as capital,
investing and reinvesting it to create businesses and jobs
and produce goods and services.
The successful businessman also knows that wealth does
not automatically grant him a year-round, no-limit license
for fun-filled frolic. He is well aware that money has the
power to do many things
for
people—but he also realizes
that money can do many things, bad as well as good,
to
people, their private lives, personalities and moral and
intellectual values.
Believe me, wealth is something with which one has to
learn to live—and the task is not always as simple as might
be imagined. A man who becomes rich finds it necessary to
adjust to the idea of being wealthy. He must make certain
that he maintains his perspective and his sense of values.
He must learn to cope with the special problems his wealth
creates, to handle the types of people who are wont to flock
around him because he is rich. And even though the
successful businessman may not have to worry about his
rent or grocery bills, though he may be secure from
personal financial want, he is never secure from financial
worries. The businessman’s wealth derives from the profits
made from his business ventures—profits which are
dependent upon the efficient operation of those ventures.
Consequently, he always has money “problems.”
If one of his firms is operating at a loss—as will often
happen—he must take immediate steps to remedy the
situation. He must find money to finance the expansion and
modernization programs of his companies. He must see to it
that his companies pay debts promptly. He always has to
think— and often has to worry—about these and countless
other questions of finance. Take my word for it, a
businessman’s worries over paying off a $5,000,000 bond
issue that has matured are no less great, immediate and
personal than those of a $75-a-week clerk who has to meet
a $500 note that’s falling due!
Once an individual achieves financial success and is
identified as a millionaire, he is thenceforth a marked man,
and matters only get worse as his wealth increases. If he’s
seen talking to other businessmen over a restaurant lunch,
he is sure to receive a dozen telephone calls a few hours
later from people asking him to confirm or deny the reports
of projected mergers, stock splits or extra dividend
payments which are already making the rounds. Let him
attend a social function and
dance with a young lady more
than once, and the rumors of a “sizzling new romance”
which buzz through the ballroom are certain to find their
way into the gossip columns. The conversation at the
luncheon table may have been concerned solely with
hobbies or horse racing. The millionaire’s dancing partner
may have been his niece or his cousin. But the results are
inevitable.
No, despite all the many advantages he enjoys, the
wealthy businessman’s life is not all champagne and caviar.
He must accept the fact that, despite his wealth and
position, there
are
drawbacks to being a millionaire. He
may be respected or admired for achieving success and
wealth, but he must expect that a considerable and
vociferous segment of the population will envy and even
hate him for it. There are times when he may be praised for
what he says or does, but he will be reviled at least as
often.
In some ways, a millionaire just
can’t win. If he spends
too freely, he is criticized for being extravagant and
ostentatious. If, on the other hand, he lives quietly and
thriftily, the same people who
would have criticized him for
being profligate will call him a miser. If he goes to parties
and night clubs, he is labeled a wastrel and doubts are
raised about his maturity and sense of responsibility. Let
him shun the salons and saloons, and he is promptly tagged
as a recluse or misanthrope.
To the auditors and critics of the rich, even the most
minor actions loom as matters of major concern. Take
tipping, for example. I’ve found that if I leave a liberal tip
in a restaurant, someone is sure to say I’m showing off. If I
don’t over tip, that same someone will be the first to say
that “Paul Getty is a penny pincher.” If I talk to reporters
word gets around quickly that I’m a publicity hound. If I
don’t grant interviews, I’m considered “uncooperative” or
hostile to the press, and some gossip columnist is certain to
write something to the effect that “Paul Getty is strangely
uncommunicative these days. Could it be that he’s trying to
avoid answering certain highly explosive questions?”
Am I complaining? No. Not at all. I’m merely listing
some of the things a millionaire has to accept with rueful
and resigned good humor.
A wealthy person can obviously buy a plenitude of the
material things in life. He can have an extensive wardrobe,
automobiles, a fine house, servants—in short, all the
material
appurtenances of luxury living. The extent to
which he is able to enjoy these depends on him, and, if he is
an active businessman, to a considerable degree on the
demands which his business makes upon his time and
energies.
