A complete list of Salon's Money Week coverage - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - T O D A Y Lust for loot By Courtney Weaver Unzipped: Gold-diggers have feelings, too (10/29/97) Gazillions and kabillions By Cynthia Joyce The small screen equals big bucks for the writers and producers behind hit TV programs (10/29/97) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - T O M O R R O W Will e-money change the world? (in 21st)

C O N T I N U E D Yes, say a growing number of support groups, therapists and "holistic financial advisors" who have coined the term "wealthism" to describe discrimination against the loaded and who encourage trust-fund babies to "come out of the closet" about their massive bank accounts. By helping them, they say, we help the rest of us. "If we heal the rich," says O'Neill, whose grandfather was the president of General Motors, "their cash will come streaming down to us. I call it constipation, or backup of the flow of money. The reason money doesn't circulate is that such a high percentage of the wealthy are so caught up in themselves that it gets constricted. As they begin to heal, they begin to release that grip of fear and the money begins to circulate. Then it can get to the homeless and it can get to the poor." Before undertaking this beneficial enema upon the wealthy, however, we first need to understand their pain. "No matter how much parents prepare their children for their inheritance, there are still problems," says Judy Bloom, executive director of Resourceful Women, a San Francisco organization that runs a support group for flush young adults. One is the psychological toll exacted by having parents control your purse strings. "They get into a very tough bind," says Judy Barber, a consultant and therapist who puts out a newsletter about "the unspoken issues regarding wealth." "They become dependent on gifts parents give them. Often, they feel lots of anxiety. 'Are you going to continue to gift me? Is it dependent on my behavior or your approval of me?'" The problems don't necessarily vanish once the parents have departed. After O'Neill inherited a fortune at 28 when her mother died, she says she began a slide into alcoholism and drug addiction. "It was a feeling like free falling out of an airplane with no parachute. I didn't have to work, I didn't have to get up in the morning, I didn't have to do anything. For an average person, that sounds great, but it's only great for a couple days. Then it's terrifying." Bloom describes this condition of "not having to do anything" as a "paralysis." It wasn't always like this. In past generations, young inheritors of wealth had worlds of their own to conquer. George Hearst made his money in mining and ranching; his son William Randolph turned the San Francisco Examiner -- which George was given as payment for a gambling debt -- into a media empire. Joseph Kennedy was a rich bootlegger and successful financier; it was left to his sons to take over the world of politics. What similar challenges, one wonders, await the offspring of Bill Gates? Added to this wealth-based anomie is the issue of trust. "Suddenly you're everybody's best friend," says O'Neill, referring to hangers-on she calls "the wealth groupies." "There's a lack of trust and faith in people. 'Is she my friend because she thinks I have a great sense of humor or because she thinks I'll buy her a piece of jewelry or buy the drugs?' There's shame involved -- it sets us apart in a very alienating way." Not all trust-fund kids are consumed by such angst. "It definitely changed me as far as I didn't want to work and I didn't have to," says Chris Feltch, who began to come into money ("not a shitload, but it was definitely a substantial amount") when he was 18. "I took time off and just snowboarded for two years. I bought a pretty fuckin' hot car. I spent a lot of money on my really hot girl friend. I bought a few pounds of marijuana." Feltch, now 24, doesn't worry about sliding into wealth-induced oblivion. "I had my little knock with hard drugs, and I'll still do a little here and there, but I definitely haven't gotten like, 'Oh, I've got a couple thousand in the bank, I'll go buy some coke.' I won't deny that I've got cash, but it doesn't really cause any friction." Allen Hancock inherited his riches when he was 22, and like so many of his peers, drifted for a while. "I didn't need to work for a living and I decided that the degree I was pursuing -- an M.A. in urban planning -- wasn't worth continuing. There was a period of over a year where I felt very uncertain over what to do next." He is now the full-time publisher of More Than Money, a newsletter for rich kids that dispenses advice on how to use their wealth for a better world while feeling OK about not working. "Some anthropologists believe there have been tribal cultures where adults work an average of only 10 hours a week to meet all their basic needs," says a sidebar in the "Money, Work and Self-Esteem" issue. The same issue offers tips on how to deal with the "insidious" question, "What Do You Do?" Among the suggestions: Act as if it were still the '60s: "I do whatever I feel like, man!" Lie: (In the heat of summer) "I'm a ski instructor." (In January) "I'm a roofer." Fudge: "I got some money from my family, and I'm taking time off to write children's books." (They don't need to know it's $2 million or that your "time off" has been five years and you've never been published.) Tell a partial truth: "I coordinate volunteers at the shelter." So what if it's unpaid and only five hours a week? At the end of the list is a reminder. "Remember: You may benefit from an unjust system -- but you didn't cause it -- and your individual choices alone won't turn it around." SALON | Oct. 29, 1997 Michelle Goldberg is an editorial assistant at Salon. She last wrote about Tom Brokaw for Media Circus. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

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