“Buy Standard Oil.” An Allegory.~

“Buy Standard Oil.”

An Allegory.

When Mr. Rockefeller, a most staunch Baptist, took delivery on the news that the Supreme Court had forced the divestiture of his creation, The Standard of Ohio, he was that morning, playing golf with a Catholic priest on the links of his estate at Kykuit.

Asked his reaction, Mr. Rockefeller said simply this:

“Buy Standard Oil.”

The best stock tip then, the best stock tip to this day and on into the foreseeable future of any of the lifetimes of those here in attendance.

What was intended as a savage governmental reproach, turned instead into, an unimaginable, personal, pot of gold.  Rockefeller’s wealth nearly tripled as Standard Oil was, forcibly, divided and its constituent stocks exploded in value.

As Nana Maternal told me when I was very small: “Little Giovanni, life is a very, very strange old shoe.”

That explosion of oil company shares continues, unabated to this very day—proving that:

Sometimes, hostile government really can be your very:

….best friend.


So it is that we see from Lady History that two things, external to himself, served to make Rockefeller very rich:

*Government bungling, and,

*Mr. Henry Ford’s invention of mass market motor cars.


What was intended by the American government as punishment for Rockefeller’s having been, as he put it, “simply better than everyone else,” completely backfired on the government, which, in company with Mr. Ford’s invention, through clumsy Supreme Court interference and inadvertence, made Rockefeller go from being a man who simply didn’t need to fret making the rent anymore, into a man who was:

The RICHEST man in the whole, wide, world.

As Lovey and I have come now upon what, I think, is called “hard times,” people say to me:

“John Begg, you’ve always given off the impression that you think that you are better than everyone else.”

Men who say this to me are both correct and incorrect at the same time.

I do not “think” I am better than everyone else, I know that I am better than everyone else.  Some of this has to do with native belief, some to do with the sort of school I attended, and some to do with the attitude of family.

For instance, Nana Maternal was from Milano, the very best city in that perfect country that has in turn, as a collective nation, invented everything of any consequence on this earth.

Nana Maternal was very, very rich, demanding and autocratic and used to drum into me this:

“Little Giovanni you are better than any of the other boys.  Always hold yourself tall and sequester yourself away from the other boys.  You are special.  You are different.  You are superior.  Act always as though you are a prince. Whatever happens in life, never forget this message.  Always live your life in the knowledge that God has made you better than everyone else”

Later, at seminary, our lads were told this:

“You are God’s special ones.  You are different from all the other boys.  You are better than all the other boys. Never speak unless you are absolutely certain that what say is: beyond any question, debate or discussion.  If what you have to say or write does not satisfy those stipulations: don’t say or write anything at all.  When you speak or write, it must always be ex cathedra—from the throne of the Bishop—infallible.”

Schoolmaster once said “I wouldn’t give a bent dime for any man who didn’t think that he was better than everyone else.”

I’d thought everyone was supposed to think that “I am better than everyone else.”

So, it is more so that, through family, school and likely native instinct, I view life as an intellectual enterprise.  As an abstract puzzle to sort out.

Remember your Aristotle and Plato from school:

They did not say:  Go west young man and grow rich.

They did not say: Go up to Hav~ad or to Yah~ale and grow rich.

They did not say:  Roll up your sleeves and work hard and grow rich.

Aristotle and Plato said to us:

“THINK and grow rich.”

Aristotle told us that the highest attainment of man, God’s most favored creature, was for man to:

Spend the entire day:


Some say to me:

“Begg, you THINK too much.”

I say to them:

“How is that POSSIBLE?

A man can only THINK TOO LITTLE, never:


Despite my producing more, and I hope, better, writing in a week than do most writers in a month of Sunday mornings, some say to me that “writing is a silly vanity and indulgence, unless of course, it makes one rich, in which case, Bob’s your uncle!!—then writing is just a swell idea!!”

Washington, District of Columbia is a very, very peculiar city and employs more writers within its gates than are employed at writing in all of the world, collectively, taken together.