I still find that it’s often necessary to work 16 and 18
hours a day, and sometimes right around the clock. When I
travel, the problems of business are never farther than the
nearest telegraph or cable office or telephone. I can’t
remember a single day of vacation in the last 45 years that
was not somehow interrupted by a cable, telegram or
telephone call that made me tend to business for at least a
few hours. Such work schedules and the need for devoting
the majority of my time to building and expanding my
businesses have taken a heavy toll of my personal life.
I’ve been married and divorced five times. I deeply
regret these marital failures, but I can understand
why
they were failures. Each one of my former wives is a
wonderful woman who did her utmost to make her
marriage to me a success. But a woman doesn’t feel secure,
contented or happy—she doesn’t feel as though she is really
a wife, or that she really has a husband—when she finds
that her husband is thinking of
his business interests first
and foremost and that she comes next, almost as an
afterthought. Five marital failures have also taught me
that a happy marriage is another of the countless things in
life that no man can buy no matter how many millions he
possesses.
Friendship is something else that can’t be bought—
although there are many who try to sell its counterfeit. I’ve
often said that time is the only reliable gauge by which a
wealthy person can measure friendships. I consider myself
to be extremely fortunate in having made many real and
good friends who have been my friends for years and even
decades. They’ve never tried to profit financially from our
friendships. If they have asked me for anything, their
requests were reasonable— the kind that good friends are
likely to make of each other.
Such is not the case with the familiar type of individual
who goes out of his way to be
come friendly with a wealthy
person with premeditated intent to get something for
nothing. That “something” may be a job, an inside tip on
the stock market, money to start a new business or to shore
up an old one that’s crumbling, an outright cash gift—or a
cash gift that’s euphemistically described as a loan.
For example, I have four grown sons. All chose to enter
the family business. When each made his decision to do so,
he was allowed to start right in—at the bottom of the
ladder. My sons served their apprenticeships by serving
customers in filling stations owned by companies in which I
had large investments. They sold gasoline and lubricating
oil, filled batteries, changed tires and did their share of
cleaning grease racks and sweeping the premises where
they worked. Yet, innumerabl
e casual acquaintances have
blandly asked me to do them a “favor” and give
their
sons,
or unemployed relatives, executive-level jobs in firms I
control. They never seem to understand why I turn them
down, and almost always become highly indignant when I
do.
Then there are those who ask me for tips which will
make them rich overnight—or within a week or two at
most. It’s useless to tell them I have none to give. The get-
rich-quick dreamers won’t believe me.
“You damned millionaires are all selfish and unfair!”
“You’ve got secrets for making money, but you won’t share
them.” “You don’t want anyone else to get rich!” So go some
of the tirades.
Apparently, these individuals believe that modern
business is conducted in the dark of the moon by warlocks
and sorcerers who chant mystical incantations and draw
pentagrams on the floors of board rooms. It doesn’t do any
good to argue with them. They will not believe that hard
work—not tips or secrets—is the key to business success.
They don’t want to believe it. They want success and
wealth served up to them. They don’t want to work.
The effect a rich man’s money will have on others is
often surprising, sometimes barely believable, and by no
means always salutary or ennobling. I’ve said before that a
millionaire is a marked man. There are many who consider
him an easy mark as well. For instance, I have long been
an avid and serious art collector. Through the years, I have
been offered bogus Botticellis, counterfeit Corots and fake
Fragonards by the carloads.
I recall one man who tried to sell me what he said was a
rare 16th Century tapestry, and for “a mere $45,000.”
When I told him I wasn’t inte
rested, he flew into a rage.
“But you’ve
got
to buy it!” he shouted, thrusting the
tapestry at me. “My wife worked months to make it!”
Another enterprising soul informed me that he was
breaking up his collection of paintings and showed me
several soot-begrimed, tenth-rate canvases in cheap,
cracked frames. He had collected the paintings, all right—
from scrap heaps and junk shops.
