Rogers, Row and Munchen

Being as I am a utterly ignoramus, I learned this weekend about a character named Jim Rogers, an investor, business man and financial commentator, whatever these are. Only read an interview but, naturally, I can jump on conclusions based on impressions: he is a reckless, ruthless, cold bastard. According to Paul Johnson's definition, Rogers is an "intellectual", someone more worried about ideas than about people. Rogers does not like to lose and is obviously a successful winner. He is a gifted winner. I am sure he is and has been a quite hard-working chap, although Soros' praise does not help much -another ruthless bastard.

Jim Rogers is an offensive rich, born to be rich: he does not know how to do another thing. He suits the profile. He became a millionaire soon and when asked "does money bring happiness?", he answers: "I don't have a boat, nor any plain and just own one house. I wear the same clothing for years and I just bought a car because my wife asked me to". Exactly, Mr. Rogers: you are a stingy rich. That is why you could save your freedom. I guess your wife (the first or the second, the ones you despise now) did not like the idea of jumping in a too-popular New York taxi cab after a luxury dinner with friends.

You need to understand, Mr. Rogers, that not everybody is born for business; one might have other drivers in life. People like money generally, but most of the people also like spending money. Most die without being immensely rich. Most of the people don't have to wait until they are 69 to realize that children are a blessing. You might be happy now with your Baby Bee, aged 3, but be careful: the girl will grow and she might turn against you, and you will be too old then, or too alone. Let me ask you one blunt, daring question: if your Baby Bee were bad at languages, what would you say about the "spirit of the emigrants"? If the pre-school reports were bad and your Baby Bee were a calamity, instead of number 1, what would you think then?

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Too-lucky, too-successful, too-crazy Jim Rogers have many alter-egos in the common men and women around us. One might be John Row, 64, whose profile I found in The Guardian magazine this weekend: "I spend my time either pootling around festivals or going into prisons and schools as a writer-in-residence". Row wears a magic snowy long beard, covers his head with a creamy top-hat and holds a hazel stick a woodsman gave to him 15 years ago in return for a story.

He said: "A 10-year-old once said to me, 'You must have a lot of money to go all the places you go'. I've never had more than two pennies to rub together. The trick is finding something you like to do (...) and you can go anywhere you want"... Something you like to do. Something you like to do... An old quest, in pockets, sounds and love.

Philosopher Rogers gives the same advice. But in a negative way. He invites the young to be a cold, ruthless beasts against "professors and parents". (I chuckle). Not everybody is as farsighted as you, sir. Precisely, the big problem of many young adults today (to whom you invite to become peasants or gardeners in China) is daydreaming: we do not know what we want.

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Last Monday night -I think... Yes, last Monday- I got lost on purpose in the streets beyond King's Cross. I walked half an hour and, when tired, I stop at the first bus stop to go to Finsbury Park and back home. The "trick-or-treat" boys made my waiting lighter.

The bus route was as errant and dark as my walk, and so the people in it. At least, that was my impression. After 5 minutes, a young woman stepped in with a boy suffered from autism whose name was Munchen. Munchen could not have his hands quite, and the lady struggled to clamp them among hers... Oh, how futile our reason is! How vane and blank!... Can an autistic boy laugh, I wonder? Can an autistic boy smile?... . What a wonderful job! To have the brainless smile and laugh: the whole Universe condensed in a short, ephemeral smile or a mad laugh. I guess that is Life about, all that really matters.

The view and story of Munchen and the woman, dark as everything else, carries the spark of Love in the Mystery of our Lives.

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