Success 功成名就

A poor young man came to New York to make his fortune. He dreamed, in the American way, of becoming a millionaire. He tried his luck on Wall Street. He was diligent and shrewd and, when he had to be, devious. He put together a business deal, which succeeded beyond his wildest dreams: he made twelve million dollars.

At first he thought everything was going well. “Isn’t it grand?” He said to his wife, once it was apparent that he had made twelve million dollars.

“No, it isn’t,” his wife said. “Nobody knows you.”

“But that’s impossible,” the young man said. “I’m a rich person. Rich people are shown in the newspapers in the company of movie stars and famous novelists and distinguished dress designers. Pictures of the rich can be found on the front covers of newspapers and magazines.”

“Yours won’t,” his wife said. “You’re a nobody.”

“But I have twelve million dollars,” the young man said.

“So do a lot of people,” his wife said. “They are nobodies, too.”

“But I own a co-op apartment on Fifth Avenue that’s worth two million dollars,” the young man said.

“Two million-dollar co-ops are a dime a dozen ,” his wife said. “So to speak.”

“I have a stretch limousine,” the young man said. “It’s twenty-one and a half feet long.”

“Nobody famous has ever ridden in it,” his wife said. “Henry Kissinger and Calvin Klein have never heard of you. You’re nobody.”

The young man was silent for a while. “Are you disappointed in me?” he finally said to his wife.

“Of course I’m disappointed in you,” she said. “When you asked me to marry you, you said you would be rich and famous. How was I to know that you’d turn out to be a nobody?”

For a moment the young man looked defeated. Then he said, “I’ll make them pay attention,” he said. “I’ll buy a professional football team. Important people will join me to watch games from the owner’s private viewing room.”

“You can’t buy a professional football team for twelve million dollars,” his wife said. “Professional football teams cost a lot of money.”

“Then I’ll buy a magazine and appoint myself chief columnist ,” the young man said. “A small but handsome picture of me will be placed against my article each week. The owners of professional football teams will invite me to watch big games from the owner’s box.”

“You might be able to buy a small, cheap magazine, but not a real magazine,” his wife said. “You can’t buy a well known magazine with such a small amount of money.”

“Is that what you call what we have?” the young man asked. “Are twelve million dollars chicken feed ?”

“It’s not big bucks,” his wife said. “What can I tell you?”

“But that’s not fair,” the young man said. “I’m a young man of humble origins who made twelve million dollars. I succeeded even beyond my dream.”

“Some of those things you did with the electronics acquisition probably weren’t fair either,” his wife said. “ Nobody cares about unfair business dealings, just how much money you can make.”

“Then I’ll get more money,” the young man said. “I’m going to go back to Wall Street and make fifty million dollars.”

But before the young man could make fifty million dollars a man from the Securities and Exchange Commission came and arrested him for having committed insider-trading violations in the electronics acquisition.

The young man was taken away from his office in handcuffs. A picture on the front page of the afternoon paper showed him leaving his arraignment, trying to hide his face behind an $850 Italian overcoat. A long article in the morning newspaper used him as an example to show what the young, new Wall Street traders who make quick money illegally, probably because of their humble origins are like. His friends and associates avoided him.

Only his wife stuck by him. She tried to see the bright side. “For someone with only twelve million dollars,” she said to the young man, “You’re getting to be pretty well known.”