Midas
Stories
In Other Words ...
12 Short Stories Based On New Testament Parables
The spirit of the 1980's had penetrated far deeper into the life style of Americans than even most economists and sociologists suspected or diagnosed. It was a spiritual disease. The terrible disease AIDS was the numbing physical discovery of the 1980s -- a disease that threatened world-wide populations, a devastating physical malady with no cure in sight. But the spiritual malady of the 1980s was as devastating in its way as was AIDS in the physical sense. Especially was this the case in America. The spiritual disease was called greed.
One of the differences between AIDS and greed is that AIDS is a relatively new affliction, whereas greed is as old as dirt, having taken its toll of otherwise well-mannered (and well-intentioned) humans off and on through the centuries. Although it is held somewhat in check from time to time by the sensitivities and teachings of various religions, especially Christianity, occasionally greed breaks out like a ravishing social epidemic. Cleverly disguised and enticingly alluring, it thrives in any culture that holds hard work and free enterprise in high esteem. Especially in America.
Understandably, greed is seldom called by its real name -- that would make it too unsophisticated, too taboo. For sophisticated, cultured, civil people scarcely want to use the word greed -- it would tend to taint their vocabulary, if not their character, much like the mere mention of AIDS would appear to contaminate their social standing.
Instead it is known by much more sophisticated and acceptable aliases as ''taking advantage of the free market economy,'' or ''making a quick buck.'' Its aliases are legion. They all sound so noble and honorable, no one could ever suspect that greed could be lying close beneath the surface, ready to ravage the conscience and anesthetize the moral principles of any upstanding citizen who might fall prey to it.
But let's call it greed. Ugly, sinful, voracious greed. It is that pernicious and cancerous quality that knows no fulfillment of its appetite. Gently and subtly it can transmutate even the noblest among us into numbing and unfeeling monsters, all the while for seemingly well-intentioned purposes or at least in the process of rewarding people with a sharp eye for opportunity.
America in the 1980s became a swampy breeding ground for the mushroom growth of greed in the human community. Encouraged by a hands-off government which said, ''Business will keep watch over itself,'' plus a host of other talismans, greed grew like poisonous mushrooms. Business flourished. High rollers were the king of the hill. There was no sensible limit to the amount of money any ''enterprising'' (read greedy) person could make if he/she pulled the right strings, knew the right people, made the appropriate demands at critical moments.
It was called greed. Ugly, sinful, voracious greed. And it infected America in the 1980s in much the same way as AIDS began its deadly infestation of the world. The difference was that we diagnosed AIDS early on in the 1980s, whereas greed went on its devastating path of destruction undiagnosed. Few of those who were infected by greed would have known it and even if they suspected it, would not have admitted it. ''Greedy? Who me? No sir!'' For respectable people to admit they were greedy would have been akin to admitting catching a venereal disease from a prostitute.
''Greedy? Not me! I'm simply taking advantage of an opportunity.''
Greed infected Greg Haldorson in the epidemic of the early 1980s. Raised in a central Minnesota small town, Greg was fed all the usual character-building ingredients typical of rural Minnesota. His hardworking parents were of modest means. Greg learned early the basic value of honesty, thrift, and making money the old-fashioned way -- by earning it.
So there was no logical reason for Greg to succumb to greed. He was as willing as anyone else to share with others.A week at Bible camp in each of three summers confirmed and uplifted the character values he had learned at home. No one would have suspected that Greg would be a victim of greed -- least of all Greg himself.
But then no one would have imagined that Greg's uncle would die suddenly, when Greg was in his third year of college. Greg's uncle didn't have any children, and a large chunk of his estate was left to Greg. Two sections of rich farmland suddenly belonged to Greg. He had just turned 21. After his senses recovered, he began to calculate the impact of the gift. It included 1,280 acres of rich farmland -- land with a couple small lakes on it -- land which could command premium prices at a time when that kind of land was in a seller's market. Without Greg's awareness of it, greed began its intoxicating dance before his fertile imagination.
Greed can (and usually does) cause a variety of uncharacteristic responses in its victims. Greg was not immune to such responses. One response was that he began spending an inordinate amount of time thinking and contemplating what he might do with the hefty amount of money he could get from the sale of his newly-inherited land, if he were to sell to the right parties. He could get money for it. Lots of money. He began reading and studying the Wall Street Journal much more than his college texts. And in the Journal he kept noticing references to the ripe opportunities for investors in Austin, Texas. In the early 1980s that seemed to be the place where smart investors could put their money, mainly in construction of office buildings. Greg smelled an opportunity to make big bucks quickly. And the greed virus caused him to make a decision. ''Go after it,'' he said.