Some Washington writers have a bit of talent, some a bit more than a bit, and others—absolutely none at all.  Wherever on that prism the writer falls, is nothing to do with his compensation, which is to say this:

Some, very nondescript, writers are the very best compensated writers at Washington.

In that respect, writing is very much like, any other enterprise.

Having now come with Lovey, through illness and other mishaps, upon what, I think, are called “hard times,” I am told by many:

“Begg, you have to get over this notion that you are better than everyone else and learn to accept poverty gracefully—poverty being–a condition under which—virtually everybody else on this earth, lives.”

I am sure that those who say this to me mean well, but I suspect that they cannot understand that a man cannot simply divorce himself from the realities of his life because he has now happened upon what, I think, are called “hard times.”

For me to “change who I am,” which, by extension, is what these, presumably, well-meaning men mean when they say to alter my most basic attitudes and training is to:

Literally, clinically, become:




To divorce oneself of oneself is not advisable, and in point of fact, not possible, unless one were to become:


Men who counsel me to “recognize the new realities of the changed circumstances of life,” make a point that I am here, with alacrity, prepared to accede, which is:

“If things were different, they wouldn’t be the same.”

Only, they aren’t.

That is: Things aren’t different as a consequence of: different circumstances.

That is:  I have not been made a different man as a consequence of:

Altered circumstances.

And in there, lies the rub of it.

Men who suggest these ideas about changing myself into some, other self, are men who to me appear to be men who subscribe, if they know it or not, to this adage:

“Circumstances alter cases.”

Only, they don’t.

For those of us who trained classically, at seminary for instance, to suggest, even tangentially, that “circumstances alter cases,” was to get oneself hit, very hard, by the school master.  And, most deservedly so.

That is who one is: “One is, who one is:”


At 63 years, altering the cases of life due to changed circumstances is not, clinically, possible in a healthy mind.

God gave me a wonderful, broad and deep, gift as I writer.  I take neither credit nor blame for my writing.  As I told a girl the other day who said to me:

“Mr. Begg, I cannot even imagine where your writing comes from—you must be from Europe or someplace, weird, like that.”

I said:

“Everybody in America comes from Europe, hunney girl.

As for my writing, God guides my hand.

God writes my work.

It is His Work, not mine.

I simply type it.

I am God’s typist.”

Mr. Rockefeller likewise evinced this attitude when he said, more than once:

“Newspaper guys never can figure out what they want.  They write that I am a naughty fella when, in fact, I am simply:

“Better than everyone else.”

The Americans look askance at this sort of talk from Mr. Rockefeller, as the Americans flatter themselves to think that they, being democratic minded men, can alter the course of nature herself~~ending at a resultant belief, in which:

“All men are equal,” when, it is res ipsa, that:

All men are NOT equal.

Mr. Rockefeller initially had no interest in the oil business as he thought it to be of dubious profitability and very dicey as regards the reliability of transporting the product safely.  Instead, Rockefeller initially turned his sites to the grain shipping business, an enterprise that was, at that time, in Cleveland, his home town, very bustling, profitable and reliable.

Yet Rockefeller soon turned very bored with the grain shipping business.  The business was established and could not be dominated, controlled or monopolized by any one man.

Enter one: Stephen Vanderburgh Harkness, a man whose name was as unknown then as it is to this very day, who was a contemporary and friend of Rockefeller, who was himself employed in the saddlery business, an enterprise that was, at that time, in the age of horses, very lucrative and is today: non-existent.

Mr. Harkness divined the second way to money beyond creating and inventing an enterprise:

Derivative Investment.

Harkness was Rockefeller’s very first financial backer—his very first shareholder in what became The Standard of Ohio.

Mr. Harkness was nearly as rich as was Rockefeller at his death and his family continues to be very, very rich, while keeping, as did their father, a very low profile.

Put more bluntly: While everyone in the entire world has heard of Mr. Rockefeller, absolutely nobody, except men who live a very abstract life, has ever heard of Mr. Harkness—which is—so very much–the way that Mr. Harkness wanted it.

