Patriot or Traitor?

When one of the two Facebook billionare scumbags, Eduardo Saverin, announced that he would renounce his American citizenship to save on income and unearned income (investment) taxes when the Facebook IPO made him a multibillionaire, I began to suspect that Facebook wasn't a place for me to spend time. Saverin is Brazilian-born rich kid who, like the current Repuglican candidate for President, considers himself a "world citizen" rather than an American. He was naturalized in 1998 and latched on to Zuckerberg as a "friend" (virtual and financial friends are all Zuckerberg can manage) when the two cloned the Facebook idea from the dozens of on-line social networks that were already in place in 2004. The two Harvard fratbrats unfriended each other as part of their money grubbing to control the monster Facebook became. The usual Faux News zombies heralded Saverin as a "hero" which made me think that their definition of hero has been pretty consistent over the centuries. They loved Benedict Arnold and Aaron Burr (an upper-crust ex-Vice President who tried to steal Louisiana for England) Joe McCarthy who betrayed the US government for a stiff drink and a head full of delusions and the Rat Pack of Repuglican Presidents from Tricky Dick to Little George who all considered the Constitution to be "just a goddamn piece of paper."

All of this reminded me of a man I met almost 40 years ago, Louis Dinklage. Mr. Dinklage was introduced to me by my employer as "the man who paid the most personal taxes in the United States." That did not make him the richest man in the US, but by Faux News standards it would make him the biggest sucker. Louis Dinklage was in his 70's when I met him. He was a legend in Nebraska farming and almost everyone I met in that part of Nebraska had a story about how "Old Man Dinklage" had bailed them out, financed their business or farm, or carried them in tough times. In fact, the night I met him I'd been run around the state for 14 hours and was, then, expected to be at a Wisner, Nebraska mill first thing in the morning. I left home expecting to be back by lunch, so my cash was expended and there were no ATM's (on the planet) or open businesses in that town to cash a check. Most small businesses did not take credit cards in the 1970's.

I stopped at the Wisner grain mill, because there was a light on, and found an old man sweeping up the office. I explained my predicament and asked if he knew where I might be able to get a check cashed. He asked me "How much do you need?"

I said, "Twenty bucks would get me through the night, but I'd like to have fifty so I can get something to eat and buy gas tomorrow morning."

He unrolled a wad of cash from his back pocket and said, "I think I can do that. I know who you work for."

I later learned I had met Louis Dinklage.

Mr. Dinklage was a first generation American, the son of German immigrants, who knew that all of his success and wealth came from the community and the country where he lived. He poured back into that community and tried to give as much as he got. He created charitable foundations that still finance his old community. He built the town a city swimming pool in 1982 and they named the park after him and his wife. Thirty years ago, I knew more of his story that I remember today, but I suspect I know what he'd think of a man who hid his cash in foreign banks to avoid paying taxes on his millions of speculative income. I know what I think of a boy who lucked into a fad made possible by the investment of the US government and who would leave the country rather than help support the community that made him rich.

This all further cements my opinion of rich people. I do not care what happens to them, under any circumstances. If they all contract syphilis from too much contact with $1,000 bills I will hope for an antibiotic shortage. If their children are born with two empty heads and dysfunctional organs, I'll cheer for the extinction of their linage. There is, literally, no bad thing that can happen to any rich asshole that will cause a moment of sympathy from me. One of the obvious qualities of being the 0.1% is that no one will miss them when they are gone. They are dead weight.