I was walking to work the other morning through the skyway. I passed a business with a TV running one of the 24-hour news channels, and there was Ed McMahon. The banner said something about him needing cash to avoid a foreclosure. I couldn’t help myself. I laughed hard enough to draw stares.
I’d like to be more sympathetic. I really would. But then I start wondering just how much money he got pushing sweepstakes. You know, the kind that had my grandmother subscribing to magazines she didn’t want and wouldn’t read because she might “already have won.” It took my mother at least a couple of years to persuade this formerly sharp lady–who’d had a couple of ministrokes by then and was on medication for other things that left her a bit bewildered–that blowing a stamp on these things was fine but to leave the magazines alone.
What cut of my grandparents’ retirement did McMahon get? If he wants to answer that, and tell me what good cause he spent it on, then maybe I’ll consider generating a little sympathy for his [sniff] desperate plight.