I very much doubt anyone reading this note has ever heard of Stephen Vanderburgh Harkness, his heirs or assigns.  Which is very, very much as Stephen Vanderburgh Harkness wished things to be.

Enter: myself.

When people say to me: “I wonder what has become of your family’s money?”  I say to them:

“What always becomes of money? It gets spent, one way or the other.”

When I go to Jesus, I will be asked only this question:

“Why did you not do more with the writing gift I gave you?”

As with everyone else, I am fearful of the question I will be asked when I go above, as one simply can never do enough with what gifts God has given.

Writing is a lonely enterprise. Others say to me; “If you are such a good writer, how come you ain’t rich from writing?”

I try to be polite to people who ask me this.  Nana said: “Little Giovanni, a boy must always do his best to be polite, in all cases.”

I’ve no idea at all, if or no Jesus intends for those who use their gifts given them by Him to best advantage, to become rich by having made use of the gifts He gives to them.  Nor does anyone else know the answer that question.

I try my best with my writing.  In earlier times, rich men sponsored artists of various sorts and it seems to me sad that the rich today, seem to me in any case, disinterested in sponsoring the artist.

When people say to me:


“Begg, stop all this writing, swallow your pride and do something productive with your day and night…”


 I can’t think what they mean because, all day and all night, I produce writing.

Writing is my product.

Lovey cannot have children and so, she collects stuffed bears.

About these bears, now a full family, I created for Lovey, names, stories and adventures.

One such is becoming a book about Ping, the pandy bear, who is a medical doctor.

Ping has a wife, created by me, he works at the NIH and the bear family grows larger all the time as I bring back with me from all over the world, new bears for Lovey and friends likewise donate new bears to the family about which I create stories that are part of the book Ping, the pandy bear.

The book is intended for all ages and it is all sorts of a swell story.

When the book about Ping, the pandy bear, is finished, we shall see, if or no, the book makes profit for me.

I hope it does make profit for me, but most of all, I hope that it is a good book that brings joy to the reader.

I do have many interests and passions in life, as I am quite sure everyone does.  I adore horse racing, had relatives who bred baby horses and I myself, rode like the wind when young.

When I reached full 50 years, I became intrigued with the stock exchanges, most particularly so derivative risk arbitrage hedging, which simply put, defines the insurance business.

Young boys are asked: “Just what is the insurance business?”

The insurance business is simply this:

A hedge against unpleasant future possibilities.

That’s it.  That’s all it is.

One insures oneself against future bad health, untimely death, car crashes, house fires, any and all accidents, etcetera, etcetera, and etcetera.

Recently, others have said to me that, as I am now hard pressed, I ought to get cheaper health insurance.

Not knowing what to think of this advice, I consulted the governing doctor and asked him:  “Doc, are all insurance plans the same thing?”

The doc looked at me quizzically and said:

“Young Beggs, I will address your question by analogy to motor cars.”

I was startled by this as, many here know, I have never driven, nor even turned on, a motor car.  But of course I listened very attentively to the doctor, who now said:

“Young Beggs, Rolls Royce is a motor car.”

I said “Oh, my yes, I do like them~~they are very pretty.”

But then the doctor said:

“Young Beggs, the Honda is likewise, a motor car.”

Oh, dear.

I was much less happy to hear this bit, but, of course, I continued to listen.

I said: “Doc: That business about the Honda motor car is dismal news indeed.”

The doctor said:  “In the sense that both the Rolls Royce motor car and the Honda motor car have: four wheels and tires each on their feet, drink gas and oil, have engines in them and move down the road together, on academic observation, they would appear to be the same thing…..




NOBODY, young Beggs, NOBODY, would try to say that a Rolls Royce motor car and a Honda motor car “are the SAME THING.”


So, young Beggs, as it is true with motor cars, so too is it true of health insurance policies:


“One is NOT the same thing as the other one.”


The young, thinking themselves impregnable and invincible, do not buy insurance on this premise:

“I am young, impregnable and invincible and nothing bad will ever happen to me.”

I remember both saying and thinking that very same thing when I was in my salad days. 