Instead of hitting the beaches during spring break, Greg returned home to tell his parents he would be dropping out of college after completing his junior year. His parents were stunned. ''Drop out of college? What for?'' his father asked in disbelief.
Mother added, ''You're almost through, son ... just one more year.''
''I'm going to sell the land I inherited and turn it over into bigger money,'' Greg explained.
''But the land will wait until you finish college, Greg,'' his father pleaded. But knowing Greg, he already knew that his stubborn son had made up his mind. The thing he couldn't begin to understand was why. ''Why the hurry, son?''
''I can finish college later,'' Greg said somewhat uncertainly. ''The opportunities for investing in some large projects are not going to be open very long, and I want to get in now while there's time.''
''And what kind of opportunities are there that are so urgent, son?'' his father asked, ''And where -- in New York?''
''No, I'm going to move to Austin, Texas, as soon as classes are over. I've been studying investment a lot the last few months, and Austin looks like the hottest place in the country to put some money in the building business. They're building great new offices down there, and you can make big time money putting up some of the seed money for these projects.''
Mom and Dad were at a loss for words. They didn't know anything about big-time investment, or any investment for that matter. They knew about working hard for a modest living and being content with what your honest labor could produce. The three of them ate supper that evening under a strange silent cloud. Not much was said of Greg's plans for the remainder of the few days he was home on break. Upon his return to college, he gave only enough time to his classwork to pass finals. He felt he owed it to his folks not to flunk any courses. But even that was a long way down from his usual 3.4 grade point average.
Greg didn't have trouble selling his land for high dollars shortly after classes were over. Developers were quick to pay him handsomely for the land which had such virgin lakeshore property waiting for buyers who wanted to build lakeshore cottages. Greg's move to Austin caused deep sadness in his parents, not simply because he would be removed from them -- for they realized that some day he would probably move away anyway. No, they were sad because of the reason for hismove. ''Where did he ever get infected with that obsession to make so much money?'' his mother wondered, to no one in particular.
But Greg was no prodigal son of scripture notoriety. He was careful with his funds, and did thorough investigating before committing any to projects. He had been raised carefully by parents who taught him prudence in financial matters. But he was right. He soon found out there was money to be made in the Austin building boom of the early '80s. No matter that already signs of overbuilding were appearing. As long as building permits were forthcoming, and he had the right projects into which he could put some of his money, he could turn it over fast. And he did.
Three years later, as a young 24-year-old, he was probably the youngest investor in Austin. Not the largest by any means, but surely the youngest, and one of the smartest. He had learned fast. And having the large grub stake from his Minnesota land sale had given him a great start. He wasn't about to call it quits at any time soon.
True to his upbringing Greg worshiped from time to time at a Lutheran church and struck up a friendship with the pastor's son. Tom and Greg enjoyed each other's company. Greg enjoyed being with someone who had no interest in the world of investing or high rolling deals, and Tom was fascinated by this young entrepreneur who resembled a modern day King Midas. ''Everything you put your money into seems to turn to gold,'' Tom said in amazement one night when the two of them sat in a corner of a singles' bar on Sixth Street.
''Well, not everything,'' Greg pleaded modestly. ''I'm making good money, but I'm not wealthy yet.''
''Oh give me a break, Greg. You've got that million-dollar estate on Lake Travis, and a condo here in town. What does it take to be wealthy?'' Tom smiled in wonderment as he sipped his marguerita.
Greg took his time responding, although Tom wasn't really expecting an answer. ''This boom isn't going to last forever, Tom; and I'm going to make the big bucks while it lasts.In fact, I haven't told you this, but I'm starting to put my money into antiques.''
Tom just shook his head. He couldn't understand the drive that made Greg turn his wheels. And he didn't understand that underlying most of Greg's drive for accumulating things was that spiritual disease known as greed. In Austin, as in most of the nation in those years, greed had infected a great many people who had money to invest, as well as quite a few who didn't have any of their own to invest. It was the spiritual disease of the '80s.
''So what are you going to do with the antiques?'' Tom wanted to know.
''Do with them? You don't have to do anything with them,'' Greg answered. ''I'm just going to buy them and collect them, because they are precious. They're valuable. And I want them. And do you know that Texas is a great place to get antiques? It's a gold mine out there.'' He looked across the table at no one in particular, his dreamy eyes seeming to hold in their vision only the prospect of getting some more valuables in his house on the lake.
''I expect that house on Lake Travis is going to hold a lot of antiques,'' Tom volunteered, not knowing quite where to steer the conversation.
''Oh lordy, that place is nearly full already. I'm thinking I'm going to build an addition onto the house, or maybe another house on the property just to hold my collection.'' Greg was consumed.
