Alan Meltzer, a wealthy New Yorker who passed away this fall, decided to disperse his fortune in the manner of a plot twist from a nineteenth-century novel: He gave it to the help. Meltzer gave $1 million to his chauffeur, who told the Post, warmly, “He was such a nice guy. He left me money, but it’s not a good deal for me because it means he’s no longer here.’’ His doorman got half a million and provided this quote to the paper. “He was a generous guy. He was a really good friend of mine, and I was a good friend of his.” Good line, but not as good as the million-dollar chauffeur’s.
But it was his ex-wife who, though she may have gotten bupkis from the estate, gave the most priceless Post quote of all, a thoughtful meditation on the temporal nature of money and love and freedom, and on the romantic opportunities afforded a man in the life after this one. “If he wants to give it to the bums, he can give it to the bums. He could f–k a nun. I couldn’t give a s–t. He can give his money to whoever he wants. We’re divorced. The man is dead.” Forever and ever, amen?
(Presumably, the divorce settlement lives on.)