Years ago, as I have may have related in an earlier exposition that my brain has now deleted, I had the great pleasure of organizing the last public appearance of Ayn Rand. It was a grand affair, complete with a private railcar from New York City to New Orleans, time alone with the icon herself, followed by an electrifying ovation as the crowd of about 5,000 rose to their feet to welcome her. It was, to be understated, a wonderful event for my twenty-something self who had stumbled upon Atlas Shrugged, The Fountainhead and We the Living without the modicum of a notion – until years later - that there were legions of others for whom Ayn Rand’s books similarly resonated. I recall much about the speech -- and can still see through the years her small, hunched-over frame planted on a box in order to (just barely) peak over the podium -- but nothing comes back to me nearly so readily as her words during the question and answer session following her speech. A man from the audience stood and asked, in a loud and passionate voice, “Ms. Rand, but what do you do about the poor people?”. In response to which she leaned forward in order that her words would strike the microphone with added force, and said fiercely, “Don’t be one of them!”. The crowd roared. (Her view being, of course, that it is only by leaving the productive elements of society unhindered that real wealth can be created, resulting in less poverty and more funds available to take care of the deserving poor… on a voluntary basis.) My reminiscing on this event was triggered by the letter from the Social Security Administration that greeted my arrival home yesterday. Nicely printed and personalized it recapped the “credits” I have earned in exchange for the many tax dollars forced from my pocket over the decades. Buried within the generic notes of how my benefits are estimated, and the succor that my family may be entitled to should I unexpectedly lift-off for Valhalla, there is a series of specific information "Prepared especially for David Galland" that put numbers to the promise of a safe and comfortable tomorrow, compliments of the caretakers down at the Social Security Admin. Here’s what I learned. Should I decide to shirk my services to society by retiring early - at the age of 62 - I would be in line to receive $1,640 a month until my ship sails for more ethereal climes. If, on the other hand, I decide to draw paychecks until my "full retirement" age, which I am informed currently means pulling the oars until age 66, then I qualify for $2,211 a month thereafter. Put on the uniform until 70 and the pampering bureaucrats at the SSA will pay me $2,987 monthly until I exchange fine dining for rocky dirt. As I viewed those numbers, I tried to imagine a life on even the top number in the range, $2,987 per, and came to the straight-up conclusion that it just couldn’t be done, especially as the IRS taxes what the SSA bestows, reducing the net even further. A couple of decades ago, I might have pulled it off. But today? Nope and no thank you. But it is worse than that, because I have almost two decades to go before I qualify to stand in line, battered hat in hand, for my full SSA stipend. How much will the currency in which it is issued be worth then? While I can’t see that far into the future, I suspect that whatever my cost-of-living-adjusted stipend might rise to in the interim, with said adjustments based on jiggered government numbers, it will buy far, far less that it does even today. And what it will buy today is not very much.Fortunately, absent the discovery overnight, of a reliable method to cost-effectively extract gold from sea water, I should be able to make it to the rocking chair in the sunny spot on the front porch with some modicum of net worth.The same, however, cannot be claimed by a majority of Americans. In fact, according to one annual poll, just under half of those now living under the red, white and blue (with stars, not just stripes) are counting on Social Security as their primary source of income for the rusty years. And of the balance of the poll takers, it is a safe assumption that some high percentage conflated the greatly appreciated bubble-value of their homes with "money in the bank", while simultaneously failing to subtract for the quiet but steady erosion of inflation on the primary monetary unit in which their assets are valued. As I wander the New England hinterland, which I am doing a bit more now that I have wasted some casual money on a Polaris Ranger (think golf cart on steroids) for the purpose of challenging mother nature on rough trails in the middle of nowhere, I come across many who walk life on a different and less insulated path than that I am familiar with. If appearances are of any use in assessing net worth… unfilled gaps in teeth, well-stuffed T-shirts emblazoned with "I’m With Stupid"… then I have to question how many of these salts will have the prerequisite two nickels to knock together, come retirement time. Finding one of the nickels missing, I suspect, they sidle, post-haste, up to the counter at the SSA, hats on backwards and hands stretched forward, looking to collect on their personal contract with America.The odds increase daily, however, that they will be disappointed. That’s because, in our assessment, things around the water cooler down at the SSA currently are about as good as they will ever be. Soon, the demands of the aging baby boomers, which include not just the monthly stipend from Social Security, but also the care promised by Medicare, will leave the bureaucrats scratching through desk drawers for loose change.And we’re just getting started. Thanks to the current reign of the Demopublicans, the promises for a more perfect tomorrow are only going to grow. Universal health care? Of course, it is a god given right. Global warming? Solving it is just a matter of regulatory writ, papered in triplicate with binders full of new taxes and mandates. Collapsing bridges? Televised Senate hearings followed by a comprehensive new bill providing funding to rebuild the nation’s road system should do the trick.Should our great leaders miss anything, no worries… a new crop of elected officials will wash in with the next tide, well coifed and looking to make their own mark in the public domain with checks written against the public checkbook. But in the end, when the spending without limit rises to a point that it bursts the seams, the charade will be recognized for what it is. At that time, scales will fall from the collective eyes and the world will see that the real reason the emperor has no clothes, is because he can no longer afford any. At which point, We the People standing in line down at the SSA will become We the Really Unhappy People.At a recent conference in Vancouver my partner Doug Casey, as always erudite and eloquent, spoke a line reminiscent of Ayn Rand’s that magical evening in New Orleans, saying "Whatever is going to happen will happen… just don’t let it happen to you."
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