Eating Dinner With New Orleans "Old Money"

     On the evening of May 19, 2022, I found myself in a country club venue near the campus of Tulane University. It was the first event of the 50-year reunion of the Class of 1972. There were beautiful tables for the guests. There was a great band playing classic New Orleans jazz. There was a well-stocked bar giving out free drinks. Not many people showed up at first. Then the event got packed with people. I have a picture of the attendees including me that I will treasure for the rest of my life for a special reason that I will explain now.

    As I took my seat for the gourmet dinner to follow, I heard all sorts of talks about exclusive boarding schools. I heard talk of East Coast preparatory schools and academies where people from the famous Kennedy clan would send their children to high school.

     The man seated next to me commented that he owned a conglomerate that was in agribusiness and oil and gas. He commented that his father bought him a house in the French Quarter when he was a freshman at Tulane. I recognized the man from Tulanian magazine. I remarked that he had made a $2 million dollar contribution to the Tulane Medical School. He modestly replied that the contribution was made a few years ago.

     It dawned on me that I had landed right in the middle of "New Orleans old money." These were people who had had money and privileges all their lives. I compared my early life and the early life of Elena to these very wealthy people. In 1955, my mother insisted that my father buy a home for our family. They agreed to purchase a home located at 5715 Belarbor Avenue in Houston for $12,000 US. Here is a link to show you the house where I spent my formative years:

https://www.redfin.com/TX/Houston/5715-Belarbor-St-77033/home/30064420

      It had 1216 square feet of living space (112.97 square meters for our metric readers.) Dad was able to get a 100% loan to buy the house because he was a veteran of the US Army. His monthly house payment was $100 US. Dad had a brand-new 1955 Chevrolet Belaire. His car payment was $45 US per month. Dad's salary as an advertising salesman was $600.00 US per month.

    I lived in that house from 1955-1966 when I started to live in other places because I could not get along with my mother. Mother and dad sold the house in 1970 and bought another house for $20,000 US. When they both died they left a very modest estate that included that house and some personal property. They never owned stocks and bonds. They never had a retirement fund. They never owned two cars.

    Elena had much more humble beginnings. Her father bought a plot of land on a shell road just outside of Buenos Aires. With his own hands, he built a solid house that still stands to this day. The house had electricity. Running water was limited to a well outside the home. For many years the family did not own a car. Everyone depended on public transportation. Elena's house only got a television much later.

    The wealthy people I was with that Thursday night never lived through the poverty that Elena and I experienced as young people. When I was at Tulane, these same wealthy people "looked down their noses at me" because I was from a poor family.

    My group picture with those wealthy people is a precious reminder to me of how far Elena and I have come. After 18 years of hard work, the run-down house that we bought in January of 2004 is now valued at $1,600,000 US. We are not rich like the people I was eating dinner with in New Orleans. But we are no longer poor.