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<text id=89TT0461>
<title>
Feb. 13, 1989: Buck Passing
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
Feb. 13, 1989 James Baker:The Velvet Hammer
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
BOOKS, Page 82
</hdr><body>
<p>Buck Passing
</p>
<qt> <l>THE ULTRA RICH</l>
<l>by Vance Packard</l>
<l>Little, Brown; 358 pages; $22.95</l>
</qt>
<p> 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.
</p>
<p> 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.
</p>
<p> 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.
</p>
<p> 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."
</p>
<p> 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.
</p>
<p> 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.
</p>
</body></article>
</text>