I don’t suppose anything illustrates the cupidity and eco-
nomic ignorance of some people better than the floods of
letters by which all reputedly wealthy persons are
constantly plagued. I receive up to 3000 letters every
month from people who are totally unknown to me. Some
are written by women—of all ages and from all walks of
life, I gather— who say they’ve read or heard that I’m
extremely rich and currently unmarried.
“You’re just the man I’ve always wanted for a husband .
. .” “It’s plain to see that
you need a wife, and I know I
would fill the bill to perfection . . . ” “I’ll gladly divorce my
husband and marry you, if you’ll just send me the money to
pay the lawyer’s fees . . . ” These are typical lines taken
from some of the marriage-proposal letters sent to me. The
ladies often enclose snapshots or
salon
portraits which
display greater or lesser quantities of their charms. On
occasion, they’ll send along entire photo albums. Some of
these amorous hopefuls, I might add, hint coyly—or state
bluntly—that they’re willing to waive the fusty formalities
of marriage and overwhelm me with love and
companionship provided appropriate financial
arrangements are made beforehand.
But the majority of my unwanted mail—about 70
percent, according to a tally made by my secretary—is
made up of letters written by people who ask me to send
them money. I do not doubt for a moment that some small
percentage of these are from individuals who are actually
in need. Unfortunately, it is utterly impossible to separate
these from the thousands sent by professional panhandlers
and chronic beggars. The letters come from practically
every country in the world. It would cost vast sums to check
the validity of the appeals. Thus, it’s necessary to refuse
them all.
Like almost all wealthy men—certainly, all with whom I
am acquainted—I make my contributions only to organized,
legitimate charities. Each and every year, my companies
and I contribute sums totaling many hundreds of
thousands of dollars to charity. This is the only way one can
give money with any degree of assurance that it will be
received eventually by deserving persons. I’ve tried to make
this clear in press interviews and public statements, but
without avail. Thousands of people who want me to send
them money continue to write to me. “You’re rich. You’ll
never miss the money,” most of my unbidden
correspondents write, as though this explains and justifies
everything. Some plead. Others demand. A few even
threaten. A surprisingly large number cannily specify that
I’m to send them “cash—no checks” because they “don’t
want the tax authorities to find out about the money.”
There are even those who demand the sum they request
“net —with all taxes paid.”
The head of a state medical association once asked me
for $250,000—so that he could buy a yacht. “It’s not much,
considering what I’ve heard about the size of your fortune,”
he wrote. This, mind you, was a professional man—a
physician who was obviously highly regarded in his
community and his state. So, I presume, was the certified
public accountant who used his firm’s impressive stationery
to request $500,000. He’d “discovered a sure-fire system for
playing the stock market”— and wanted to play it with my
money. “I’ll see that you get te
n percent of the profits,” he
promised generously.
Then there was the high-school teacher who wanted a
million tax-free dollars so that she could help her relatives,
and the banker who wrote that he’d embezzled $100,000
and was certain I would make good his defalcations.
I could cite such examples almost indefinitely. In an
average month, the total amount requested by these mail-
order mendicants easily exceeds $3,000,000. On one
memorable day a short while ago, a
single
mail delivery
brought letters asking for a total of no less than
$15,000,000!
All this, of course, is but a relatively minor annoyance
among the sundry problems that come with wealth. I’ve
mentioned several in this article which serve to make a rich
man’s life—pleasant and enjoyable as it is in many ways—
something less than the carefree idyll so many people
picture it to be. Money can do things for people—and it can
also do many things
to
them. What money does for or to a
particular individual is largel
y dependent on his moral and
intellectual standards, his outlooks and his attitudes
toward life.
If he’s a businessman, the important consideration is
what he
does
with his money. As I have said earlier, the
best use he can make of it is to invest it in enterprises
which produce more and better goods and services for more
people at lower cost. His aim should be to create and
operate businesses which contribute their share to the
progressive upward movement of the world’s economy, and
which thus work to make life better for all. Therein lies the
justification for wealth, and there from does the working
businessman derive the greatest sense of satisfaction.
That is what I have tried to do with my money, and
those are the aims and goals of the companies in which I
have invested. Those are—or should be—the morals of the
successful businessman’s money.