Tom decided to get philosophical. Or maybe theological, he didn't care which. He had been to seminary for a year, and although he decided not to follow in his father's footsteps and become a pastor, his year in seminary caused him to view some things through a theological lens. And this seemed to be a time to use the theological lens, such as it was with him.
''Greg, do you ever contemplate what you're doing with all this moneymaking and purchasing? I mean, where is it all going to lead? What's the point of it?'' He was kind of sorry he had asked. He didn't mean to sound like he was preaching, but he wondered if his question had come off like he was.
Greg was slow to respond. ''I don't know. I don't give it much thought.''
''Well do you know what it looks like to me?'' Tom was asking.
''Don't get on my case, okay?'' Greg started to say.
''But I'm going to get on your case,'' Tom broke in. ''Because I'm your friend, and I want to see you headed in the right direction. Look, you don't have any social life to speak of. You don't have any women friends, you don't have any prospects for marriage and making a home ...''
''So what? I'm making myself happy ...'' Greg's voice trailed off.
''Yeah, right.'' Tom replied slowly, ''I'll bet you are.'' He paused before starting up again. ''You know what I think? I think you're trying to create some kind of heaven here on earth ...''
''Jeez are you getting deep! What turned you into such a philosopher?'' Greg wanted to know.
''Okay, okay, so I'm getting into deep water. But let me continue. You're not going to live forever -- at least not here in Austin, or on earth for that matter,'' Tom continued.
''I know, I know,'' Greg said somewhat apologetically, ''I went to Sunday school too, you know.''
Tom ignored that. ''Have you ever thought who might get all this stuff you are collecting? Your folks surely don't want all that junk you ...''
''It isn't junk, my friend, it's all expensive stuff,'' Greg defended.
''Call it what you will, but you might be living on borrowed time. We all might be for that matter. And what good is all this stuff if your life comes to a sudden end?'' Tom was a bit sorry he had taken the conversation that far.
They sat in silence for a while. Tom changed the subject, ''You want to saunter up to the bar and see if we can buy a drink for those two beauties? They don't look like they're spoken for.''
''No. You can if you like. You can handle two. I'm going to hang it up for the night. I'm not going to stay at the condo tonight. I've got some things to do at the lake house, and it's already midnight. See ya, when? Tomorrow night?'' And Greg left, followed soon thereafter by Tom.
The next morning, as Tom gave a quick glance at the morning paper, his mind froze. The headline read, ''Jaguar Misses Curve on 2222, Local Developer Dead.'' Tom cried all the way to work.
One of the differences between AIDS and greed is that AIDS is a relatively new affliction, whereas greed is as old as dirt, having taken its toll of otherwise well-mannered (and well-intentioned) humans off and on through the centuries. Although it is held somewhat in check from time to time by the sensitivities and teachings of various religions, especially Christianity, occasionally greed breaks out like a ravishing social epidemic. Cleverly disguised and enticingly alluring, it thrives in any culture that holds hard work and free enterprise in high esteem. Especially in America.
Understandably, greed is seldom called by its real name -- that would make it too unsophisticated, too taboo. For sophisticated, cultured, civil people scarcely want to use the word greed -- it would tend to taint their vocabulary, if not their character, much like the mere mention of AIDS would appear to contaminate their social standing.
Instead it is known by much more sophisticated and acceptable aliases as ''taking advantage of the free market economy,'' or ''making a quick buck.'' Its aliases are legion. They all sound so noble and honorable, no one could ever suspect that greed could be lying close beneath the surface, ready to ravage the conscience and anesthetize the moral principles of any upstanding citizen who might fall prey to it.
But let's call it greed. Ugly, sinful, voracious greed. It is that pernicious and cancerous quality that knows no fulfillment of its appetite. Gently and subtly it can transmutate even the noblest among us into numbing and unfeeling monsters, all the while for seemingly well-intentioned purposes or at least in the process of rewarding people with a sharp eye for opportunity.
America in the 1980s became a swampy breeding ground for the mushroom growth of greed in the human community. Encouraged by a hands-off government which said, ''Business will keep watch over itself,'' plus a host of other talismans, greed grew like poisonous mushrooms. Business flourished. High rollers were the king of the hill. There was no sensible limit to the amount of money any ''enterprising'' (read greedy) person could make if he/she pulled the right strings, knew the right people, made the appropriate demands at critical moments.