An Indian girl came to me when I was young and said:

 “Mr. Begg, how about buying some life insurance just case you die?”

I said to the Indian girl:

“What a dreadful idea!”

Most who walk now and have walked and will walk on this earth, have never owned any sort of insurance, and most never will:  They are either terribly poor or they are very young, impregnable and invincible, or they are very, very rich and do not need hedges against future nasty possibilities.

When I’d taught myself that which I considered it necessary to know about the stock exchanges, I initially bought what I considered the best possible equities.

I soon grew bored with equities.

As did Stephen Vanderburgh Harkness before me, I turned to: derivative risk arbitrage hedging: An enterprise in which one makes calculated bets on the outcome of future events based upon study, reflection and best guess.

Put perhaps more simply, hedged fund enterprise is:

Making money off the enterprise of others by guessing correctly just how the enterprise of others will play out.

That’s it.  That’s all it is.

Others have said to me “John Begg, How it is possible for you to clearly and blithely understand what is: Derivative risk arbitrage hedging, when the new young President, who went up to Ha`vad is not likely capable of understanding that enterprise?”

I have to correct:

First, and most embarrassingly so for me and my family, the new young President did not go up to Hav~ad, but rather to King’s College, called now, I think, by the Americans, Columbia College~~which is my maternal school.

Second, if the new young President cannot understand an asset group as simple as derivative risk arbitrage hedging, he really oughtn’t to be President.  The enterprise is so basic, it is almost childlike.

Derivative risk arbitrage hedging is part and parcel of what is most erroneously called in the conventional newspapers:

The “hedge fund” business—which was named, derivatively such, by a sociologist, yes, I said a sociologist, believe it or not, called Alfred W. Jones, who is credited with coining the phrase:

 “Hedged fund.”

Mr. Alfred W. Jones went to heaven vehemently rejecting the expression “hedge fund,” as that nominal appellation belies an ignorance of the type of fund under discussion which is to say that:

A hedged fund is an asset fund that “is hedged” against risk, on the premise that the hedged fund trader will win a few and lose a few but, in the end, he will take net profit.

Some say to me—“oh well, that sounds as though it were just plain gambling, like betting on a horse—that’s not real investing—such as buying equities or bonds.”

Dear sirs—ALL of life is gambling.  All of it.  People say silly things such as “well if you’d bet that horse, he would have lost.”

Nonsense.  Placing what you deem to be informed bets on future outcomes is not any more or less a gamble than is anything else.

Very likely, the highest risk, the greatest gamble, is to get out of bed in the morning.  All of life is a gamble.  To not gamble is: to not be alive.

At the highest levels of finance, there exists a rarefied air breathed in by a very select group of men who do nothing but gamble on future possibilities all day long.

I recall a truly hilarious conversation I had in early 2012 with the financier, Carl Icahn.  Mr. Icahn had come second in the rich list of hedged fund managers in 2011, pocketing a personal fund management and bonus package for that year to the tune of $3 billions.

Mr. Icahn was not happy with the news he found in that list.  His executive assistant, Elizabeth, said to me, with Mr. Icahn on the line: “Mr. Begg, none of the other girls in the office, nor myself, can understand why Mr. Icahn is angry today.  He made $3 billions of personal, in pocket, profits for the year 2011 and we girls made him a party with cake and champagne and instead of enjoying the party, Mr. Icahn threw furniture around in his office—we girls cannot understand this.”

I said, “Elizabeth, dear, of course Mr. Icahn is enraged, as Mr. Ray Dalio, headed the hedged fund list for 2011 with a personal new profit of salary plus bonuses totaling: $5 billions.  I’d be very upset myself, Elizabeth, as, at that level of finance, the competition is not about money at all, it is about~~winning the game.”

Do you know what Ray Dalio does?  It’s simple…he places, very large, bets on the outcome of future events. Specifically so, on the rise or fall of interest ratings in the next six months or a year, or bets on the difference in a similar period, on the spread of difference between the dollar and the yen, the euro, or of Her Majesty’s pound sterling.

