Low life
Finders keepers
Jeffrey Bernard
There's something slightly obscene about the American obsession with litigation, but then, with a handful of exceptions like Lincoln, W.C. Fields, Flash Gordon and Rocky Graziano, they always have had their values all wrong. The latest nutcase is a 30-Year-old unemployed docker called Joey Coyle who I read about in Tuesday's Stan- dard. He found $1.2 million (about Sulu,000) in the street in Los Angeles and is
g the owner of the money because he says it has ruined his life by giving him a taste of how the other half lives. Mr Coyle went on a little spending spree and when the Police found him two weeks later when he was down to his last $105,000, a paltry £64,000, which he had stuffed in his boots. To cap it all an insane jury accepted his plea of tem- porary insanity and found him not guilty. I'd very much like to know just how he knocked out the odd £692,000 in two weeks and I'd very much like to have a lawyer with the gall to stand up in court and say, 'My client has suffered severe psychological disruption and mental instability. If the security company (who lost the money) had been more careful my client would not have been damaged.'
Speaking as a middle-man I have had mouth-watering tastes and sick-making tastes of how both other halves live and I can't say that either have ruined my life; such a hefty sum is a punch that a one-time docker should be able to ride in comfort. A man who'd spent his entire life living at one extreme or another I could feel sorry for, but Mr Coyle, at some time pretty comfor- tably employed if our lads in Wapping and Liverpool have been anything to go by, should be able to regard a million-dollar windfall as a mere loan from the Almighty and proof that every time it rains it rains dollars from heaven. It's nothing to go mad over.
But take the very disturbing opposite end or the fiscal spectrum and consider just how awful and brain damaging it could be for the Duke of Westminster or Lord Howard de Walden to find a fiver in the street. 'Duke found wandering in Grosvenor Street, mumbling incoherently and talking gibberish. Police say the Duke went missing yesterday and was found with 5p in his shoe. In a statement last night the Duchess said, "Buffy must have been absolutely shattered to find such a small sum. We're trying to retrace his footsteps and we'd very much like to contact the man who saw him buy a half of bitter and a cheese roll in the Antelope." Inspector Smith of the Chelsea police who is leading the investigation said that they are working on the theory that the fiver was dropped by a dropout. A tramp is believed to be helping them with their in- quiries. The Westminster family motto is "Spend, spend, spend."'
One can only hope that Mr Coyle gave most of the £692,000 away as well as buying himself a headache and AIDS. But forget- ting him for a moment, if you need further proof that that Americans are mad — all right, naive — then what about a ridiculous book just published by two of their doctors called How to Control Your Drinking. This is claimed to be a self-help book which shows that an alcoholic doesn't have to abstain for ever. In my opinion the barman in Lost Weekend had it right when he told Ray Milland, 'One's too many and a hundred's
not enough.' But Messrs Miller and Munoz don't agree and in this ridiculous book they list alternatives to getting drunk when get- ting drunk is what you want. They advocate relaxation when the thirst hits you and they recommend 'Waiting in line (American for queueing?) Riding a bus. Doing housework. Playing ping pong. Talking to a very angry person. Taking care of an emergency.'
Playing ping pong? I ask you. As for an emergency, could there be a bigger one than queueing up in the Coach with a glass of Perrier in one hand waiting to play ping pong with Norman just as he's been told by his mother that she's leaving all her money to me? Could this really help keep one moderately sober? But relaxation isn't enough. According to Miller and Munoz you have to be assertive as well as relaxed to drink moderately and control it. And they give the reader a list of assertive remarks to trot out when you're screaming for the Smirnoff. 'I don't like being called honey.' 'I really enjoyed that dessert.' I am very angry with you.' Only if I'd met Mr Coyle when he found his million dollars, and he'd taken me out to dinner and then refused to lend me any money could I justifiably say say anything like that.
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