Posts
Significance: The Search for Meaning and Purpose
The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
JESUS, JOHN 10:10
Freeport, the Bahamas. Howard Hughes, the richest man in the world. The Xanadu, a 10-storey condominium on the ocean.
Who isn't fascinated by the lives of the rich and famous? Howard Hughes, perhaps the most eccentric of wealthy men, fled to the Bahamas in self-exile.
Shunning public contact for the last 20 years of his life, Hughes once refused to appear before a Senate subcommittee, but instead spoke to them by phone from his top-floor penthouse at the Xanadu. Mormon guards, hired for their honesty, quarantined Mr Hughes from contact with outsiders in his impregnable stronghold.
As I walked up to the imposing front door of the penthouse compound, I noticed a small porthole window. Covered with several strips of 3M reflective film, it seemed odd that such a makeshift arrangement would greet visitors at the threshold which led to the richest man in the world.
Howard Hughes was dead, but two years later his estate still maintained the four penthouse condominiums which he had converted to a fortress for himself.
Nervous as a cat, I peered through the film-covered window but couldn't see a thing, even though the edges were starting to peel up. Just then the elevator chime startled me, and I jumped around to see a maid coming out of the elevator cab.
She gave me the evil eye, but I put on my best smile and told her how much I admired Mr Hughes, and since he was deceased did she think it would be all right for me to go in and look around?
She hesitated, still suspicious, but I could tell she saw some humor in my silly request, so I picked up the gab. Finally, she shrugged, as if to say why not, and took me in.
I don't know what I expected, but what I saw was a shock! I imagined the richest man in the world would import opulent chandeliers and expensive rare art. I visualized seeing the fingerprints of some famous European designer in the decor.
The sparse, austere furnishings made it look more like a rustic mountain cabin. Worn, threadbare, olive-green plaid cushions rested in cut-rate-priced wooden couch frames. The bathroom fixtures looked like a cheap motel.
The farther I penetrated into his secret world of intrigue, the louder my heart pounded. My legs went adrenaline-weak, that same feeling you get after a near-miss on the expressway. As I crept through the boardinghouse-like rooms I romanticized him eating, sleeping, making important intercontinental calls, and writing cables. I could almost see him sitting at his desk scribbling out his famous hand-written notes to subordinates.
His wealth and power and fame were unmatched by any other man of his time. Yet, this final hideaway, where he sequestered himself from reality, was a stark reminder that money is a mortal god. Howard Hughes died a prisoner in his own citadel of power, betrayed by his fame. His impact began to fade into the dusty pages of history the instant his flesh turned cold.
Excerpted from: "The Man in the Mirror: Solving the 24 Problems Men Face" by Patrick Morley, Zondervan Publishing House www.answers4men.com
The mass of men live lives of quiet desperation.
HENRY DAVID THOREAU
I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
JESUS, JOHN 10:10
Freeport, the Bahamas. Howard Hughes, the richest man in the world. The Xanadu, a 10-storey condominium on the ocean.
Who isn't fascinated by the lives of the rich and famous? Howard Hughes, perhaps the most eccentric of wealthy men, fled to the Bahamas in self-exile.
Shunning public contact for the last 20 years of his life, Hughes once refused to appear before a Senate subcommittee, but instead spoke to them by phone from his top-floor penthouse at the Xanadu. Mormon guards, hired for their honesty, quarantined Mr Hughes from contact with outsiders in his impregnable stronghold.
As I walked up to the imposing front door of the penthouse compound, I noticed a small porthole window. Covered with several strips of 3M reflective film, it seemed odd that such a makeshift arrangement would greet visitors at the threshold which led to the richest man in the world.
Howard Hughes was dead, but two years later his estate still maintained the four penthouse condominiums which he had converted to a fortress for himself.
Nervous as a cat, I peered through the film-covered window but couldn't see a thing, even though the edges were starting to peel up. Just then the elevator chime startled me, and I jumped around to see a maid coming out of the elevator cab.
She gave me the evil eye, but I put on my best smile and told her how much I admired Mr Hughes, and since he was deceased did she think it would be all right for me to go in and look around?
She hesitated, still suspicious, but I could tell she saw some humor in my silly request, so I picked up the gab. Finally, she shrugged, as if to say why not, and took me in.
I don't know what I expected, but what I saw was a shock! I imagined the richest man in the world would import opulent chandeliers and expensive rare art. I visualized seeing the fingerprints of some famous European designer in the decor.
The sparse, austere furnishings made it look more like a rustic mountain cabin. Worn, threadbare, olive-green plaid cushions rested in cut-rate-priced wooden couch frames. The bathroom fixtures looked like a cheap motel.
The farther I penetrated into his secret world of intrigue, the louder my heart pounded. My legs went adrenaline-weak, that same feeling you get after a near-miss on the expressway. As I crept through the boardinghouse-like rooms I romanticized him eating, sleeping, making important intercontinental calls, and writing cables. I could almost see him sitting at his desk scribbling out his famous hand-written notes to subordinates.
His wealth and power and fame were unmatched by any other man of his time. Yet, this final hideaway, where he sequestered himself from reality, was a stark reminder that money is a mortal god. Howard Hughes died a prisoner in his own citadel of power, betrayed by his fame. His impact began to fade into the dusty pages of history the instant his flesh turned cold.
Excerpted from: "The Man in the Mirror: Solving the 24 Problems Men Face" by Patrick Morley, Zondervan Publishing House www.answers4men.com
No comments:
Post a Comment