Mr. Dalio neither causes interest rates or Her Majesty’s pound sterling to go up, nor does he cause them to go down.  He is simply a spectator at the racetrack.  He controls nothing.  He profits, and very handily too, if his wagers, which derive from his work and study, taken collectively with the work and study of hundreds in his employ, prove out to be: correct.

That’s it. That is all Ray Dalio does.  He studies the horses in the race, bets the one he selects, heavily, and makes a novena for his selection’s success.

That’s it.  That’s all there is to it all.

Ray Dalio has an uncanny ability to anticipate economic trends. Critics say that he runs a cult.

Except, of course, Ray Dalio could lose his bets.

Enter Mr. Carl Icahn and…..RISK.

I know Mr. Icahn from the horse racing.  Many years ago, I was at Belmont Park at New York to see a horse my family owned run and I saw there Mr. Icahn, who was doing penance, much as earlier had Mr. Rockefeller, for some transgression that displeased Mama Government and he was in the company of some very young black kids who were decked out to the nines by Paul Stuart of New York, a really swell men’s clothes store.

The idea was that, for his transgressions against Mama Government, Mr. Icahn would effectively adopt some promising poor kids and pay their educational expenses as far as the kids could go—up to and including–King’s College–that is…Columbia–medical school.

Mr. Icahn, his young lads in Paul Stuart and I were chatting about the sad fact that in order to change the lives of these poor lads, they had to become thoroughly divorced of their backgrounds—which is to say—airlifted out of South Bronx and into expensive prep schools, to properly have a chance to use their gifts.  We all agreed this situation of the condition of things in South Bronx was harrowing indeed.

All that serves to reinforce for us this lesson:  Try as one might, one simply cannot divorce oneself from one’s own life.

Into this mix came two, very slovenly looking, reporters for the New York Times, a horrid yellow rag, then popular with some on the east coast, and today altogether forgotten and ignored by everybody else.

One of these grumpy, drunken, ragamuffins called out “Hey, Icahn—what are you doing—perverting these young kids by taking them to the race track?”

Icahn ignored the ragamuffins from the Times, but I felt it best to educate.

I said to the ragamuffins for the Times:  “Mr. Icahn is teaching these boys how money is made—do you understand?”

The reporters hooted and laughed and screamed: ‘How money is made??  The race track is a place where money is lost!!”

I said: “Mr. Icahn has set up an educational trust for the kids, the profits of which are generated by the earnings of race horses that are property of the trust.  Today, Mr. Icahn has a horse going that is a property of the trust and the kids will hopefully get to see a concrete, beautiful example of how money gets made.  Do you understand this?”

The reporters laughed and drank and, eventually moved on, but later that day, I joined Mr. Icahn in the winner’s circle so that the kids could see a very tangible, magnificent, example of money being made.


Of THEIR money…being made.


Apropos of risk and racing, this winter in California, my family was alerted to a promising little colt called:  California Chrome.  We decided on him as our Derby selection.

I am impecunious and cannot myself bet on any proposition at present, but I did not sulk about that and I recommended to my readers on Derby weekend that they bet on the Girl’s Derby Friday afternoon, May 2, $2 thousands to win on the brilliant race filly Untapable, who, frankly is an even better race horse than is California Chrome.

For those readers with access to computing machinery that permits them to follow: Here is our Derby note:




The filly won and paid even money return—which means $4 thousands for $2 thousands wagered.  Double money on a near certainty.

Was there risk involved?  Of course.  The wager was a calculated bet, based on knowledge and observation and the hope of good luck.


Next day, May 3, Derby Day, I recommended that my readers bet the $4 thousands thus derived to win on California Chrome to take the roses.  He won and paid 5-2, by which is meant, $7 for each $2 bet.


This further means that the tally of the weekend was $14 thousands for having risked $2 thousands—on stone favorites—no strange longshots—stone favorites.

May 17th, I recommended my readers bet all $14 thousands on California Chrome to win the second leg of the Triple Crown, The Preakness at Pimlico in Baltimore, which he did win—resulting in a payoff of 1-2, by which is meant, $3 for each $2 wagered.

