I knew his son, John Jr., in high school, a small all-boys school in suburban Philadelphia. My family wasn't poor but we weren't rich either. My mother went back to work as soon as I was in grade school, in the mid-1960s, and all but a few of our cars were bought used until she began making real money as a real estate agent in the mid-1970s. My two brothers and I did, however, go to good schools and unlike (and thanks to) my parents we all went to college.
John C. Bogle in an undated photo. |
While in high school I didn't really know who was rich and who wasn't. Part of this was because I had few friends in high school and the ones I had I saw only in school. I would not have known that John Bogle Jr.'s family had money if I hadn't read about his car being stolen the summer after his junior year in a local newspaper. The car was a Porsche. This was odd because his father was known for being frugal, despite having such a successful company.
The best story I ever heard about John Sr. is maybe the best story that has anything to do with money I've ever heard about anyone:
About twenty years ago, Bogle and another successful friend were at a birthday party a man in the same field was throwing for himself. It was one of those parties you read about for its lavishness. Professional A-list entertainment, the best food and drink, fireworks, bold faced names among the horde of guests.
Bogle's friend said to him, "Wow! This guy really has it all, doesn't he?"
Bogle said, "Maybe, but he doesn't have one thing I do."
"What's that?" said the friend.
Bogle: "Enough."
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