Defining Rich

Our very modest home several blocks from the
mansions on Lake Shore Drive
 

I grew up in an enclave on the southern shores of Lake Michigan that catered to wealthy Chicagoans. The houses that were built along Lake Shore Drive ranged in style from cottage to mansion and everything in between. 

It was generally thought that people who maintained property on Lake Shore Drive were wealthy no matter what the style of their home might be. This belief  was fed by the fact that for many of the owners, these were second homes that were used only in the summer. But not all of the homes were summer residences.

For those families who lived along the lakeshore on a full time basis, the cost of living definitely required a higher income than was needed for those families who lived a few blocks inland, like mine. Thus, as a child, I had a notion that one had to be “rich” to live on Lake Shore Drive. 

Anne Miller, a classmate, lived in one of the more iconic lakeshore homes. She invited me over to play after school in the early fall of our fourth grade year. I was very excited to see her three-story Spanish-inspired villa with the lake accessible right out the sliding glass doors on the lowest level. There was a detached two-car garage built in the same style as the house. A portico, enveloped in ivy, connected the two buildings. All of the walkways were a brick herringbone pattern. 

We entered from a side door that went directly into the galley kitchen. A large window with banquet seating provided a picturesque view of the water. Anne’s mother greeted us with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and glasses of milk. We sat at the banquet and told her all about our day. We included that we had been partnered by our teacher to work on a sort of science project together and were both pretty excited about it. 

Once we finished our snack, Anne’s mom suggested that I get a tour of their home. Anne walked me into their living room, which cantilevered out over a patio area below. A grand piano sat positioned at an angle in the corner of the room, which was glassed in on three sides. The sunlight was soft and warm on the large Abyssinia hand-knotted area rug that defined the floor of the room. The room was further decorated  with ceramic vases, a reproduction of a Degas bronze sculpture, several ornately framed oil paintings, and a real palm tree in a copper planter. The overstuffed couch and matching chairs were beautifully upholstered in whites and creams with blue hue accents in the pillows. Stiffel table lamps lent a further air of sophistication to the cherry wood end tables. A large linen-tufted ottoman served as a centerpiece in the sitting area. It was all very elegant. The plain furnishings I was used to seemed rather shabby in comparison. 

Anne led me to the upper story of the home where there were four bedrooms. The master had its own bathroom with a large soaking tub and a walk-in shower. The counter had two sinks, and the toilet area had a fixture called a bidet. Anne, her brother, and sister each had their own room. Anne’s room had a canopy bed. Everything from its flounce to the bedspread to the fabric of the canopy itself were of a rose-patterned Chintz. She and her sister shared a bathroom that separated the two rooms. The furniture in both girls’ rooms was French Provincial in style. Her brother’s bedroom furniture was a much darker wood lending the room a masculine feel and he had a bathroom all to himself. None of the rooms looked like a kid’s room to me. Everything looked like something from a furniture store or a magazine photo shoot. It all smelled so clean and fresh, I made a comment about it. Anne told me the housekeeper had been there that morning.

The bottom floor of the house was located below the main floor. It was kind of like a finished basement except you could walk out onto the beach from the family room. Anne and I went downstairs and that’s where we spent the rest of my visit that day. We played with her dolls a little bit, and then we played a board game. We took our shoes off and went outside to splash around in the shallows of the lake. The water was already pretty cold, but with the sun shining so brightly, we hardly noticed. She explained to me how they had just put their boat into winter storage.

While we were wading in the water, Anne’s father came home. He drove a Mercedes Benz and offered to drive me home. As we were saying our goodbyes and see you tomorrows, Anne’s mother had a short discussion with her husband about a trip they were planning to Denver to go skiing over the Thanksgiving long weekend.

By the time I slid off the leather seats of Anne’s dad’s car to go into my own house, my head was reeling from imagining the extraordinary life my classmate led.

When my dad got home that night, and while we ate our meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and peas, I told my parents about my visit. After I was done describing everything, I sighed and said, “The Millers are soooo rich.” 

My dad cleared his throat as he exchanged a look with my mother. He tapped his lips with his napkin and said, “Well, Honey, funny thing about how things might look and how things really are.”

I stared in rapt attention wondering what he could possibly mean. Rich was rich wasn’t it? Their house was beautiful with beautiful things inside. It was right on the water, had three whole floors, and a grand piano. Her father drove a Mercedes Benz, they owned a boat, and the family went skiing for long weekends. What else could they be but rich?

I was only ten years old, but Dad saw this as an opportunity to explain something about the appearance of wealth. I suppose he must have known something about the Millers’ financial circumstances to prompt this talk and use my envy of them as a teaching moment because he all but then gave me a PowerPoint presentation.  

Dad explained how it was possible to live in the United States and give off the appearance of wealth without actually having any money. “As long as there’s enough income coming in to cover the monthly expenses of borrowed money, a person can live a very high life. But if for any reason that income is lost…well…it all disappears. And there is no savings for retirement because everything that is earned is spent.”

He told me about debt, about interest, about making the lowest payments possible, about appreciation on an asset, such as a house, and then using that appreciation to borrow even more to fund an even grander lifestyle. It was all a bit overwhelming, but I understood exactly what he was saying. He then admonished me about never asking anyone about where their money came from or to explain why they could live a life that looked soooo rich. “That would be rude,” he said.

The real lesson in finances I learned that day was about living within one’s means and keeping debt to a minimum. It was a good talk, one I’ve never forgotten, and one that has informed my own financial practices throughout my life. But there’s another lesson in defining “rich.” It’s a lesson about devaluing the importance of possessions and the appearance of wealth, and valuing, instead, friendships, family, and our time together. These are the things that make us truly rich.

Copyright DJ Anderson, 2022