For those reading who have access to computing machine devices that enable them to read such things:

Here is our Preakness note:





One might say “That’s not much of a payoff, $3 for $2, given the risk,” and they’d be right, but for this:



At Pimlico, my readers wagered $14 thousands for a $7 thousands net profit, taking their collective total to $21 thousands derived from wagering on the very shortest of favorites in 3 races.

As this is written 5 May, California Chrome is scheduled to take a final step to win the Triple Crown this Saturday, 7 May. I wish him well, but of course caution, that all life is a risk and he might fail to win.


That said, my readers are going to wager $21 thousands on the chance that this little colt will win the Triple Crown, becoming the first to do so since 1978.


If my little colt is successful, my readers will likely get 1 for 2 again, by which is meant $31,500 total return for $21 thousands wagered—for a total net profit of $29,500 for $2 thousands initially risked…in 4 wagers.

Not bad at all…….

IF he wins.


All caution to the wind, here is our Belmont Stakes note, penned 20 May, for those of you with access to computing machine devices that permit you to decipher such things:






Point all being, risk is the, sole, predicate basis of life—hence to live without risk means to, literally, not be alive at all.

Dear Sirs:

We all live with risk all day and night.

What business is the riskiest?

Very likely, the restaurant business—a savage, unrelenting, enterprise that has a failure rate far, far higher than does derivative risk arbitrage hedging.  Far, far higher.

That said, one of the men on the receiving end of this Epistle has put now 14 years into the building of a Washington restaurant, Chef Geoff’s, that has overcome all odds against and become a smashing success to the point where, at some future date, the owner will be presented with a check by some hospitality holding company that will be simply not possible to ignore.

Good for him, Bravo!! Brilliantly done, Geoff Tracy and Nora!!


I hold a particular, personal, fondness for Geoff Tracy, as he is very fond of saying that:


“The ONLY CONCEIVABLE reason to go into any business is to make money…..


The ONLY reason.”


Geoff’s mantra is clear enough to me, but I can tell you that there are many who open up a new business with some other notion in mind—and that–they very quickly: fail.


What did Geoff Tracy do these past 14 years?  What do Icahn, Dalio and Rockefeller, Stephen Vanderburgh Harkness and you and I and every soul on God’s Green Globe do?


Some are the risk takers and creators of wealth.


Others, share, often co-equally, as with Stephen Vanderburgh Harkness, in a derivative sense, by investing in the creation of the risk takers.


Put very simply:


WE all do the very same things:



We make our plan, place our bets and work, pray and hope for good luck and blue skies.


What are the components of blue skies and good Luck?


In order of importance the components of success are:












Some will say, and the Americans most of all will say: “Luck?  I make my own luck!!  There is no such thing as luck and no such thing as happy coincidence.”

This comment is idiotic as, most assuredly, ALL of life is principally down to luck.

Our existence is all down to happy coincidence.  Our conception and birth is down to happy coincidence.

Where and when we were born.  Leaving, or rather not leaving, from home, in your car five or so minutes before or after you planned—can easily be a life and death decision—one that we all make every minute of every day and so few of us understand this simple fact—except as:


We all say: “Sure, I know that I am always a turn of the wheel away from heaven.  Sure, people die in motor car crashes—all the time—sure.”

But, we live as though we think…..it will never happen to: ME.

WE live as though we are ALWAYS IN…..


Americans don’t like to consider LUCK to be the principal determinant of life.  Americans like to say “I pulled myself up from nothing!!”

And, of course, it is true that almost all Americans came over to this land from Europe: very poor.

After all, if one had been rich and happy back home, why would one have come over here?

One wouldn’t.

