Rich People Shop Here

"Rich people shop here" was my mother's battle cry, delivered with great confidence to her 11 year-old son as she wheeled into the parking lot of yet another thrift store or resale shop. Somehow I didn't believe her since we had never seen one rich person inside of one of these stores as far as I knew. We carefully stepped around a couple of wealthy folks who had passed out on the sidewalk in front of the place and made our way inside to see what hidden treasures lay on the shelves or behind the counters. "That must have been one of the Rockefellers" I said to no one in particular. My mother didn't hear or at least she pretended not to as I found my place in the book section and she began to shop for our back-to-school clothes.

We of course had passed a hundred stores with back to school specials on our way down to "The Purple Heart" but none of them could compete with shirts for a dime and pants for a quarter. I sometimes resented having to go into places like that and I cringed at the thought of any of my friends ever finding out that my clothes came from there. On one particular day I found a really good book for 8 cents called "From Ghetto to Glory", an inspiring tale about baseball great Bob Gibson and his rise from abject poverty in St. Louis to becoming one of the great pitchers of all time. I still have that book and after all these years have passed I have to say that it is probably the best 8 pennies I've ever spent.

Lost in all of my false pride and concern about my status with my contemporaries was an important point that I only found about recently and which was hidden from me and my brothers as artfully as any secret has ever been hidden- my mother didn't shop for our school clothes at the Purple Heart because she wanted to but because she had to. My father's business was struggling for a few years before it closed completely and my parents were raising a family on less than 3 thousand dollars a year. My mother, ever the financial wizard was able to keep the bills paid, a roof over our head and clothes on our back (with the occasional 8 cents extra for a good book) by doing what she had to do and making the best of it. Maybe God heard her complain about it but we boys never did.

Eventually she began to actually take joy in finding The Bargain and that's when she began a way of life that she still lives today. She would actually keep the price tag on an item (not my clothes but hers sometimes) so that she would be sure to be "found out" so she could brag about what a good deal she got. Even though she could probably shop anywhere she wanted to now, she still spends a lot of time looking for 'The Deal' and haggling with the salespeople for an even better deal. And she still keeps the price tag on it for awhile to insure that there is some discussion about what a find it was. Whatever she's doing works magnificently. My father passed away almost 20 years ago and she has lived all these years on just 2 years of his salary that she received at his death.

Through the years she has tried to teach us how to spend wisely and handle money the way she does. She has great balance in this area of her life. She saves some and spends some, and gives some to charity. She's careful with her money but she's never been a miser. She seems to always be driving a decent car and her clothes (even without the price tags) look to be straight out of Sak's Fifth Avenue.

My brothers and I have never learned it but I think we're getting there. I have two sons of my own now and it is a constant battle to keep them from getting lost in all the concern by their contemporaries about wearing the latest 'name'- Tommy, Nike, Polo, etc. Thankfully their twin cousins are sending their hand-me-downs to us on a regular basis and they can afford the 'names'. With each bag of clothing treasure though, comes a word of admonishment about how clothes don't make the person and how things can't replace a good self-image and I think I'm occasionally getting through to them.

And when I do I feel closer to my mother than ever. There is an old saying that "the apple doesn't fall far from the tree" and a recent event in my life made that truth ring resonantly in my ears. My company moved me across town to another office and asked me to go out and buy a new desk (with their money, of course). I found the desk I liked but it turned out to be the last of its kind in the store and it had a slight smudge on it. Without any forethought whatsoever I began to haggle with the salesman about the price and eventually got 25% off what he was originally asking for it. When it was delivered to my office I actually thought seriously about leaving the price tag on the desk for a couple of days so I could brag about my deal that I had made.

Why? Because after all these years I can finally admit it. My mother probably saved our family from financial ruin by her diligence and shopping skills. My father certainly knew that and bragged often that he wouldn't have amassed anything in this life if he had handled the money in our home. We boys didn't know it and probably wouldn't have encouraged her if we had known it because we were too preoccupied about our tenuous status in the community and what our friends would think about our unhip clothing and out of the way shopping trips. She ignored all of that (and our snide comments about the 'Rockefeller's') and did the right thing anyway.

And she was right about another thing. If wealth can be measured by the friends one has; and if possessions are just a collection of things that neither make nor break a persons self image and worth; if a good reputation is more precious than silver or gold; then my mother is one of the wealthiest people I know.

Amazing. Rich people did shop there.

by Dennis Welch
1998