Bonzer Words!: Bill’s Stock Market Crash
Norma Kawak’s tale emphasises the need to keep things in proper perspective.
Bill Watson 70 (not his real name) crawled into bed and fretted. He had just finished watching the late night news, and it wasn't looking good. The Stock Market was going down, down, down, and with it his hard earned savings. Never giving into frivolous spending, all his life he had saved his money, chancing the best interest rate. His generation had been brought up that 'Money doesn't grow on trees' and 'Waste not, want not' all his life. And 'take care of the pennies and the pounds will take care of themselves'.
He'd watched one generation deafening the neighbourhood while walking the street with their expensive Walkmans perched on their shoulders, and then the next generation deafening themselves with their equally expensive Ipod things. But he couldn't bring himself to spend a dollar, which he could well afford, without feeling guilty. The whole population had a coloured television set for years before he could justify giving up his perfectly running black and white set.
He remembered the government coming along with their superannuation schemes. Must save money for a pension they said. Invest your own money and we'll give you some extra to add to it. So he did as he was told. People of his generation always did. The younger generation didn't seem to worry. Buy now, pay later was their attitude. Bill never had a credit card. If you can't afford it, don't buy it, was his philosophy.
Then he finally reached 65. At last he now thought he would be able to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his labour. He thought he'd treat himself to a brand new car. His Holden was well over twenty five years old. It was a good car, had served him well, easy on the petrol too. None of this fancy digital stuff. When there was a problem he knew how to fix it. And when he didn't, one of his old mates did. He somehow felt safe with that old car. But he did the rounds of the new car sales . . . then drove home in his old car, leaving his money secure in the bank.
It was pretty much like that with everything. His clothes might be old-fashioned; however there was plenty more wear in them, he surmised. When it came to shopping he was a thriftiest of shoppers, an expert on specials. He knew when something was a bargain. If it wasn't he didn't buy it. But he did have one weakness . . . the old 'Pokies'. When the wheels spun and the bells and whistles played he forget himself for awhile. When he lost, which he usually did in the end, guilt and all its ramifications would present itself. He would then lie awake in the night thinking of ways to pay penance for wasting his own money.
He had never actually invested personally in the stock market. When he left work he had taken up the banks offer of a financial 'check up'. The young man had recommended he put his superannuation into an allocated pension. 'That's the way to go,' he said. And tonight he had sat in front of the television and cried. The stock market was crashing, taking thousands of dollars of his savings with it. He thought about the Great Depression. He had seen the movie Grapes of Wrath on television. He felt he could empathize with those people, some who had been millionaires only the day before, who had taken their lives after the 1929 Wall Street stock market crash. How could he possibly survive if that happened to him?
So here he was in bed unable to sleep, grieving for his loss. Seeking some respite from his troubles he turned on his little bedside radio and listened. The ABC was presenting a program from India. A reporter, with the help of an interpreter, was interviewing a 75 year-old woman about how she managed to live on $1 a day. Her 'house' was a room with a roofless 'kitchen'. She owned two cooking pots and two lay-about beds and three paper thin blankets. 'That is the life in India when you are old and poor.' she told the reporter.
'What would you like to have happen?' the reporter asked.
'I'd like my daughters to have something more,' she said.
Bill turned off the radio, counted his blessings and went to sleep.
© Norma J Kawak
Norma writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au