So, while we all applaud the risk takers, such as Icahn, Dalio, Rockefeller and Chef Geoff, we are likewise humbled by the notion that the first and last component of all successful enterprise is:


My best very wishes that God Bless all who attend here and likewise send down to them all: The very best of:


As all of life is an allegory:

 To help you get lucky—think always is this, allegorical, sense:



More allegorical yet, one can either CREATE Standard Oil or something akin to it, as did Mr. Rockefeller and Mr. Ford and today does our Chef Geoff Tracy,

OR place derivative risk arbitrage hedged bets on the future outcomes of Standard Oil, Ford Motor Car and the enterprise of Chef Geoff Tracy, as did our old friend, Stephen Vanderburgh Harkness many years ago, as today do our other friends, Carl Icahn and Ray Dalio.

 We must be cognizant that Rockefeller, Ford and Geoff Tracy are very much the same man in this sense: Neither could see any earthly reason to engage in commerce other than to: MAKE PROFIT.

 In much the same way, Stephen Vanderburgh Harkness, Mr. Icahn and Mr. Dalio, view life through the prism of observation of the comings and goings of Rockefeller, Ford and Tracy and, on reflection, place bets on their enterprises, in order to: MAKE PROFIT.


The real message of the past 10 years and most particularly so the last 5 years in America, has not been the collapse of the middle classes, as news girls I am told suggest, but rather the vesuvian, unstoppable, explosion in new, massive, personal fortunes.


These fortunes have been made either in the creation of things or in the derivative risk arbitrage hedged betting on the future outcome of those things.


If you think, as some misguided ones do that there is a “cancer of social inequality growing in America,” let us consider these things:


First:  When in history, was this cancer ever NOT present in mankind’s story?




Second:  There is absolutely nothing that the dreary ones can do about this immutable condition of man they now call a cancer, as to deny that this condition is intrinsic to man, is to deny nature herself~~one can simply not contain the desire of man to create, exploit, dominate, monopolize and control.


These desires are far, far more powerful than are the drives of sex and self-preservation.  They are immutable desires.


They are man himself.


If the dreary ones think that there exists a disturbing divide between rich and poor in America today, just wait until the heirs and assigns of the men now creating and investing, start to leave their fortunes to their children and their children’s children.


Albert Einstein was interviewed in The New York Times, yes THAT yellow rag again, in what turned out to be his last interview, taken when Einstein was very old.


The reporter, anticipating that Dr. Einstein would answer his question with some pie in the sky theorem that nobody could understand, asked:


“Dr. Einstein, what is the most amazing thing in the heavens and on earth you have ever observed in your time here on earth?”


Dr. Einstein, like Rockefeller before him, was unhesitating and very brief.  His answer:




Compound interest!!  The reporter as flabbergasted, all taken aback, but then he did work at THAT paper, so we have to make certain considerations.


Of course Dr. Einstein was correct.


When we start to see the results of interest upon interest accumulated accruing to widows and wee lucky sons of the men who, in these very recent years, have either created or invested in the new versions of STANDARD OIL or FORD MOTOR CAR COMPANY, we will most certainly all agree that Dr. Einstein was one very brilliant fella.


“Compound interest.”


The dreary ones scream and moan: “Something simply must be done about the growing cancer of social inequality in America!!”


That SOMETHING, is always the same thing:


That same thing is: “Elect me to go to Washington to steal money from the rich men who I do not like and waste it at Washington on projects nobody likes.”


As with Mr. Rockefeller, Mr. Icahn, etcetera, that message from the dismal ones is:


Let’s PUNISH….And….TAX……


The better men, steal their money and take it to Washington to be wasted.


The suggestion that the money derived from such taxation and theft will benefit the poor ones is a base lie.


Washington, my birthplace and home, knows how to do only one thing: Steal money and waste it–here–at this city.


Dreary ones say: “Oh!! If only the rich would help to raise the minimum wage!!”

This silliness notwithstanding that the minimum wage is defined always as:



Notwithstanding the dollar figure put to the minimum wage.  


So, when the dreary ones suggest that the minimum wage, whatever it now is, be made larger, they are simply re-defining:


Call her $5, call her $10, call her $1,000 the hour..

The Lady called Minimum Wage..still yet wears the badge called:


 Dreary ones claim that all men “want to be equal to all others,” which is hilarious, as:


No man wants to be EQUAL to others.


ALL men want to be BETTER than others.


