Major Nathaniel Peabody and I dined at Bookbinders and, as had become our usual custom, we returned to his apartment for an after-dinner libation. I paid for the dinner. That had also become one of our usual customs. We sat in his living room and the Major began the conversation.
“When Prudhomme wrote ‘Power corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely,’ I suspect he hit the bull’s eye,” Major Peabody said. He lifted the cover from the humidor that contained what was left of the 25 H. Upmann cigars he had given me when we celebrated my birthday. He took one of them and returned the humidor to the drawer in the end table next to his wing back chair. The cigars had been in his humidor ever since my birthday party. He knows I don’t smoke.
As soon as the Major quoted the Prudhomme aphorism, I knew he was up to something and I suspected it had to do with money. It was the 22nd day of the month. A few days earlier, he had returned from a five day Hungarian Partridge hunt in South Dakota. It was nearly a certainty than he had managed to spend the rest of his money and was in his usual end-of-month penniless condition. He was not entitled to another Spendthrift Trust remittance until nine days had passed.
It is intriguing to watch Major Peabody spin his web in an attempt to trap me into financing him during the last days of those months when he is destitute. Those webs often entrap me. I contribute dinners, cigars and single malt scotch on an all too regular basis. His moves to secure early trust fund distributions are clever, even ingenious. I’ve learned some of the signs that predict the advent of his too often successful frauds.
The reference to Prudhomme was not made for the purpose of any kind of philosophic discussion. No, Peabody was up to something and the warning flags were flying. He was about to launch an attack on the assets of the Peabody Spendthrift Trust or, worse, on mine. I prepared myself to refuse to extend any requested form of financing and made a mental note to be extremely cautious in all conversation with him. I limited myself to a non-committal “mmmmmm” and an innocuous “Perhaps you are right”.
“I am convinced,” Peabody continued, “that people’s distrust of our own government is directly proportional to the power it assumes. The country’s reaction to Congressional attempts to destroy the Constitutional right of gun ownership comes to mind. I consider the people’s fear and their distrust of their government are entirely admirable reactions, founded in solid common sense and worthy of encouragement.”
Personally, I’ve come close to firearms only when delivering the Major’s checks to some hunting camp and on the one occasion when he insisted I buy an expensive shotgun and accompany him on a Cuban duck hunting trip. I bought the weapon. It has received precious little use. I’m afraid of it and won’t have it in my lodgings. Like the 25 cigars he gave me as a birthday present, the gun is stored in the Major’s apartment.
That Cuba trip is not one of my favorite memories. We returned to Philadelphia via Canada. The Canadian Customs Inspector found the Cuban cigars Peabody tried to smuggle into the country by shoving them down the barrels of my shotgun. I had to pay a hefty fine.
As any sane person knows, any legislation passed by Congress for the purpose of controlling firearms would be just as successful in stopping crime as the 18th Amendment was successful in stopping drinking. The Major, however, was developing a thesis for some purpose aimed directly at my wallet. It would be prudent to change the subject, so I interrupted him.
“Didn’t Prudhomme also write: Comparisons are odious?” I asked.
“Why, yes he did, my boy,” was the Major’s mildly surprised response. Peabody always showed mild surprise when anyone under 60 years of age indicated he had read something other than newspapers, trade journals, best sellers or the comics. Peabody lit the cigar and continued.
“While I accept the validity of that first Prudhomme adage, I’m not convinced the one you quote is equally accurate. If we were to compare my ability to understand the sneaky terms you lawyers use when drafting Spendthrift Trusts with your ability to understand them, doubtlessly I would find the comparison odious. You, on the other hand, doubtlessly, would find the comparison to be pleasant.” Inwardly, I smiled.
“But,” the Major added, “if we were to compare my ability to use a shotgun with yours, I would find the comparison delightful and you would find it odious. Your Prudhomme quote is, at best, only half right.”
I remembered our Cuban hunting experience. Peabody was correct. I found paying the fine was odious. Peabody found my discomfort to be pleasantly humorous.
Peabody blew a smoke ring and watched it rise and slowly dissipate before adding: “Prudhomme has another maxim I usually find to be of questionable accuracy. I refer to the one that proclaims: Property is theft. It is favored by the liberals who love to quote it in defense of what they call ‘income re-distribution’.
“Earning the money to buy property requires a lot of time. Once purchase money is earned, there are additional costs involved in property ownership. There are real estate taxes, insurance premiums, property improvement costs and a myriad of other expenses involved in owning something. Even something as basic as owning a dog involves expenditures for flea powder, collars, dog food and veterinarian expenses.
“Taking all allied expenditures into consideration, property is not theft. It is a representation of a lot of time spent working to get the money to buy it and take care of it. My initial reaction is: Prudhomme was wrong. Property is not theft. Property is a lot of work.”
The Major thought for a second and then said: “On the other hand, perhaps Prudhomme had something else in mind. Among the reasons Walt Whitman gave to explain why he thought he could turn and live with animals was the fact that they were not infected with the mania for owning things.
“If a man owns neither lawn mower nor home, he need not paint the house or mow the lawn. With no color TV, he need not spend his Sundays watching football when he could be hunting pheasants or ducks. I can see how property can be considered as a thief - a thief of a man’s time that can never be recovered. What do you think?” he asked as he leaned back in his wing back chair and blew another smoke ring.
During Major Peabody’s time in the service, he led a nomadic existence. He was never in one place long enough to buy a home. Now his assets consisted of the furnishings of his apartment, a few shotguns and his clothing. They were all he needed and all he wanted. I began to understand why Major Nathaniel Peabody had so few worldly goods. To him, ownership represented an unwanted cost and an unwanted responsibility.
I thought of my associates at Smythe, Hauser, Engals & Tauchen - their homes, their horses, their automobiles, their golf clubs and their wives. They were slaves to them. They were tied down by them. Their labors at the office were required in order to keep and maintain their various properties. Property seemed to control their lives. I compared them to the Major and concluded Prudhomme was right. Comparisons can be odious. In this comparison, the odium did not reach Major Nathaniel Peabody’s side of the equation.
I also concluded property was theft. “Yes, Major, I believe you are right. Too many people fill their lives with things. Then they must assume the responsibility of maintaining them for the rest of their lives. Yes, property robs its owner of time.”
Peabody rose from his chair. “For a younger man,” he said, “you have a praiseworthy grasp on an important concept. Oh, the mania for owning things. It can destroy your life.”
Later, it was time for me to go. As I put on my coat, Peabody took a paper from his pocket. He pressed it into my hand and said: “Since your unsuccessful attempt to smuggle cigars from Cuba, you have never used that Citori 12 gauge double. For you it is one of those properties that must be stored and cared for. It could lead to the destruction of your future happiness. Luckily, I recognized that danger.
“Yesterday I retrieved that burdensome bit of property from my closet and took steps to protect you from the perils of ownership. Here is the pawn ticket. I recommend you don’t reclaim it.”