It was called greed. Ugly, sinful, voracious greed. And it infected America in the 1980s in much the same way as AIDS began its deadly infestation of the world. The difference was that we diagnosed AIDS early on in the 1980s, whereas greed went on its devastating path of destruction undiagnosed. Few of those who were infected by greed would have known it and even if they suspected it, would not have admitted it. ''Greedy? Who me? No sir!'' For respectable people to admit they were greedy would have been akin to admitting catching a venereal disease from a prostitute.
''Greedy? Not me! I'm simply taking advantage of an opportunity.''
Greed infected Greg Haldorson in the epidemic of the early 1980s. Raised in a central Minnesota small town, Greg was fed all the usual character-building ingredients typical of rural Minnesota. His hardworking parents were of modest means. Greg learned early the basic value of honesty, thrift, and making money the old-fashioned way -- by earning it.
So there was no logical reason for Greg to succumb to greed. He was as willing as anyone else to share with others.A week at Bible camp in each of three summers confirmed and uplifted the character values he had learned at home. No one would have suspected that Greg would be a victim of greed -- least of all Greg himself.
But then no one would have imagined that Greg's uncle would die suddenly, when Greg was in his third year of college. Greg's uncle didn't have any children, and a large chunk of his estate was left to Greg. Two sections of rich farmland suddenly belonged to Greg. He had just turned 21. After his senses recovered, he began to calculate the impact of the gift. It included 1,280 acres of rich farmland -- land with a couple small lakes on it -- land which could command premium prices at a time when that kind of land was in a seller's market. Without Greg's awareness of it, greed began its intoxicating dance before his fertile imagination.
Greed can (and usually does) cause a variety of uncharacteristic responses in its victims. Greg was not immune to such responses. One response was that he began spending an inordinate amount of time thinking and contemplating what he might do with the hefty amount of money he could get from the sale of his newly-inherited land, if he were to sell to the right parties. He could get money for it. Lots of money. He began reading and studying the Wall Street Journal much more than his college texts. And in the Journal he kept noticing references to the ripe opportunities for investors in Austin, Texas. In the early 1980s that seemed to be the place where smart investors could put their money, mainly in construction of office buildings. Greg smelled an opportunity to make big bucks quickly. And the greed virus caused him to make a decision. ''Go after it,'' he said.
Instead of hitting the beaches during spring break, Greg returned home to tell his parents he would be dropping out of college after completing his junior year. His parents were stunned. ''Drop out of college? What for?'' his father asked in disbelief.
Mother added, ''You're almost through, son ... just one more year.''
''I'm going to sell the land I inherited and turn it over into bigger money,'' Greg explained.
''But the land will wait until you finish college, Greg,'' his father pleaded. But knowing Greg, he already knew that his stubborn son had made up his mind. The thing he couldn't begin to understand was why. ''Why the hurry, son?''
''I can finish college later,'' Greg said somewhat uncertainly. ''The opportunities for investing in some large projects are not going to be open very long, and I want to get in now while there's time.''
''And what kind of opportunities are there that are so urgent, son?'' his father asked, ''And where -- in New York?''
''No, I'm going to move to Austin, Texas, as soon as classes are over. I've been studying investment a lot the last few months, and Austin looks like the hottest place in the country to put some money in the building business. They're building great new offices down there, and you can make big time money putting up some of the seed money for these projects.''
Mom and Dad were at a loss for words. They didn't know anything about big-time investment, or any investment for that matter. They knew about working hard for a modest living and being content with what your honest labor could produce. The three of them ate supper that evening under a strange silent cloud. Not much was said of Greg's plans for the remainder of the few days he was home on break. Upon his return to college, he gave only enough time to his classwork to pass finals. He felt he owed it to his folks not to flunk any courses. But even that was a long way down from his usual 3.4 grade point average.
Greg didn't have trouble selling his land for high dollars shortly after classes were over. Developers were quick to pay him handsomely for the land which had such virgin lakeshore property waiting for buyers who wanted to build lakeshore cottages. Greg's move to Austin caused deep sadness in his parents, not simply because he would be removed from them -- for they realized that some day he would probably move away anyway. No, they were sad because of the reason for hismove. ''Where did he ever get infected with that obsession to make so much money?'' his mother wondered, to no one in particular.
But Greg was no prodigal son of scripture notoriety. He was careful with his funds, and did thorough investigating before committing any to projects. He had been raised carefully by parents who taught him prudence in financial matters. But he was right. He soon found out there was money to be made in the Austin building boom of the early '80s. No matter that already signs of overbuilding were appearing. As long as building permits were forthcoming, and he had the right projects into which he could put some of his money, he could turn it over fast. And he did.
Three years later, as a young 24-year-old, he was probably the youngest investor in Austin. Not the largest by any means, but surely the youngest, and one of the smartest. He had learned fast. And having the large grub stake from his Minnesota land sale had given him a great start. He wasn't about to call it quits at any time soon.
