Gstaad
The man in the white suit is not exactly a matinee idol around these parts. The mauvaises langues have it that the rich fear him more than the poor because they have more to lose. I’m not so sure, although it does make sense. This was not the case in the past: Spartan kings were in the first line of battle, unflinchingly eager to show their troops how to die. Samurais worshipped a heroic death, shunned opulence, but were employed by very rich patrons who answered to all their needs. It was a symptom of the times. Teutonic knights, those of the Round Table, and officers during the Napoleonic wars all had a lot to lose but fought bravely and to the death. I could go on about the scions of rich gentry who led attacks for both sides in the first world war. The Japanese, needless to say, rich and poor alike, turned courage into a death cult.
No longer. Not too many multimillionaires died in Vietnam, Iraq or Afghanistan. In fact, I can’t think of anyone offhand. Oliver Stone had a very rich mother and was awarded a bronze star in the Nam, but at the time he served he was penniless. As were Chuck Pfeifer and Billy David, both decorated, both close buddies of mine. Both were dead broke while fighting but struck it rich later on. Nah, maybe the waspish gossips have it right: the rich fear the man in the white suit more than the poor.
If the gossips are right, they must be trembling more up in St Moritz than here in Gstaad, and not only because it’s a lot higher and colder. The rich in St Moritz are much richer than their Gstaad counterparts. The reason I write about fear of death and wealth is the recent conference that took place here in Gstaad. It was called ‘Longevity Investors Conference’, and the two-day event was a great success apparently. There were scientists and biotech founders looking for rich investors who wish to avoid the man in the white suit and are willing to pay any price to do so.
Deep-pocketed investors who wish to live longer are not very hard to find around these parts. I did not attend because watching old men doing push-ups in order to show investors that with exercise you can defy nature is nothing new – to me at least. Had the conference advertised how one can live longer while smoking and drinking, I would have been there in a flash. But what they were selling is a long life as long as you don’t drink, smoke, chase women all night or take drugs. What the hell is so miraculous about that? The other thing the scientists did not elaborate on were the effects of boredom. I think that if I’d lived a perfectly healthy life, the man in the white suit would have visited me long ago.
One Mortimer Sackler, son of the departed Mortimer Sackler elder, whose OxyContin made him a billionaire and kickstarted the opioid epidemic that has killed 500,000 Americans, attended the conference but was informed by the organisers that his moolah was unwelcome. He nevertheless remained in person and followed the proceedings with great interest. I suppose that he’s not exactly eager to join the tens of thousands killed by OxyContin any time soon. None of us is certain of this, but there could be hell to pay down there when one’s time comes. If I were a Sackler, I’d want to live for as long as possible and avoid contact with those knocked off by the family’s enriching product.
Never mind. Hype and hope go together like rum and coke, and from what I was told about the conference, the case was made for various approaches to prolonging the years, but all were based on a healthy lifestyle. The person who comes up with something more original – like extending life with cigarettes, whisky and cocaine – will make Elon Musk a pauper by comparison. Let’s hope that someone reads this and hits the books and comes up with an invention that will ensure that all of us good-time Charlies – starting with my buddy Jeremy Clarke – live to 120.
Yep, fending off the man in white will cost you, although it’s the quality of life that matters, not the length. The young are not expected to understand that the brutality of old age is the problem, not life and death. I think of Jeremy daily but continue to drink and smoke for as long as I can. The second largest crowd to attend the Gstaad Symposium – the largest by far was Lady Thatcher’s visit – was when a professor-chemist friend of mine announced he would soon have a pill that prolonged life by a quarter. He’s still alive – just – but the pill turned out to be no better than aspirin.
So, will the very rich obtain a Dorian Gray type of shortcut to a longer life? I’m betting against it, but it’s fun watching them try. Not everybody wants to live for ever – Gianni Agnelli, who died 20 years ago, did not. He had prostate cancer, tried a new American method that didn’t work at all, and went merrily on his way, asking me over the telephone why a friend of ours had fallen out of my chalet window the night before. My advice is: bottoms up.
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