PALACE OF POVERTY

Manawatu Times, Volume 63, Issue 159, 8 July 1938, Page 12

PALACE OF POVERTY

M ORE than a quarter of a century i ago the world was startled by the will of a then recently deceased millionaire, Andrew Freedman, a Wall Street wolf, writes Thomas C. Williams, in Neues Wiener Journal. Vienna. This splenetic old business mogul had ignored all the institutions which usually benefit by the last will and testament of millionaires, such as hospitals, libraries, universities, widows’ and orphans’ homes, with the result that many a would-be beneficiary ground his teeth in impotent rage. For Freedman had decreed that fully half of his fortune, which amounted to the not inconsiderable sum of two and a hail million dollars, should be spent in the establishment of an old peoples’ home for impoverised millionaiies! Not an ordinary old folks' home such as harbour the run-of-the-mine pcor and aged of the land, but a magnificent structure replete with all the cultural amenities of modern civilisation, all the technical advances of modern science. The general reaction to this eccentric decision was one of scorn and anger. Why should a man leave his money to such an unnecessary cause? But the adverse critics heard from all sices did not take into consideration the fact that prosperity does not last forever, as many have learned to their sorrow in the last decade. At that time impoverished millionaires were rarities, but since the depression they are—if w*e may put it crudely—a dime a dozen. Old Andrew Freedman heard the ominous rumblings as he sat in his office in Wall Street, arid though the streets were still paved with gold, he surmised that the debacle would come. The men designated in Freedman’s will to supervise the construction of the home in accordance with his own specifications had it erected in the Bronx borough, New York. It has now been in existence for 6ome fifteen years, a stately skyscraper with marble halls

Home for Impoverished Millionaires

and beautiful gardens—the most luxurious house in New York, and at the same time a refuge for the poor and aged! Moreover, the place is filled

to capacity, and only one per cent, of the applications of penniless moneybarons can be accepted, although they are fully qualified to enter according to the conditions of the will. Freedman House opened at a very piopitious time—if we may be allowed to use the word in this connection—just when prosperity began to decline and the economic crisis set in, destroying fortunes, shattering huge industrial enterprises, beggaring the most fabulously wealthy families. The place began to fill at an alarming rate, in spite of the fact that certain stringent conditions had to be met: an applicant had to be at least 60 years old. and wholly impoverished, a fact in itself rather unusual. Moreover, he had to prove that up to the time he lost his millions he had lived in the tradition of millionaires: that he had travelled widely and entertained generously and spent lavishly. Finally his education and general upbringing had to reach a certain standard; in a word, he must have been a bona fide member of the four hundred. Life in this palace of poverty is as luxurious as the placfe itself. There is the picturesque and beautifully furnished Chinese smoking room, the Louis XV. reading room, the vast modern ballroom, the theatre, the tastefully decorated music room. And outside green lawns and trees and gardens! Each occupant of the home is attended by two waiters when he dints—in his own elegant apartment, of course. Naturally he has his own bath, telephone, and radio; and the servants of the home are always at his beck and call. The food would please the most fastidious: we ordinary mortals might find their meals a little too much in the form of a banquet for every day consumption—but they’re used to it

In a word, it is an ultra-fashionable hotel, with this vital difference: everyth mg here is free. Gratis. Andrew Freedman was concerned with one thing: that the tenants of his home must never feel as though they w r ere inmates of a charitable institution. Just as they had never worried about the cost of anything during the days of their affluence, so now they must have whatever they want without thought of money. Their residence here must seem like the continuation of their former life. The very word “charity” must never enter their minds.

Nonchalance is the keynote of their existence, just as it was when they had millions of dollars at their disposal. Every occupant of Freedman House may come and go as he likes, eat when ho likes, have his apartment furnished t) his own individual taste. He is still an important, respected personage. New York’s most famous artists were called in for the recent redecoration of tha ballroom; America’s most distinguished actors and actresses have appeared on their stage. Celebrated people of all walks of life have been entertained in their halls, people whose presence have graced the palaces of kings.

Freedman House is a living museum of America’s past, and is a reporter’s paradise. Here you can meet more people in 15 minutes whose names were once household words than probably anywhere else on earth. These great and near-great of yesteryear spend the last years of their lives in the lap of luxury, remote from all the financial fears that trouble the aged of every land. And the atmosphere seems to agree with them, as well it may, for most of them attain their seventies, eighties, and even nineties. It is said that Rockefeller himself once remarked he would be willing to give up all his millions if he were sure of being received in Freedman House.

And here’s a tip to the impoverished millionaires of Europe—unfortunately Europe can compete with the United States in this line—Andrew Freedman made one important omission in his will: he forgot to specify that claimants must be American. Nowhere is mention made of the nationality of applicants to his palace for poor millionaires . . . We publish this fact knowing that it may precipitate a real emigration to the Bronx, New York! ,