True to his upbringing Greg worshiped from time to time at a Lutheran church and struck up a friendship with the pastor's son. Tom and Greg enjoyed each other's company. Greg enjoyed being with someone who had no interest in the world of investing or high rolling deals, and Tom was fascinated by this young entrepreneur who resembled a modern day King Midas. ''Everything you put your money into seems to turn to gold,'' Tom said in amazement one night when the two of them sat in a corner of a singles' bar on Sixth Street.
''Well, not everything,'' Greg pleaded modestly. ''I'm making good money, but I'm not wealthy yet.''
''Oh give me a break, Greg. You've got that million-dollar estate on Lake Travis, and a condo here in town. What does it take to be wealthy?'' Tom smiled in wonderment as he sipped his marguerita.
Greg took his time responding, although Tom wasn't really expecting an answer. ''This boom isn't going to last forever, Tom; and I'm going to make the big bucks while it lasts.In fact, I haven't told you this, but I'm starting to put my money into antiques.''
Tom just shook his head. He couldn't understand the drive that made Greg turn his wheels. And he didn't understand that underlying most of Greg's drive for accumulating things was that spiritual disease known as greed. In Austin, as in most of the nation in those years, greed had infected a great many people who had money to invest, as well as quite a few who didn't have any of their own to invest. It was the spiritual disease of the '80s.
''So what are you going to do with the antiques?'' Tom wanted to know.
''Do with them? You don't have to do anything with them,'' Greg answered. ''I'm just going to buy them and collect them, because they are precious. They're valuable. And I want them. And do you know that Texas is a great place to get antiques? It's a gold mine out there.'' He looked across the table at no one in particular, his dreamy eyes seeming to hold in their vision only the prospect of getting some more valuables in his house on the lake.
''I expect that house on Lake Travis is going to hold a lot of antiques,'' Tom volunteered, not knowing quite where to steer the conversation.
''Oh lordy, that place is nearly full already. I'm thinking I'm going to build an addition onto the house, or maybe another house on the property just to hold my collection.'' Greg was consumed.
Tom decided to get philosophical. Or maybe theological, he didn't care which. He had been to seminary for a year, and although he decided not to follow in his father's footsteps and become a pastor, his year in seminary caused him to view some things through a theological lens. And this seemed to be a time to use the theological lens, such as it was with him.
''Greg, do you ever contemplate what you're doing with all this moneymaking and purchasing? I mean, where is it all going to lead? What's the point of it?'' He was kind of sorry he had asked. He didn't mean to sound like he was preaching, but he wondered if his question had come off like he was.
Greg was slow to respond. ''I don't know. I don't give it much thought.''
''Well do you know what it looks like to me?'' Tom was asking.
''Don't get on my case, okay?'' Greg started to say.
''But I'm going to get on your case,'' Tom broke in. ''Because I'm your friend, and I want to see you headed in the right direction. Look, you don't have any social life to speak of. You don't have any women friends, you don't have any prospects for marriage and making a home ...''
''So what? I'm making myself happy ...'' Greg's voice trailed off.
''Yeah, right.'' Tom replied slowly, ''I'll bet you are.'' He paused before starting up again. ''You know what I think? I think you're trying to create some kind of heaven here on earth ...''
''Jeez are you getting deep! What turned you into such a philosopher?'' Greg wanted to know.
''Okay, okay, so I'm getting into deep water. But let me continue. You're not going to live forever -- at least not here in Austin, or on earth for that matter,'' Tom continued.
''I know, I know,'' Greg said somewhat apologetically, ''I went to Sunday school too, you know.''
Tom ignored that. ''Have you ever thought who might get all this stuff you are collecting? Your folks surely don't want all that junk you ...''
''It isn't junk, my friend, it's all expensive stuff,'' Greg defended.
''Call it what you will, but you might be living on borrowed time. We all might be for that matter. And what good is all this stuff if your life comes to a sudden end?'' Tom was a bit sorry he had taken the conversation that far.
They sat in silence for a while. Tom changed the subject, ''You want to saunter up to the bar and see if we can buy a drink for those two beauties? They don't look like they're spoken for.''
''No. You can if you like. You can handle two. I'm going to hang it up for the night. I'm not going to stay at the condo tonight. I've got some things to do at the lake house, and it's already midnight. See ya, when? Tomorrow night?'' And Greg left, followed soon thereafter by Tom.
The next morning, as Tom gave a quick glance at the morning paper, his mind froze. The headline read, ''Jaguar Misses Curve on 2222, Local Developer Dead.'' Tom cried all the way to work.
