Day: March 13, 2011

In the first of our too few trips to Aruba, we’d had a good time (Except for her sunburn, which I’ll cover another time.)

We’re in this Quonset hut of a “departure terminal”. In those days, like you see in the old movies, they push a mobile stairway up to the side of the plane and you board. The hut was long, aluminum and hot. So we were going through the various “stations” — US immigration, US agriculture, US passport control, US visa, US Customs — heck if I was a bureaucrat, I’d try and figure out a job in Aruba. Then Aruba passport control, visa, etc. etc.

So Frau Reinke and I are free to approach the last station, we discover that Aruba has a $20 / head departure tax. Payable in cash US$ only — no florins (amusing that their Gooferment wouldn’t take its own paper), no credit cards, no checks, no nothing — nothing but cash on the barrelhead.

Half way to the station, we see a young couple — obviously newlyweds — the girl is in tears and the guy looks like he pooped his pants. Naturally, Frau Reinke can’t MYOB. She steps up to the girl, who’s maybe a decade younger than she is, “What’s the matter, Hon.”

Thru the water works, we learn they have no money. They spent it all and had credit cards until they got home.

Frau Reinke says: “Not to worry, Hon. We were lucky this trip and have extra.” (I want to scream “Liar, liar, pants on fire.” We hadn’t won.) She whips out her roll and gives the boy money. 60$ US and says “Here’s two for the tax and one for lunch on us.” Then she turns to the girl, gives her two $50’s, and says “Here keep this. A girl should never be without her mad money.”

Of course, they wanted her address to repay her. She just said: “No, keep it. You’ll help someone else down the road.”

Never saw them again. And, she never told anyone the story. Like most of “her” stories, she never told any of them. She was embarrassed that someone might think she was bragging. I doubt I even know them all. But, I do know that she was the easiest touch for a sob story I ever knew.

Wonder how many people got helped “down the road” because of her?

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Frau Reinke came from a family that was rich in love but poor in “earthly treasures”. And she was a proud woman. When she finally did agree to marry me, “we” had to save for the wedding and setting up a home. The wedding is the responsibility of the bride’s family. Well she was one bride who was going to have the wedding she wanted. So each week, I’d hand off a third of my paycheck for the “future”.

(How moonstruck was I? The passbook was in her name since she did all the banking.)

Money was saved. Wedding was paid for. Pattern established.

Fast forward a few years.

We’re living in North Brunswick. She’s been diagnosed with diabetes. And, she wants to work. (Later I’d find out the reasons, but those aren’t germane to this memory.) She goes to work and makes a pretty good sum.

Luckily for the male ego I was making more. Enough to cover all our expenses. So, she gets her own bank account. With the very logical explanation, “What’s mine is mine, and what’s yours is ours.” Smart girl. Who needs a pre-nup?

So, being into finance and the markets, thanks to a preconscious childhood, I offer to help her with “investing”. “No help needed.”

So, she has her passbook, and she’s as happy as a clam. Each year when I did the taxes, I’d remind her that she could be earning more on her money. “No help needed.”

So, finally I get smart. I say: “I should have some money in my name”. She agrees. So I guesstimate how much she has in her passbook. (Not that hard I have her 1099 and can back into the number. Her passbook was paying about ½%.) So I put “my money” in a Dreyfus Tax Free Money Market Fund. (I think it was paying 8 and change at the time.) And, wait until next tax time.

The accountant does the taxes. We get them on a Saturday morning. I sign them without looking and give them to her. She signs them and looks them over. With some venom about “not checking”. I shrug and go to do my homework for my Comp Sci.

(Her 1099 and my “Dreyfus information statement” are attached to the forms. Her money is taxed; mine ain’t. My money is earning about 16 times what her’s is.)

You’d have sworn a cat was run over. She literally screamed. I actually thought something was wrong. It was just a realization taking place. Education hurts.

With the iciest stare I’ve ever seen, she states: “Why are you getting so much interest and I’m getting so little? Did you take more money than I have?”

It was funny.

I patiently explained that the Bank was having their way with her money. (I may have used a more graphic common verb which might be acceptable between married folk.) And, that passbooks were for children and little old ladies who didn’t know any better.

(OK, maybe that was a little harsh!)

Needless to say Our Girl was no fool. Monday at lunch time, she has her passbook converted to a statement savings account. By Wednesday, she has a Vangard Money Market account. And, by Friday, she is making non-tax deferred contributions to her Principal 401k at work.

And, the rest was history.

No more passbooks for her.

And, she never credited me with giving her any help.

ROFL!

The moral of the story is never try to help a headstrong smart Irish woman; just create a learning opportunity and stand aside.

Even today, I can hear that scream in my mind’s ear.

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