That said, the rich man of course does have a moral responsibility in our society to help the poor man…and so…the solution is that….. 


  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~Instead, the rich man ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally~~man to man~~



Of his own account, the poor man has but one way out of the woods:  Create wealth himself or invest in the wealth created by others.


In either case, you will be a very lucky boy, if you live a life allegorical and set your mind each and every morning to the adage that started our little story of allegory here:






Washington, District of Columbia

Penned here this:

Thursday, 5th Day of June, In The Year of Our Lord, the 2014.


3b42ddc (1)
  • The rich man ought not be taxed at all~~he ought be compelled to employ and train the poor man~~directly~~personally.
  • ~~
    image002 (20)
    The principal need in America today is~~financial and industrial De-Globalization~~to facilitate the promotion of the possibility for the average man to get and keep a good job with good benefits paid by the employer~~as was done not very long ago.~~


    ~~Bene Nati, Bene Vestiti, Et Mediocriter Docti~~

    ~~La crema y nata~~


    ~~Artista de la conquista~


    ~~In sunshine and in shadow~~I hold tight to the Republican view of time and money~~I write night and day~~yet~~while impecunious~~I am vastly overpaid~~in that taking pay to do what I love is unfair~~to my employer~~in a fair system~~under such circumstances~~I should pay him~~not he me~~I am far, far too old a man to be sexually confused~~praise Jesus~~but I am yet young enough to be politically confused~~is anyone not~~in an absolute sense~~I am a Catholic Royalist~~in a practical sense~~I am a Classical Liberal~~a Gaullist~~a Bonapartist~~an American Nationalist  Republican~~in either sense~~my head is soon for the chopping block~~to hasten my interlude with Madame La Guillotine~~I write without fear~and without favor of~any man~~ 
    Finis Origine Pendet…
    The escape commences…
    September, 1957
    Saint Jane Frances de Chantal Catholic parochial school, called, by anyone of any background, simply: “Chan~al,” a place where, of an autumn day in 1957, school,  for me,  began and ended in the first convening of the first grade in which a tiny nun, one Sister Dom Bosco, appeared before me, just behind the window appearing at far left of this photograph, and piped out this: “I may be small, but so then, is the Atom Bomb.”
    My determination to escape school commenced immediately on hearing about this Atom Bomb business and took 16 dicey and arduous years to finally accomplish.~~
    Non Sibi
    The escape continues…
    September, 1966
    The Cathedral Latin School
    Finis Origine Pendet~
      ~~Κύριε ἐλέησον~~

    Rejoice and Glad!!




    ~The Original Angry Bird~~The Catholic University of America Screaming Red Cardinal Mascot~~



    ~~EX LIBRIS~~


    American New Year’s Day, Thursday, January 1st,~~Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi, 2015

    Website: http://johndanielbegg.wordpress.com







    Tweets: @jtdbegg

    "Jean-Marie Le Pen is a friend. He is dangerous for the political set because he's the only one who's sincere. He says out loud what many people think deep down, and what the politicians refrain from saying because they are either too demagogic or too chicken. Le Pen, with all his faults and qualities, is probably the only one who thinks about the interests of France before his own."~~
    French actor~~Alain Delon

    The Catholic University of America
    Logo of The Catholic University of America.svg
    Seal of The Catholic University of America

    Motto~~Deus Lux Mea Est~~

    Acta Est Fabula

    The escape concludes…


    The Catholic University Of America, Washington, District of Columbia.


    1976, Anno Domini Nostri Iesu Christi.



    Acta Est Fabula.


    Deus Vult.


    ~~Our Ubiquitous Presence~~

    The Queen~~

    Our Ruler now 63 years on~~

    Simply the best President we could ever hope to have~~

4 thoughts on ““Buy Standard Oil.” An Allegory.~

  1. I am heartbroken. I feel I have let you down. I don’t know why I could not get the posting to work. Please forgive me. God bless you.

  2. Still one of the best reads ever. I get more out of it every time I read it. Thank you for sharing it, and, as ever, I appreciate your kindness.

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